Dear Spencer

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟺 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝙰 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢?

TW: Mental health themes & assault mentioned.

𝟺 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝙰 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢?

I was screaming but nothing was coming out. I was breathing hard, as my hands clawed for a way out, for some escape that wouldn't come. I build up a huge breath and release it but nothing comes.

He was watching me with  a cold, detached interest and if I wasn't already chilled to the bone his icy gaze would have frozen me over completely. Pain sliced and burned through my body, but it was radiating from my bare hip with relentlessness,  an excruciating type of anguish that I had never experienced before.

And then a wave of numbness washes over me starting with my toes as they remained snug in ice skates, my tights that were tattered along my legs and washing over my bare torso.

And then I felt nothing at all, and I stopped trying to scream.

But that was when I heard it.

The howling, the shrieking sound, vibrations that travel into your bones until it violently chattered your teeth. The calls so earth-shattering, turning to wails that filled the air around you until the darkness took over.

I woke with a jerk sitting upright in bed. As if my body was still giving chase to the monster. I gripped my sheets trying to wake myself up, but my labored breathing was the same as my dream and I found myself muffling a cry.

It didn't take long for my fists to loosen and allow myself to catch my breath but that was due to the pain in the left side of my hip. Although the excruciating pain was gone, a dull pounding ache had easily taken its place and the reminder was there.

I lean forward as my long braid falls behind my back, and I try and slow my racing heart. I wait to hear for any sound that I woke up my parents or siblings and thank my lucky stars when I don't hear anyone stirring.

I slide my covers off my bare legs before gently sliding them out of bed being careful not to make jerky movements to my aching hip. I slowly move myself off my bed and leave my room to head for the kitchen for my painkillers and something to drink.

The pain in my hip wasn't frequent these days but when it used to flare up Levi would check on me and bring my painkillers, sometimes Shea.

Mom warned against me taking a bedroom on the third floor insisting I take the bedroom beside her and dad's or Levi's to avoid the stairs and be near help if I need it, but I declined. The idea of having a large bedroom all to myself without feeling like I was constantly being monitored by my parents was nice.

It was also nice to know I didn't wake them on the occasion I had a night terror. One less thing I would feel guilty about.

I had climbed down the staircase slowly, but it did nothing to help my aching hip. It was still pitch black dark outside and I'd still felt safe in the house, warm and comfortable as the smell of left overs lingered having only been put away a few hours prior.

I passed by the dark living room and dining room rounding to the kitchen as silently as I could despite the creaky wooden floors the house had come with. The kitchen was still lit with a small oven lamp casting a warm glow across the wooden island and marble counter tops. I slide my toes against the cold floorboards a little further to the medicine cabinet where mom kept all my medication. I ruffle through the cabinet as quietly as possible until I find the pain meds and slip two pills from the bottle setting them down and closing up the cabinet. I move to the fridge for another bottle of Gatorade.