PTSD & Craft

Chapter Two - Fire

Nightmares.

Chloe couldn't count how many times she woke up from a nightmare. Nightmares about things that happened, things that might happen, and things she couldn't tell if they actually happened or if she was making things up. Every time she would sit up, gasping awake from another haunted dream, Chloe would have to look at everything in her room - the dresser, the desk, the mirror over the desk that reflected her own gaunt face at her, mockingly - just to remind herself of where she was. She was safe and sound, but it didn't feel like it. Bethany and Clark had one of the best security systems, she knew, but that didn't feel like enough.

At one point in the middle of the night she tip toed through her room, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. Finally she decided on an old dance trophy, from when she was a little girl, that had a golden ballerina on top. It was plastic, mostly, but the base was marble and she knew she could do some damage if she hit someone with it enough.

When sunlight crawled across her hardwood floor, eventually lighting her sunken face with deep purple bags under her eyes, she let go of the trophy and tucked it under her pillow. Safe keeping for the next sleepless night.

It was ungodly early, no one else was up yet, so Chloe was quiet as a mouse as she made her way downstairs and out the backdoor. The security code was the same as last time she was home, which made her happy. At least she wouldn't be locked inside.

The one good thing about Bethany's sprawling house was the magnificent backyard. There was a cobbled patio with plenty of furniture for entertaining, suntanning, eating, and more. Beyond the patio was a large swimming pool that was covered for the season. Desperate for just a small bit of normalcy, Chloe sat on the edge of the pool, hiked up her pajama pants and squeezed her feet between the edge of the pool and the cover. The cool water felt like another world she could slip into; somewhere calm, somewhere she didn't have to be perfect or worry about another nightmare. Part of her wanted to keep slipping, sinking, and easing herself into the water, but she knew with the pool cover on that wouldn't be wise. Plus, she didn't have a bathing suit and Bethany would lose her head if she saw chlorine water on her hardwood floors.

The sun kissed her skin lightly - anything exposed. She actually undid most of the buttons on her top so her chest could get more sun and rolled up her sleeves. God, it felt good just to be in the sun. She could already feel her skin beginning to protest, burning slightly because it had been so long since she was able to sit in the sun. Chloe remembered being a tan girl her whole life; she went swimming, she went to camps, she went outside in general. Now she was pale as a ghost. It seemed fitting. After all, she was a ghost of her former self.

Time got away from her, sitting with her legs in the pool. She had no idea how long she sat there, her legs swaying gently through the water. She tried not to think about John or everything that happened, she tried not to think about her nightmares. Instead, she thought of everything she wanted to do.

She wanted to draw. It had been forever since she was able to draw what she actually wanted to draw. John would question everything she drew - was that how she felt about him? Why didn't she draw him? Why didn't she draw them? Why did it look so...sad?

Watercolors...she missed watercolors. Maybe she could talk her mom into lending her some money for art supplies. Or gardening, maybe she could take over some of the gardener's responsibilities? She could do it for free. Maybe her mother would appreciate it, even. Doubtful, but hopeful, Chloe thought about some other things she could do for her mother to show her appreciation. Even if it wasn't ideal, she did feel safer here. It was either this or living on a street somewhere. Just the thought of that made her skin crawl. No more living on the street. No more living in a van. No more of any of that.