Hitwoman (ON HOLD FOREVER)

20

"What the hell happened?" Paul asks as he lifts my trembling body from the floor and leads me out of the bathroom. He sits me down on one of the sofas in the room and Tracy comes out of the kitchen before staring at me in mock horror. Paul lifts my bleeding hand and analyses it before he runs off into the dinning room and returns back with a first aid kit. He bends in front of me and looks at my wound before looking into my eyes, his eyes filled with hurt and worry.

"Why did you do that Claudia?" Paul asks me while he opens the kit and carries out a pincers, which he uses to start removing the shards of glass in my fist. I sigh and tug at my hair before running my hand through it angrily while still breathing like a mad woman.

"Sleep induced paranoia" I tell him, my hand tugging a handful of my hair while staring at the floor where my blood is dripping repeatedly which Paul doesn't seem to mind at all. Crap, I don't usually have episodes like this but hell, today's own sure as hell went a little bit too far. Before I started therapy (yes I was going to therapy) after the incident, I think when I was 11 or 10, I started having different episodes, even in class. I would just sit down and hear or see something that would just serve as a reminder of what I have gone through and everything and everyone would no longer exist. Just a scared little girl in her own world. Triggers, that's what my therapist called the things that caused my episodes. According to her it happened with a lot of people and it was normal with most suffering from trauma. It sounded stupid, cause honestly, I had never seen a traumatised person walking on the street and suddenly when he just here's bingo, he starts to scream about how bingo ruined his life and run from everything in his delusions. Yes, this was what was going on with me.

I could be walking on the street and just hear the word drugs and start to lose it, and when I don't then it's probably due to other cirumstances (which they explained in sciency terms, I don't remember) They also told me most times, that my paranoia could be strenghtend and the delusions could become worse if I didn't get decent rest, which unfortunately for me was never. My paranoia became worse, so I was prescribed drugs that could help me feel, you know normal. It was supposed do lot of things, numb the headaches, increase my sleepiness, strenghten my mind amongst other things that I really needed in my life to well, to basically have a life. I started taking the drugs as they were prescribed by the doctor and it was some kind of miracle when they actually started working. But eventually, I stopped taking after I joined the association, because to them, I needed to strengthen my mind my self. And so, the illusions and the paranoia returned and till this date I have been a mess.

It's called PTSD, right?

"What the hell could you have possibly seen to make you get scared like that?" He says as he applies spirit on a cotton wool and places it on my wound making me groan a little. I sigh and just look at him in the eye before looking back at my hand. I look at Paul's hand and it is smudged seriously with my blood and some have even dropped on his jean but he doesn't seem to mind. Tracy continues to watch me from a distance, her eyes filled with fear and hurt. Paul carries a (that white stuff) and wraps it around my fist gently. After he's done, he stands up and looks at me, his eyes still filled with worry.

"You okay?" He asks as my breathing calms down and I nod in response.

"Come on, let's get you upstairs so that you can get some rest" He says stretching his hand out to me with a smile. I smile back at him before I take his hand and he helps me up. You know, It's funny how I always seem to lie to myself. I always tell myself, I'm no longer scared of him. I'm no longer his scared blonde little, I'd be ready to face him if he comes. When reality that's all a stupid lie. I don't know why, but whenever I'm around him, I feel weak and helpless. Hell, I couldn't even go one on one with an illusion of him that wasn't there. After what he did to me, I always felt vulnerable, I always felt mentally strained and insecure around and, I always, and always felt scared. Even with a gun in my hand, it was very possible for him to win me in a fight, without any freaking problem, and I hated it. I always hated the control he had on my life and I always hated how he made me feel. Whenever I thought about him, I would just suddenly lose it. My breathing would become uncontrolled, the oxygen around me would suddenly become thinner and I would just feel weak and start reacting like how SpongeBob does whenever Plankton takes the Formula or he can't find his spatula or grill. And I hate it, I hate not having control over the things or situations around me.