TW: Burn Trauma, PTSD, Bullying, Anxiety Attacks

The fire licking at his torso and arms felt inconsequential to the fear of dying trapped in a heap of smashed metal. Ray was screaming for help, hoping someone could hear him over the roar of flames. No sound escaped his lips. It was hard to breathe; the smoke felt like it was overflowing in his lungs. He couldn’t tell whether it was the black smoke or if he was passing out. Probably both. He would die here, he thought finally before his eyelids slipped shut.

Ray wakes up in a room with white walls and endlessly, beeping machinery. His breath hitches and it hurts. The fire! Where was he? What happened? The beeping intensified. He struggled; there were hands pressing painfully into his skin to hold him down. 

“Mummy’s here,” he heard like he was underwater. Mum? Ray wanted his mother, but his brain grew slow and quiet, and he drifted off again.

Ray’s moments of consciousness grew longer and more coherent as time passed. Eventually, he was aware enough to understand that he’d been in a terrible car crash and the pain was from the burning wreckage that they’d dragged him out of. They’d brought a mirror to him when he’d asked, and Ray had blanched in shock. His skin was mottled and raw all over his torso and arms. And that were the parts that hadn’t been covered in bandages that had to be changed every few days. Miraculously, his face and legs were largely unmarred by burn wounds. Still, Ray didn’t ask to look in the mirror again.

Mum and Dad made sure he had the best medical care available, and the wounds healed into extensive scarring, discoloured and sometimes painful. On bad days, his skin grew too tight, and everything hurt. His physiotherapist recommended swimming as a way to keep his muscles and body flexible and to prevent the scars from restricting his movement. The doctors suggested laser surgery to reduce the appearance of his scarring, but the remnants of Ray’s experience would forever lay on his skin even if they weren’t as stark. 

By the end of it, Ray had spent four months in the hospital’s burn centre. School was out of the question, not when he hurt more often than not, and he hadn’t seen his reflection since that day in the hospital. The life he thought he’d have at fifteen was over before it began.

Ray graduated high school from home. He applied for an architecture course at the state university and got in. His parents encouraged him to move closer to school instead of hiding away at home. Truthfully, Ray had considered it and he wanted to; he didn’t want to stay home for the rest of his life. At the same time, he could barely breathe when he thought about someone looking at him and seeing all the ways he’d suffered. They compromised on an apartment close to campus so that Ray could have his privacy and still be close to his peers. If he remembered how to find any, he thought. 

At the persuasion of his therapist, he joined the university’s swim team as a recreational member. Swimming had become a big part of his life after the accident, so there were two reasons for joining the team. He needed to swim to keep limber, and he needed to make friends. Hopefully, being on a team would help him find some.

~

Learning how to be social again is hard. It took a long time for him to regain some form of comfort in his new skin, but it’s obviously different because he’s the one living with it. Ray comes to all swim meets and gym training in long sleeves and never takes it off even when he’s sweating buckets from the exertion. He never showers in the locker room when anyone is there either. It gets him weird looks and raised eyebrows, but so far no one has tried to bother him about it. Not really, anyway. 

Ray knows he’s shy and quiet. He also knows that it’s not a winning combination among jocks who display stereotypical masculine behaviours like comparing bicep sizes or something else entirely. He gets by mostly. 

“Why don’t you take off your shirt?” Gerald, one of the more…boisterous teammates ask. He does this almost every time there’s gym training. 

Ray used to shrug off the questions with non-committal gestures or noises, too shy to properly explain. It doesn’t deter Gerald from asking again. This time, he says, “I got into an accident. I don’t want anyone looking at my scar.” Gerald looks surprised at being given an actual answer but doesn’t bother him about it except to jokingly remark on Ray’s prudish behaviour. The whole interaction is a success, but it leaves Ray’s chest cold with anxiety at having to share even that little bit of information. He thinks it’s the end of it, so he doesn’t say anything, just lets Gerald poke fun.

