Breaking The Bad Boy (Completed)

Chapter 13: I'm Trying, I Can't Help Lying

[A/N: Song for the chapter:
- Sia // Breathe Me]

"How's it down there?"

Edging my head closer to the gravestone, I sat down and crossed my legs over my favourite patch of grass directly in front my father. I was greeted by the soft whisper of the wind as it scattered crisp, brown leaves across my lap.

Tracing patterns on the stony ground just in front of the gravestone, I peered up at the sky and briefly acknowledged the grey skies before turning my attention back to my father. I could almost feel the weight of his molten gold eyes as I cleared my throat and began.

"The nightmares are getting worse daddy," I whispered, terrified that my mom would somehow hear me and ship me off to Dr Jillian.

A deep twist in my chest made me inhale sharply as I tried to push back the memory of my dream last night. Usually, within ten minutes of waking up the dream would disband into a mere memory; but after the horrors of last night, it was freshly etched deep into my mind. I could just about smell the awful stench of burning flesh every time I glanced down at the faint burn scars on my arm. The skin was smooth and supple compared to the dry, scarlet and peeling skin that had resulted from the tragedy eight years ago.

I rolled my sleeves down again and picked at my raw fingernails instead.

"Every night after you died I'd have the nightmares. Then they slowed down to monthly appearances but since my birthday I've been having them several times a week and it's killing me."

I latched onto a handful of grass beside me and tugged until they came loose from the ground.

"I don't know what to do. If I tell Mom she'll make me see Dr Jillian again and we both know that her suggestions don't work on me even though she's one of the best therapists in this state. After letting her in last time, the dreams became far worse and I puked all the time. I couldn't leave the house because I was crying all the time. It was one of the most horrible periods of my life. "

My fingers worked busily to shred the grass blades into green confetti that layered my black jeans as I released my hold on them, letting green flakes scatter onto my lap.

"It's not like I didn't try because I did everything Dr Jillian asked me to do. I tried talking to Mom about them, I tried writing the dreams down in a journal and I even imagined better endings but they always conclude in the same way. I end up dying like you did and it's so painful."

I broke off as I pulled my sleeves up again and studied the faded burn scars from my wrist to my elbow. They were almost gone and could only be noticed when the light reflected on them because the new layer of skin had a slight sheen to it.

"But still, every morning I wake up either choking on thick, black smoke or screaming whilst flames devour me and I can't help but feel like it should have been me who died, not you."

As I continued to confess my inner fears to my father, he listened patiently, never once interrupting, even when warm tears spilled down my cheeks and my breaths hitched.

"I just want them to s-stop. Do you t-think you ask the big guy up there to help me out? I d-don't know where else to t-turn," I choked, swiping my cheeks before concentrating on my breathing.

It was probably the only good thing that Dr Jillian had taught me: how to use breathing techniques to calm myself down in seconds. It worked with any emotion and I used it when I was sad, angry, frustrated and even scared.

"O-One."

Filling my lungs with air without forcing it in, I imagined that I was filling up a bottle so that my lungs filled up from the bottom.