Fated to the Mafia

Chapter 8

February 5, 2020

I cry, reaching out for my family, as I'm being held back by Zane. I'm watching in horror as a loyal servant of the Valencia family murders them. One by one, their throats are slit, causing the blood to gush out like a waterfall.

"NO!" I scream, waking myself up. Panting, I realize that it was only a dream. Dr. Turner says that the nightmares won't really go away, but that they'll become fewer and fewer. I think seeing that figure the other day caused me to have this nightmare.

Thankfully, my family hasn't been killed. Zane had warned me a long time ago that it was a possibility though, and that scared me. They are still in danger, even though I'm not in the picture anymore.

I can't contact them, for if I do, Zane will find out. I don't know what will happen to me if they find me. All I know is that it will not be good; not for me, or for them. I can't even begin to imagine what will happen to Joy.

I look at my little digital clock on the side table next to me.

3:05 AM

"Ugh." I say to myself and sit up. I walk to Joy's room and peek in. She's still sleeping soundly, despite my outburst. I quietly close her door and step in front of the sink, splashing some cold water on my face.

Now that I'm awake and anxious, I grab my phone to message my therapist.

Me: Hey, I need an emergency session please.

I send the text and hope that she is able to see me tomorrow. I know she won't answer right now, but she will when she wakes up. I then walk to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water, chugging it down.

Just as I start to walk back to my bed, I hear a sound from the window just above the sink. I freeze in place and I breathe in shakily, turning towards the sink. I turn the light in the kitchen off so that whatever is out there can't see me.

I'm too afraid to pull back the curtains on the window. As I'm staring towards the window, I see a black shadow pass by. I run to my front door to ensure that it's locked. Breathing heavily, I slide down the door onto the floor, holding my knees up to my chest.

I start to cry, remembering how I felt when I first escaped. Every little noise I heard or unexpected voice caused panic attacks. It wasn't until I found Dr. Turner that I was able to start healing.

I sit there in the darkness, the echoes of my own screams still reverberating in my mind. Sweat beads on my forehead, mingling with the tears that stain my cheeks. The nightmare may have ended, but its grip on my soul remains unyielding.

With the echoes of my cries still ringing in my ears, I draw in a deep, shuddering breath, willing myself to find some semblance of calm. My hands, which had been trembling moments before, now steady themselves against the cool surface of the floor.

Closing my eyes, I focus on the rhythm of my breath, each inhale and exhale tethering me to the present moment. Slowly, deliberately, I count each heartbeat, grounding myself in the steadiness of my own pulse. With each passing moment, the grip of panic loosens its hold on me, replaced by a sense of resolve.

Drawing upon the coping mechanisms Dr. Turner had taught me, I begin to engage my senses, anchoring myself in the world around me. I focus on the sensation of the cool floor beneath me and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air.

Opening my eyes, I allow the darkness to envelop me, embracing it as a shield against the unknown. In the stillness of the night, I find solace in the familiar contours of my surroundings.

With a newfound sense of awareness, I rise from my position on the floor, my movements deliberate and purposeful. The fear that had once gripped me is now muffled, covered up by the new coping skills I have learned.