The rest of the guys don’t say anything but laugh with Gerald and Ray knows they don’t think much of him either. He can’t bring himself to change that. How could he? He can barely take his shirt off without the pain of old injuries. 

Inevitably, there’s a party. There always is. And a party organised by a bunch of athletes is practically a rite of passage for the full university experience. It’s not the first time he’s been invited, but it is the first time he’s agreed to attend, though it’s clear that none of his teammates believes he will show up. Ray can’t quite believe he’s going either. And it mostly has to do with the disappointment in his mother’s voice when she asks if he has any plans with friends during the weekends and he says he doesn’t. 

So, he shows up in a nice button-down shirt. The soft, white cotton piece had been given to him by his mum. “Just in case,” she said with a wink that made him smile. And now he’s here, standing in the backyard of a fraternity house wondering if he’s made a mistake. 

It’s a pool party. Everyone is in a state of undress. He thinks the couple making out in the pool might actually be naked even. It makes him uncomfortable, and he turns to leave.

“Ray!” It’s Gerald.

Ray grits his teeth into a smile. “Gerald.”

“You actually came! Guys, Hutton dropped by!” Gerald yells out and saunters over, drink sloshing in his hand. He’s tipsy. “Me and the guys, we all thought you wouldn’t show.” He squints. “You’re a little overdressed though.”

This again. “I was just leaving.” 

Gerald blocks his way. “So soon? Come on, stay a bit, have a drink. Maybe jump in the pool.” People are starting to watch them now and all Ray wants is to hide away from all these curious eyes that would turn away in disgust if they saw what he was hiding. 

“I’m leaving.” He tries to move past, but Gerald stops him with one arm on his shoulder. It presses painfully into pinched nerves. Ray’s panic ratches up a notch. “Let go.”

“No.” Gerald pulls him back. Everyone is staring now. Ray glances around nervously. Not all their teammates are here in this backyard, but those who are, they’re all spectating like it’s a reality show. “Come on, dude. Are you even part of the team? You skip trainings, you don’t come to parties, you don’t even want to share the locker room with us.” Gerald leans over. “You should quit if you aren’t going to play nice.”

Distress is a funny thing; it makes Ray feel like Gerald is towering over him when he’s only a few inches taller. He backs away but Gerald forward. 

“You think you’re too good to hang out with us? I’m gonna teach you how to have fun.” They’re right at the edge of the pool. Gerald shoves him. 

Instinctively, his eyes close before the water submerges him. Ray doesn’t swallow any of the chlorinated water, used to swimming as he is. He’s angry, furious as he swims to the pool ladder. The white shirt is sheer and clinging wetly to his skin. 

Gerald whistles sharply when he emerges from the water. At that moment, Ray can’t stand the smug glint in his eyes. He unbuttons the shirt, fingers trembling with how infuriated he feels. 

“Don’t be shy! Take off your—” The words die on his lips and Ray reclaims that satisfaction if only for a brief second. 

The anger burns hotly. “This what you wanted to see?” He asks. Embarrassingly, the tears he’s been holding back spill forth with his outburst. His face is wet; Ray holds back his sobs, but the hot tears blend right in. There are a few gasps, but nothing else can be heard over the loud, thumping music. “You want to know why I don’t show up for training sometimes?” he demands, shoving Gerald in retaliation. He doesn’t give Gerald a chance to respond. “You don’t know what it’s like to hurt so much that you can’t get up. So, back the fuck off. I quit!” 

Ray stomps off, adrenaline making his heart pump like it's on steroids. He’s got enough presence of mind to lock himself in the bathroom before the panic really sets in. No one stops him. 

His reflection is pathetically pale and drenched. And it reminds him exactly how much everyone has seen; how much he didn’t want them to see. Ray struggles to put his shirt back on. The fabric is sopping, and his fingers are shaking harder. Dimly, he knows he’s breathing too fast for his lungs to catch any oxygen but there’s nothing in the bathroom to distract him from his utter humiliation. He can’t focus enough to practice the counting that his therapist taught him.