In This Place

Losing Track of Time

When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.—CS Anderson

Cory started to get off the couch then stopped. A nightmarish horror stole over her and that helpful tequila-fueled voice inside her head even sounded a little scared.

You can't fix this, You can't fix this...

The last time she'd felt this way was watching her daddy throw dirt on 'Chelle's grave.

She reached out a hand towards Kris, why she didn't know, but the girl quickly shook her head and moved farther away. One arm came up and crossed protectively across her breasts. She looked down and Cory watched her struggle to erase the look of fear on her face and replace it with her patented stoic expression, and in an instant Cory understood. The stoic expression was used to keep out everything Kris might let in that she couldn't handle.

And, right now, she couldn't handle Cory

"Kris...I'm sorry." She whispered, then looked down because she simply couldn't look at the frightened girl another moment longer. Black dots bloomed in her vision as she stared down at the couch, and she thought she might be passing out.

Good

Unfortunately, her vision cleared, and she raised her head when she heard Kris's tremulous voice.

"Would...would you pl...please...hand me...me...my sh...shirt."

Cory picked up the girl's sweater and tossed it to her. She was afraid to go any closer. Because she knew what was going on. And her not liking it didn't figure into the equation. When she'd been in Ashland, she'd had to go to counseling, and she'd gone because it broke up the monotony of her day. Kiddie prison, once she got all settled in on her shitty little bed and figured out when the least amount of guards was around so she could use the toilet in her room (cell)...was boring.

Of course, she'd been kept segregated. Amongst all the car jackers, dopers, and burglars, her cutting her daddy's throat with a straight razor had made her the prom queen of the entire housing unit. So, she'd gone to counseling simply to get out of her room and see the outdoors and some different faces.

But despite herself, she'd learned a few things. Like what PTSD was and what a flashback looked like. And, of course, the many things that could cause PTSD. She knew a lot about it, causes, treatments, and coping skills. What she didn't know...was what to do when she was the one that caused the flashback in the first place.

"Cory...I'm...I'm...sorry. I don't...don't know what hap...happened."

Kris had a bewildered look in her face as she slipped her sweater over her head. She stayed put and Cory noticed that she glanced around the room as though she'd never seen it before.

"No. Don't apologize. Are you okay?" Cory asked gently. She watched as Kris struggled to conjure up her trademark stoicism but failed, miserably. She gave Cory a quick glance, one look then away, and Cory saw a flash of abject terror but more than that, the look told Cory there would be a long road ahead for her and Kris.