our pain is immortal

[almostinhuman]

In his life, there were only two times where Austin spent more than a full day out of his own body.

---

Once, during summer break when he was nine years old, Jenelle gave him a dare to see how long he could "stay under," so to speak. Frankly, Austin had been plenty curious about the idea himself, so he agreed.

He tucked himself under the covers of his bed and spent most of the day in his sister's body, so she could make sure he wasn't cheating. It took over 30 hours before their parents realized they hadn't seen him and asked where he was; they were understandably freaked out when they realized what he'd done. Freaked out and angry, at that; it was one of the first times they'd grounded him.

But how he felt afterwards was punishment enough, dehydrated and hungry and achey all over. He swore he'd never do it again.

---

Once, when he was sixteen, he decided he wasn't ever waking up again.

The idea wasn't new - he'd thought about it plenty beforehand - but the sheer strength of the impulse was beyond anything it'd been like before. He couldn't really pinpoint what'd brought this on; it felt like it was a myriad things rather than any one small part. Doing poorly in school, having another shitty breakup, getting harassed by his worst ex, having said ex and his pet rodent in his home again, getting yelled at by his parents, getting yelled at by Jenelle...

Frankly, he was tired, and he was tired of being tired.

So he left.

He did his best not to go to people he knew; they'd almost certainly recognize he was there. He wasn't sure he'd be able to hide what was wrong if they asked. He wasn't sure they wouldn't already know.

Instead he stuck to folks he was pretty sure wouldn't recognize the feeling of him in their heads. He was sneaky about it, never saying anything and never staying with anyone too long. Initially, he hoped to fade away entirely. Drift on the currents through other people's lives, no longer having to worry about having a life of his own.

Of course, he pretty soon ran up against limits of how far he could go; initially not much further than a mile. He'd known that was roughly as far as he could take it, but it'd never really been a problem before. It wasn't ideal, though; it was hard to escape your home when you couldn't get more than a mile away from it.

But as the days wore on, the limit stretched - or at least it felt like it did. He couldn't actually be sure. It also felt like his control slipped, not that it had ever been very good in the first place. Still, it seemed harder and harder to anchor to anyone in particular. This, too, was an issue, though it was far from the worst one he faced.

No, the biggest problem was just how it felt to be out of his own body for that long.

It was unsettling enough for a few minutes or even a few hours, but he ultimately managed to stay away from himself for nearly a week. Nearly a week of being nothing but a passenger, a tourist in other people's lives, no longer having an ounce of control nor even his own senses to rely on. It made him feel like some fucked-up voyeur, like a pathetic little brain parasite. He'd hoped he'd start getting used to it eventually, but if anything, it became more unbearable over time, not less.

By the end of the fifth day, he was desperate to go back, and terrified if he couldn't.

...

When he woke up, he was in the hospital, his mom asleep in a chair beside his hospital bed. He didn't want to wake her yet; he wasn't certain if she'd be relieved or furious. Probably both.

He stared at the ceiling, too exhausted and hurting to move or cry or do much of anything. He couldn't do that again, he knew. When he swore off it this time, he had to mean it. Living like that wasn't living at all.

When he went home, his parents seemed to think it was a head injury or something, or at least that's what they said they thought. He couldn't be sure if they believed it, or if they were sparing his feelings, or if they were trying to save face. Karen definitely believed it, at least; Jenelle didn't ask.

He never spoke of it again.