The storm followed Ezra home.
By the time he reached the gate, the gutters had begun to choke on rainwater and the lamps burned inside halos of mist. The air smelled of wet soil and iron — the city's pulse slowing under the weight of water.
He stepped inside, the warmth of the house brushing his chilled skin. His jacket dripped a steady rhythm onto the floor. From the kitchen came the sound of plates, the soft murmur of voices, the faint music of a family trying to stay ordinary.
"Ezra?" his mother called from the stove. "You're drenched again."
"Therapy ran long," he said, sliding off his boots. "And the rain decided I needed a second session."
Sophie peeked from behind the hallway corner, grinning. "Did the doctor fix your weird dreams yet?"
He reached over and ruffled her hair. "Not yet, menace. Give him time."
At the table, his father folded the evening paper. The smell of soup and warm bread wrapped around them, domestic and fragile.
"So," Miller asked, "how was Dr. Ezekiel?"
Ezra ladled soup into his bowl. Steam blurred his face for a heartbeat. "Professional. Talked a lot. Gave me pills."
"Did he say what's wrong?" Rosey asked.
"Stress, maybe derealization," Ezra murmured.
Vale frowned. "That means what?"
"Means my head's too loud." Ezra smiled faintly and dipped his spoon.
They ate in easy rhythm — the scrape of spoons, the faint ticking of the dining-room clock, Sophie's chatter, Vale's teasing. Yet beneath it all a quiet hum persisted in Ezra's mind, the echo of the metronome that had pulsed behind Dr. Ezekiel's calm voice. It ticked still, hidden under the warmth of the house.
When the meal ended, he excused himself. "Long day. Need a bath."
Steam filled the bathroom. The mirror fogged into a white blur. Ezra sat in the tub until the heat numbed his skin. The water beat against his shoulders in steady percussion — not unlike the rain outside.
He closed his eyes. For the first time all day, the noise in his head softened. No fire. No screams. Only warmth.
Later, dressed in clean clothes, he stood before his nightstand. The small white bottle waited beside the golden compass watch. The label read:
LAMOTRIGINE – 100 mgTake one tablet at bedtime.
Dr. Ezekiel's voice echoed somewhere inside him: It will soften the sensory load. Help you sleep without interference.
He tipped a pill into his palm, studied it — smooth, harmless, a promise pressed into chalk."One pill for quiet," he whispered.
He swallowed it dry, turned off the light, and lay back. The storm outside thinned to drizzle.
At first came stillness.
A warmth rose from his chest, spreading through his limbs like a tide. His breathing slowed. The weight of his body deepened into the mattress. Thought thinned to vapor.
The medicine did what it promised — it dulled the edges.
Sound faded. The ticking clock stretched; seconds felt fluid. The ceiling seemed farther away.
He drifted between awareness and sleep, half-anchored, half-adrift. The room breathed with him — walls expanding, contracting. His muscles loosened, and the heaviness became almost pleasant.
Then the distortions arrived.
Colors shifted behind his eyelids — deep blue, pulsing red. A hum started low in his ears, not unpleasant, just present, like the static of existence itself.
The air thickened. His heartbeat began to echo as if from outside his body. He could sense his pulse but not control its rhythm.
Dizziness followed — the first true side effect. His stomach tightened, a flash of nausea, gone as quickly as it came.
He told himself it was normal. Lamotrigine. Mood stabilizer. Drowsiness, dizziness, blurred vision, nausea, insomnia… normal.
The symptoms receded, leaving behind an artificial calm — a calm so complete it frightened him.
He felt sleep approach, smooth and silent. He welcomed it.
But in the moment before it claimed him, he saw something flicker behind his closed eyes: raindrops falling upward, reflections blinking before he did, and somewhere, faintly, the sound of a child's laughter swallowed by thunder.
Then everything folded into black.
Morning came pale and damp.
Ezra woke slowly, as if surfacing from deep water. His body felt heavy, his mind slow to catch up. The air tasted faintly of iron.
The compass watch on his nightstand ticked quietly beside the half-empty pill bottle.
He sat up, rubbing at his temples. The room seemed distant, like he was observing it through glass. Every sound was muffled, the world slightly off-tempo.
He rose and caught sight of his reflection in the dark TV screen — the same hollow eyes, the same motion half a second late.
"Dreams again," he whispered, forcing a laugh that sounded too dry. "That's all."
Outside, the rain had started once more.
The storm always did.
"And if anyone did'nt understand the "Synopsis" means commment! so i will explain."
"If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a comment, rating, or Power Stone vote. Your support helps the story grow and motivates me to keep writing. Thank you for being a part of this journey!"
"Follow me on Instagram Updates & extras: [https://www.instagram.com/myth_9511?igsh=bjhhZml3M2I2eXp0]. Join our Discord community for Talk & theories: [https://discord.gg/HXeNstmRnx]. Let's connect!"