reason to live (short story) - (UPDATED)✔️

flashbacks.

Nolan TW- ptsd// post traumatic stress disorder:

  flashbacks came rushing through my head. i didn't feel much until today. i guess i was so distracted that i even forgot that i'm like this. the painting didn't work, the plant didn't work, the reading didn't even last and now everything's a fragment to my thoughts.

  i can't think straight. my head spinning and i'm stuck staring at nothing. i can't move, a lonely tear of despair leaving me stranded in my tracks. i wanna scream, call out for help, i need help. my brain refuses. everything wanting to come out, everything. and i can't even move, trapped in this space.

scared.

  i hear the door opening with a big slam as Elliot rushes towards me with a horrid look on his face. asking me to look at him, begging me to look at him. his hands are shaking, i wanna ask him why his hands are shaking, i just can't. i can't say anything.

  i can feel him caress my face as he begs me to breathe his voice becoming more like a panic, i didn't even know i wasn't breathing. i just, i can't. i'm trying, i can't. i see his face clearer as i take in a big inhale. my voice stringing with pain as he embraces me in a hug. releasing a long sigh of relief as his frightened face becomes more genuine.

"geez, Nolan." he exclaims, terror framing through his voice.

   "i'm so sorry." i whisper in his arms as he whips my tears. "i'm just glad you're okay." i feel the fabric of his sweater brush against my face while i rest my head on his chest. his tone was serious and light. i didn't mean to, it was an accident. i tried so hard not to but my head,

my head hurts.
—

  i wake up feeling Elliot's fingers play in my hair. he nibbles on his bottom lip. it's a nervous thing he's picked up on, and as for most of his motions i've remained observant to his tactics. "good morning." the admiration from his voice is different then before, his tone is softer, hesitant. he picks up a glass of water and a pill for me to take. "you kept saying your head hurt so i went and got them last night while you were asleep." i thank him politely before taking the pill and water.

   i let in the awkward silence while sipping the water. why'd i have to go and fuck things up? we were doing so well, i was doing so well. "have you been taking your meds?" he asks as i put the glass cup down on my side of the bed, on the nightstand. "i told you they're not working for me." i say looking down at my hands to avoid eye contact.

i start to recall what happened last night. i thought about my mother's voice, and everything went blink. i could no longer see through my own abruption for a second as the stinging sounds of her yells came flooding back through my bones. and for a moment, i started to lose feeling through my fingertips yet again. in regrowing that strength back i found another well to look towards him.

   wanting to reach towards her. the comfort, the closure. something i know Elliot will never fully receive from me, because i had yet to receive the feeling within myself, and yet his stress is relieving to see. to show that he himself can struggle with helping me. to show that he hasn't given up, because even if i didn't think i was worth the anger all the time, he did.

so to that his scolding was relieving.