Stigma | h.s #Wattys2016

Chapter 9

"Josh? Please open the door." I said knocking on the wooden door. I could hear him shuffling through something, papers or old pictures.

"Josh.. please." I knocked once more. I was about to give up and go back to my parents. I began to turn away when the door opened just enough for me to see his face.

"Hi." I said smiling. It was such a fake smile, I could feel myself trying to keep it but sadness took over my face right away.

He opened the door more so I could walk in. I nodded and went to sit down at his desk chair. His bed was made, it never was. "Have you slept?"

"No." he simply answered. Right.

"I'm sorry." were the only words I could say. My throat ached, I wanted to say more. I wanted to say everything that was on my mind, I wanted to repeat everything I had said to Harry, but I couldn't.

"I know." he replied. I was hoping for more, maybe an apology back for telling my parents without talking to me first. I know I sounded selfish but I have a right to know things don't I?

I bit my lip and looked around his room. The blinds were closed, his room was actually clean and felt good to be in. Usually his room was disgusting and I was never planning on coming in here. Ever.

"Your room is really clean.."

"I had nothing else to do. When you're worrying about your missing sister you do things you never thought you would do right? I pretty much gave up looking for you. I either knew you would come back or you would fall off the face of this planet." he told me standing up.

Missing sister. Gave up looking for me.

I had nothing to say. He was right, they all were. I got up and walked out of the room. I didn't go back to my parents, I only stayed in my room, isolating myself from them all over again.

I was called to dinner but I politely declined saying I had a late lunch. I spent my evening searching up doctors, therapist, places for me to go and get help. I found plenty of doctors that have claimed they have seen this before and they were the best in the state and or country, but I sure as hell had a hard time believing that.

"Olivia?" my father asked knocking on my door. I was debating whether or not I should turn the computer off or pretend I was sleeping so he wouldn't bother me. But I felt I needed to talk to him.

"Come in."

My father came in with a tray of these Swedish cookies my grandmother used to make and 2 classes of milk. I smiled at him. We used to do this all the time when I was little, he would come in my room at night and we would share about or days. Father to daughter. We haven't done it in a few years and I really did miss it.

"I thought you'd like some. Your mother made them, they're actually good." he said winking. My mother wasn't the greatest at cooking or baking, this better not kill me I thought.

"Funny." I said laughing with him. I took the tray and carried it over to my nightstand. I sat up against the headboard and took a drink of the milk. The cold liquid felt great going down my hot throat.

"I'm glad you're back Liv." my father told me taking a bite out of the cookie, crumbs fell onto my bed and I laughed brushing them off. "Sorry."

"Me too. I shouldn't have left. It was a stupid mistake." I said taking a cookie.

"I won't argue with that." he laughed. "Can you tell me? I want to hear it from you."

"You want to hear about the nightmares?" I questioned, my heart began racing.

"If you don't mind. I get it if you don't want to."

I looked him in the eyes, he hasn't slept either. I really didn't know what an impact I had on all of these people. They were worried sick about me, most of them having slept, even if they tried it was probably horrible. They were doing things they've never done. They were miserable.

"Black figures come into my room every night. Attacking me, mentally and physically. They hold me down, scratch me, hit me, do anything to hurt me. I have no control over it. I can't move, every time I try to scream nothing comes out. I'm helpless."

My fathers eyes were red and tears began streaming down his face. I felt bad telling him this, I was his only daughter, second born. I was the baby of the family and I couldn't imagine if anything happened to me and I had to leave them.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry we didn't do anything sooner." he told me. Don't, don't blame you and mom for this dad. You can't do that.

"Don't blame yourself. There was really nothing you could do. It was too late by the time I had even known what was going on." It was true, I was young when the dreams came. I never knew how to handle it, i didn't want to tell anyone because I figured they would think I was crazy. I didn't realize that I was the one harming myself, I always thought someone was doing it to me or I had gotten them from doing something but I never noticed them.

"I'm getting the help." I told him reaching for his hand.