Greys anatomy imagines and preferences.

Imagine #3

{Owen hunt- the thing I can't unsee}

"You are worthless and pathetic!" Slap!

"You can never amount to anything!" Kick!

"I never wanted kids anyways!" Punch!

~~~~

You wake up in a horrid sweat and tears that keep falling. That was one of the worst days of you life. The day you literally watched your father kill your older brother. He was an alcoholic, bad, after our mother died we were forced to live with him. He hated us. My brother always tried to keep me out of his way but I still have scars from the smashed beer bottles and cigarette burns.

I've tried to live as if the past never happened but that's not working very well.

I probably would have died too but the cops found out and I was placed in foster care.

I grew distant from everyone. The foster family I stayed with took me to a psychiatric hospital were I was in turn diagnosis with PTSD. If someone raises there hand to quickly I flinch and whimper. If someone smells like alcohol I tremble. I go to meetings every week but I haven't told my story. I'm to afraid.

I walk towards the building were the daily meetings were held. I walk in and sit in the same spot and listen to everyone else's story.

"Hi my name is...." Soon I came to the realization that there was a new face in the crowd. After several people had spoken the mysterious red head stood.

"My names Owen, Owen Hunt. I'm a trauma surgeon, but I also suffer from PTSD from my time in the war. I seen so many people I knew and cared about die. Sometimes I wish that I would've too. I just got back and truth is. I haven't told anyone. I can't. But that's all I needed to say." He sits. The leader of the meeting asks if anyone else would like to share then glances at me. I remain quite. He tells everyone the meetings over and most people pile out the same door they came in from.

I stay put not wanting to get in anyone's way.

"Hey? I'm sorry I was just wondering we're the sponsor went."

"Oh he usually leaves pretty quickly. He does another meeting in the next town over."

"Oh. Well I was just gonna ask when the next meeting was?"

"They are daily."

"Oh.." He nodded.

"Are you a sponsor?"

"No why?"

"I just noticed you didn't speak today."

"Oh it's nothing. People have there own problems they don't need to hear about mine..."

"That's why we are here." I stay silent this guy is persistent.

"Alright well if you ever want anyone to listen I'm here." He get up.

Without instinct. I start talking...

"I was abused!" I shout as he is almost at the door. He stops and turns back towards me and leans his back against the wall.

"My mom passed away when I was 5 I had a brother who was 9. Anyways, we were forced to go live with our dead beat dad. He was an alcoholic, bad. He wasn't happy at all. In fact he drank even more. He started taking out all the anger he had out on us. My brother always tried to take the most of the hits and he did. When he turned 17 and I was 13, he wanted to stand up to him but he picked a bad day." Tears brimmed, threatening to fall.

"Dad had gotten fired, learned his 'girlfriend' was cheating on him, and I needed braces and glasses. He drank more than ever. He was beyond pissed. Anyways him and my brother got into a huge argument and he snapped..." I freeze at the memory.

"He punched, kicked, slapped, spit, and pushed him. We lived in a small apartment on the fifth floor, a huge window lined the wall beside the door. He pushed him further and further back. His last words to him were 'now you won't be able to protect her'. He shoved him hard one last time and the windowed smashed everywhere. He was dead before the ambulance even arrived. I was put into foster care but that event still haunts me. I'm so afraid that he will get out and come find me. I guess I'm just not comfortable letting people know in case he know people. Sounds stupid I know."

"Not stupid at all, that's bringing cautious. I don't blame. That would be terrifying. I hate that you had to see your own brother get killed."

"You had to watch a lot more people get killed..."

"It doesn't matter. We all have a past. The amount of people we seen get killed doesn't measure how bad our PTSD is. You seen something that deeply effected you. Because of that I just want to say I'm sorry. No one deserves to feel unsafe and no one deserves to be stuck in the past that they want nothing more than to forget."

"Thank you for listening."

"Thank you for trust me." I smile and hug him.

"For the first time I feel safe..."

"I'm glad." I smile and he smiles too.

This imagine was requested by huntsanatomy I really hope this lines up with what you were thinking.

I hope you enjoyed it and sorry it took so long 😁.