Down For The Count

Rough Night, Rough Day

*trigger warning* - self harm/strong mentions of self harm
Paisley's POV

"This is your fault!" Alex yelled at me. "This is your fault! This is your fault! This is your fault!"

I sat up in bed, clutching my covers tightly. The reoccurring dream that I have every single night haunts me constantly, and I guess tonight isn't an exception.

"Please stop, Alex." I whispered out, rubbing my temples a little.

I can't take it. The rushing guilt that comes every night. It's the same dream, I always know what's coming. But for some reason, it always hurts as badly as if I'm experiencing it for the first time.

If I could just have ten minutes with her. Just so I could apologize again, talk to her and tell her that I never meant to upset her.

I just want ten minutes. I want to see her, and hear her voice again.

My skin felt clammy, probably as a result of my nerves.

I looked over at my clock, the time reading...3 AM. Wonderful.

I let out a deep breath, taking a sharp inhale immediately after, trying to steady my breathing.

I became painfully aware of the marks on my neck, wincing as I remembered yesterday. The mini-episode in the bathroom, the feeling of Jason...of...of him...

I winced again, sitting upright a bit more and trying a little harder to steady my breathing.

But I couldn't push him out of my head.

The angry look he got when I would ask about medication, the hateful eyes. The threats he always gave and the constant pain in my stomach due to lack of food.

The lingering feeling from yesterday at the theatre came back as a result of my thoughts. I could feel Dad's hands wrapped around my neck, and I immediately got up out of bed, not wanting another experience like yesterday.

"Stop." I scolded. Who I was scolding, I had no clue. Maybe me, maybe Jason. More than likely my very awful brain that likes to turn on me and make me think all these terrible things.

Deep breathing helped a little bit, and I began to pace my room, putting my hands on my head and beginning to slowly walk. Oxygen was all that I needed.

Deep, full breaths, and he can't choke you.

I was okay after a moment, the feeling of Dad's hand gone, and no episode to be had.

But the lingering feeling was still there, and I felt...dirty. I wanted to be associated with my father in as little ways as possible, I didn't like the lingering feeling of his hands around my neck, and I wanted to get rid of it.

I made my way to the bathroom, deciding to take a 3 AM shower. I was clammy and gross anyway, so why not?

The shower is usually where I'm able to clear my mind. Create a fresh, blank slate and just not think about anything.

But even as the hot water hit me, my thoughts didn't magically disappear like I had hoped. They were still very prominent, pressing hard on my brain, and I couldn't get rid of them.

The guilt waves came washing back over me.

I didn't mean to hurt Alex. I didn't mean to ever make her upset. I didn't mean to do this to her.