Desiderium: longing for something that has been lost

Chapter 34

"the suspicious mind conjures its own demons." -- hanshiro tsugomu 

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Quantico

February  28, 2008

2:08 pm

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"So, do you know why you're here?" 

He could remember the impact of the collision, the feeling of floating,  the sound of the high pitch whine in the seconds that followed, the blur and warping of his vision as he fought to stay conscious. 

"Yeah, I know why I'm here, yes."

He had to get them out, had to get them to safety; the seat beneath him crumpled further and he sunk into a wave of panic. get out get out get out get out get--

"You've suffered a traumatic experience, and I'm here to help you."

A suffocating hand (or was it guilt, god he couldn't tell) pushed on his chest, and then he was in bricked up room, arms stretched up above his head, staring into teary blue eyes, staring into eyes that should never had been there. 

"Yeah." 

Deep pulsing anger, as hands touched and mauled and groped, and words warped and twisted themselves around a fragile heart, and he felt an old anger flair up, and an old wound breathed in new air. 

"Can you tell me what you're thinking about?"

Constant tears, constant tightness pulling at his face, as he watched the blindfolded figure in front of him flinch away from faceless voices and bodiless attacks. 

"How pointless this is."

Then the screams, (were they his?) echoing around the small room, as bones were shattered, as blood dripped, dripped, dripped, slowly, painfully to the ground, the ball of fear growing in his stomach as he considered wildly that he was failing, that he was failing them.

"I'm sorry you think that, can you tell me why?"

The blood dripped fast, a steady metronome, the blood-soaked blindfold was removed, and his guilt threatened to overcome him as he stared into dying eyes, as he watched a life flicker away.

"Because this won't help, not what I'm feeling, I just process it and move on, I've always done that."

Deep bitter sorrow as he watched the red-tinted hair fall forward to cover the empty eyes, desperate fury as he watched those hungry murderous hands level a gun at--

"I'm sorry to hear that, but why don't we give this a chance, and see what we do here. Sound good?"

The sound of the gun's discharge filled his ears and his mind and he was floating, floating, and maybe he was back at the car crash and maybe none of this happened and suddenly there were hands on his face and faded voices breaking through the fog in his mind 

--morgan?--

"Yeah, ok."

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Morgan walked through the crowded parking lot, searching for his car. He had driven both himself and Spencer to their respective therapy sessions, and he had told Spencer to just meet him out when he was done. 

As he approached his car, he could see a slumped figure inside and he let out a sigh. Popping the door open, he slid in, looking over at Spencer.