TORN

Chapter 3- Air

My vision is blurred and the room empty. I look around just to see nothing except a door and a window. Coldness is spread across in the room, visible when you breath.

My head hurts, I feel like I was knocked over 10 times at least, even though I only remember one time.

I stand up slowly, feeling dizzy as I lean my head against my hand, seeing dead bodies all over the floor. I blink in shock, seeing a clear floor right after. What was that?

I don't remember much of what happened. I just know that we were all in a great hall, a guy talking and-
Mary is dead.

They killed her, and many others too. For God's sake, this place is fucked. People died for nothing. I was lucky that they didn't kill me too.

This room is new. Well new for me. I have different clothes on too. They look far better than my old shirt. A light blue long sleeved shirt and short shorts that go above right above my upper thigh. The shirt covers the rest of upper legs though.

At least that is something positive here. There is a little hole in the door, probably from a gun shot. I look through it. A long corridor with grey walls, probably normal walls covered with metal.

Some doctors are running around, but aside from that, there are no sounds, no screams, not even quiet sobs are hearable.

So this place has more than 1 corridor. Many corridors. I am in my third room now. This place has to be huge.

That's when two eyes blink through the hole in the door right in front of me. I trip back in shock, the door opening right after. A guy with black hair, and green eyes appears in front of me.

The guy from the main hall.

He just looks down at me, not saying a word. I attempt to stand up slowly, ignoring the fresh bruise on my hand. For my surprise, he helds out his hand for me to take. I reach for it and he pulls me up.

His rough hands graze my skin as he pulls me to my feet. He is at least 6'3 feet tall, much taller than I am. In his other hand he holds some notes, probably about patients that he takes care of.

He towers over me as I look up to him, his facial expression is cold, showing no emotion. I don't understand why he is here, but he just is.

He has tattoos on the side of his neck, but that's all I notice before he opens his mouth to speak.
"I've seen you. In the main hall." He blurts out. His voice is deep, sending chills down my spine.

"Yeah, I saw you too...May I ask why you are here?" I'm utterly confused. Did he came here just to tell me this? I don't think so.

"After you were knocked out by one of our soldiers, you were examined by one of our doctors." That is probably the reason why I have different clothes on now.

"And what does that mean for me? Is something wrong?" I don't even understand why they knocked me out in the first place. Because I cried? Because I looked at anything other than the guy in the front? It doesn't make sense.

He lifts up his notes, opening a file. My name is standing at the top. He skims the notes and finally answers me. That's at least what I thought he'll do.

"You were diagnosed with Post-traumatic stress disorder. Short PTSD. We ran some tests with you when you woke up. Do you remember anything of that?" What the fuck is that. And I why can't I remember anything about being awake.
And what does that mean?  Before I can ask, he notices my confused face and answers my upcoming questions.

"PTSD occurs as a delayed psychological reaction to an extremely stressful event, a situation of extraordinary threat, or catastrophic proportions. They can be caused by a traumatic event that you've witnessed." A traumatic event? I don't know what he is talking about.

I look at him confused before picture of a dead body flashes in front of me. A quiet scream escapes my mouth as I cover my eyes in fear.

I feel my legs giving up, taking a step back as I open my eyes once again. A hand catches my waist, keeping me from falling back as the person sits me down on the ground.

I look around in shock just to see the doctor in front of me. He holds a flashlight, pointing it right in my left eye, then the right one. Then he suddenly stops.

"Is everything alright?" He asks. I don't answer. That body, it was Mary's. The way her lifeless face flashed in front of my eyes, a tear on her cheek..it was terrifying.

"Consequences of PSTD are symptoms of re-experiencing, which manifest during the day as memories of the trauma, daydreaming, or flashbacks, and at night as nightmares." He adds. So that explains a lot.

"Is this curable?" Is everything that comes to my mind, or all I am interested in at the moment. I don't want to re-watch the same event ever again. I didn't expect her death to have this effect on me. I didn't expect it at all.

"I'm sorry, it is not. But you can improve, maybe even live a normal life with it. Many people do." He says as he stands up, leaving me sitting on the the ground, attempting to walk out.

"Before you go, may I know your name?"

"Dallas. Dallas Yegorov."

Heyyy, this is the end of this chapter and I need to inform y'all about something. I wrote about sicknesses/illnesses in this book, and I will continue that. I need to say that I have everything from the internet and don't know much about psychology in general. So if I say something wrong, please text me on Tik tok (axliy5h) or Instagram (axliy5h)