Politico

Shock

Emily's POV

Shock is defined psychologically as damage to an individual's mind that arises from a severely distressing event that often exceeds their ability to cope with thoughts and emotions on the matter. Whatever coping mechanism you've learned throughout your years on this planet seemingly dissolve within an instant. Your mind, your body, and your soul freeze up because it's safer that way. It's safer to create a fortress around yourself than to have to deal with what's right in front of you. Sometimes it takes awhile to snap out of it. Other times it's a simple reminder that sends it all crashing down again, leaving you defenseless.

Fortunately for me, after my many years of protective seclusion within the invisible walls I've built around me, I became completely numb the moment I realized that Alison has Peter's heart. Like a flick of a light switch, my mind instantly shut off, protecting me from feeling anything. I quietly retreated from their home, walked directly to my car, sent them a text that I was throwing up and wouldn't be able to make dinner, and then drove back to my apartment.

I thought that I had been able to ward off the army of emotions banging on the drawbridge to my inner thoughts, threatening to invade at any moment. I thought that I was in the clear. I thought that all of those years of practice had prepared me for a moment like this.

Boy was I wrong.

Oddly enough, my breaking point came when I took my first steps into my apartment. Looking around at the spotless, all white interior sparked a sudden flood of rage. Like an active volcano, all of my emotions seemed to burst out from within, causing chaos and destruction in the process. After a loud, guttural yell, I immediately grabbed the first thing I saw and threw it across the room. Anything I could get my hands on quickly became shattered pieces as I continued to throw things with all of my might. It didn't matter if the coffee table cost $10,000....I just smashed it's glass into tiny pieces. The 50 inch TV once firmly mounted on the wall wasn't even safe from my wrath.

My mission was clear. The illusion of perfection would exist no more. I was hell bent on destroying everything in my apartment. I was determined to erase every memory of her. While it felt cathartic to stab the giant butcher's knife into the Italian leather sofa and rip it to shreds, my deeper feelings began to rear their ugly heads.

Every pure memory of her in this place needed to be altered to reflect the true reality. Everything felt dirty. Everything felt tainted. Everything felt like a lie.

She was everywhere. There wasn't one item in my apartment that didn't hold a memory of her. When I look at the sofa, I relive the memory of all of the times we made out like a couple of horny teenagers. When I look at my kitchen, I relive the memory of cooking together, laughing, and dancing cheek to cheek to the sound of Frank Sinatra blaring throughout the apartment. But when I look at that bed...I die a little more inside. How many times did I rest my head on her chest... Listening to the sound of her heart beating rhythmically and with such purpose? How many times was I so close to a piece of my brother yet was too much of a fool to realize it? They knew all along. More importantly, she knew all along. And here I am...some naive fool that was played like a fiddle. I can't hell but wonder how long she was planning on keeping this from me. When was she going to use this to hurt me, tell me it was all a lie, and that she was just using me for some sort of personal gain? This must be some giant game to her. She didn't really forgive me. I'm just some pawn in her masterful game of chess. How could I be so damn stupid?

Like peeling back the layers of an onion, this rampage was a process that I needed to walk through. I needed to reveal what was really behind each layer. The outermost layers were filled with anger, feelings of betrayal, and humiliation.  Surprise, fear, confusion, vulnerability, grief, and all consuming sadness form the inner layers and reflect my true feelings. These raw and powerful emotions eventually slow down my violent and destructive episode to what I've been reduced to now.

The thought of it all became to much for me to handle so here I am...sitting on the shower floor, feeling the warm water patter against my clothing as I drown myself in an expensive bottle of tequila. As I take another long chug of the devil's juice, I promise myself something. I will allow myself to cry every last tear that will flood from my eyes. I will drink myself further than I have ever done before. I will drink till I can't feel. I will drink till my body begs for mercy and causes me to blackout. I will do anything to release myself from the hell that I'm living in right now.

After God only knows how long, I begin to find myself slipping in and out of consciousness. I'm almost there. I'm beginning to feel less and less pain. Taking a final swig, tasting the mixture of my weepy, salty tears and the potent tequila, I lean my head back against the cold, hard tile and close my eyes.

"Universe.. do whatever you want with me... I can't do it anymore" I whisper as I feel myself slip further and further into an alcohol induced state of physical depression.

Spencer's POV

"Knock knock" I say loudly as I unlock the front door to Emily's apartment with Aria in toe.

"We heard you were sick and brought you some soup" Aria adds as I open the door and immediately gasp at the sight before me.

"What the hell" Aria says sounding completely flabbergasted.

As my eyes scan the room, I'm in shock of it's current state. The usually spotless apartment now looks like a bomb went off inside it. There's glass shattered everywhere, red wine stains all over the walls, floor, and furniture, and everything appears to be destroyed beyond repair. Stepping over toppled furniture, careful not to slip and fall on the numerous, dangerous hazards that line our pathway, Aria and I make our way to Emily's bedroom.

"Em? Are you here" Aria asks loudly.

"Shh" I interrupt abruptly the moment I detect a sound coming from her bathroom.

"The water's running in the bathroom" I state gesturing towards the partially closed doorway.

Aria and I creep closer to the doorway and cautiously open it, only to gasp in horror once again.

Emily is passed out on the shower floor, loosely gripping an almost empty bottle of alcohol. The steady stream of water cascading from the shower head continually pelts her face, rinsing a virtually endless flood of vomit from her mouth.

"Oh my God! Emily" I yell as I rush to her side and Aria quickly turns off the water.

Grabbing her face in my hands, I forcefully and repeatedly smack the side of her face as I scream, "Em... Em... Damnit Emily, wake up!"

"Aria, grab some dry clothes. Let's get her out of these. She's completely soaked" I order as I hoist Emily up on her feet and struggle to carry her towards her bed.

After throwing her down on the bed, Aria and I frantically change Emily and continue to talk to her... anything to get her to wake up.

"Should we call 911" Aria asks nervously as she begins to cry.

"No. Call Dr. Bernstein. He lives a few blocks away. He can be here in minutes" I reply handing Aria my phone.

In the following minutes as we wait for the doctor, I do my best to keep my composure as I hold a still unconscious Emily in my arms. I count her shallow respirations and weak pulse every minute that goes by and pray to God that she doesn't die in my arms.

"Call him again Aria" I order the moment I realize Emily is starting to decline even more. "Tell him to hurry. I can feel her slipping away" I add as I feel a few stray tears break through and fall down my cheeks.

"Don't leave us Emily. We love you. We need you" I chant as I run my fingers through her soaking wet hair. "Please stay strong".