"Healing from the past takes time, not pain." ~The Author.
Dreaming normally makes you feel happy or feels better when you wake up but having nightmares makes you feel this unsettling sense of danger or trauma. In my case, trauma from something that always follows me around the trauma and memories of that night just when I'm heading those nightmares break my walls down. Again.
I couldn't see anything in my nightmare inside I could just feel which made things so much fucking worst because the very touch of their hands made me want to throat up. I could even feel the wet hot tears down my face and the what, no need to be in Enzo's arms even if we hated or disliked the other at the moment. The laughs and comments made things dislikeable because even if they never really raped me that was still abuse and it made me feel used and cross.
The Looks I was given that night stayed with me for the time I was gone in London, Enzo and Milo's faces hunted me because while Milo looked like someone had hurt his little sister which they almost had but the face he give me his shirt to cover up and hugged me to make me feel warmer and comforted. Enzo looked devastated and kind of like pissed off at the world.
I knew he didn't think anything disgusting of me because he had gone through something similar early in life but the looks and the guilt made me want to eat myself alive, the silence of the room was too much and I needed to leave.
Was this even real, why am I back in this moment?
Everything went blurry I could hear them fighting, I could see them close to him, and then Milo ran to cover me with his oversized shirt the blood soaking the shirt as the deep cuts on my back now hurt more because of the contact with the shirt.
"Stop!" I yelled trying to push Milo's hands off me trying to run to Enzo. "Don't you dare hurt him, "I screamed trying to reach Enzo
"You deserved this Avalon," one of them said, looking up I could see him. Nikolai Ivanov.
This never happened, at least not in front of me because it wasn't real it was all in my head.
"Lorenzo!" I yelled gasping for air, in my lungs. I couldn't breathe.
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"Ava?" I could hear his voice from across the room. The room was dark except for the small light from the window on the left next to my bookshelf which was across the room, after the day he got sick I went back to sleeping in my own bed alone. "Amore, svegliati," said the manly Italian voice. (Love, wake up)
