Run With The Devil

Fractured Control

Lyras pov

The session had been dragging on for hours, and I was trying my best to stay composed. The specialists were good, but their questions were relentless, probing into the darkest corners of my past. Every time they mentioned the lab, a flicker of my old emotions would ignite-anger, frustration, and a deep, seething rage that I struggled to control.

It was like the lab's ghosts were coming back to life, clawing at my sanity. My heart raced, my breath quickened, and before I knew it, I was standing up, unable to sit still any longer. I couldn't let this continue-I couldn't stay in that room with those memories and emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

In a surge of speed, I bolted from the room, a gust of wind trailing behind me. I didn't care if anyone saw me; I needed to get away. I raced down the hallway, ignoring the shocked faces of the staff and the concerned calls from Harper and the specialists. I ran straight to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me with enough force that it rattled on its hinges.

Once inside, I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath. The room felt claustrophobic, my heart pounding against my chest like a caged beast. I could feel my emotions spiraling out of control, each thought of the lab intensifying my distress.

Desperate to release some of the pent-up anger and frustration, I began to lash out at my surroundings. I smashed a few of my belongings-my personal items shattering against the walls. My reflection in the wall mirror caught my eye, and with a burst of fury, I slammed my fist into it. The glass shattered, and the jagged edges sliced into my knuckles, but I barely felt the pain. My mind was consumed by the overwhelming rage and guilt that I couldn't escape.

I stumbled back, sitting on the floor amid the broken glass and debris. My hands were bleeding, and my heart felt like it was tearing apart. I tried to calm myself, but it was futile. The memories of the lab were too fresh, the pain too intense.

I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, and let out a choked sob. I knew I was letting my emotions get the best of me, but it was hard to stop once the floodgates had opened. I could hear the distant murmurs of voices outside my room, but I was too consumed by my own turmoil to care.

As the initial wave of rage began to subside, I was left feeling drained and empty. The mirror was broken, my knuckles bruised, and the room was in disarray. I wanted to apologize to everyone for my outburst, but I felt too ashamed to face them right now.

In the silence that followed, all I could think about was how to rebuild the trust I had shattered, both with myself and with the people who had been trying to help me. I needed to find a way to manage these emotions, but right now, I was lost in the darkness of my past, unable to see a clear path forward.

Deons pov

I was buried in paperwork, deeply engrossed in a call with a potential investor when Harper burst into my office, her face a mix of panic and urgency.

"Deon, we've got a problem," she blurted out, barely pausing for breath.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain my composure as I held up a finger to signal for a moment. "Harper, I'm on a call. What's going on?"

She didn't wait for an invitation to explain. "It's Lyra. She-she had an outburst during the session. She started getting upset, and then she just sped out of the room. I tried to stop her, but she was too fast. She went straight to her room, and now... I don't know what's happening with her."

My heart sank at her words. I ended the call abruptly, throwing the papers aside. "What exactly happened?"

"During the session, they brought up her past-the lab, everything she's been through," Harper said, her voice trembling slightly. "It triggered something in her. She was getting more and more agitated, and then she just bolted. She's in her room now, and it doesn't look good."

I nodded, already moving towards the door. "Show me."

We hurried through the corridors, Harper leading the way. I could see the concern etched on her face, and it only fueled my own anxiety. Lyra had been making progress, but it seemed the weight of her past had become too much to bear all at once.

When we reached her room, I could hear the faint sound of muffled sobs and the clattering of objects. I tried the door handle, but it was locked. I banged on the door urgently.

"Lyra!" I called, my voice steady but laced with concern. "It's Deon. Open the door."

The noise inside paused for a moment, and then I heard her voice-choked, emotional. "Go away! I don't want to see anyone."

I exchanged a worried glance with Harper. "Lyra, you need to open the door. We need to talk about this."

There was a pause, then the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. The door creaked open slightly, and I pushed it the rest of the way, stepping into the room.

The sight that met me was overwhelming. Lyra was sitting on the floor amidst a mess of broken glass and scattered belongings. Her knuckles were bruised, and her eyes were red from crying. The mirror was shattered, and the room was in disarray. She looked up at me, her expression a mixture of shame and defiance.

"Lyra," I said softly, trying to keep my tone calm. "What happened?"

She struggled to her feet, looking at me with a pained expression. "I'm sorry. I couldn't control it. I didn't mean to..."

I walked over and crouched beside her, careful not to step on the broken glass. "It's okay. You're not alone in this. We're going to get through it together. But we need to talk about what triggered this. Can you tell me?"

Lyra took a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to the floor. "It was the past. Everything from the lab... it just came flooding back. I couldn't handle it."

Harper stood silently behind me, watching with a concerned expression. I reached out a hand, gently touching Lyra's arm. "We're here to help you. We just need to understand what's going on so we can find a way to help you manage it. But first, let's get you cleaned up and make sure you're okay."

Lyra nodded slowly, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry for all this. I just-" She choked on her words, unable to finish.

I stood up, helping her to her feet carefully. "Let's start by getting you cleaned up. We'll take it one step at a time."

As we helped Lyra out of the room and towards a more comfortable space, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of responsibility. Her past had created scars that were more than physical; they were deeply emotional and psychological. It was clear that she needed more than just physical help-she needed support, understanding, and time to heal.

And as I watched her, struggling to find some semblance of calm, I vowed to do whatever it took to help her overcome the ghosts of her past and rebuild the trust that had been shattered.