Thanatophobia (fear of dying)

Breakdown

I was on the couch, dying of boredom, and wondering if living under the same roof as a murderer, but doing nothing to stop him, would give me bad karma. I sighed. Who knew being kidnapped could be so tiresome and, well, boring?

That was when I heard a violent slamming of the front doors. The book I’d been trying to read fell to the floor as I jumped up, letting the book slide to the ground, pages bent at awkward angles.  

However I paid it no notice and whipped my head in the direction of the sound to see a haggard-looking Elliot leaning against the wall. One arm was holding him up, the other covering his face from view. He leaned over and began tugging at his hair as if in deep pain.

Hesitantly, I tiptoed towards him. He didn’t move to acknowledge me. I cleared my throat. He was statuesque.

“A-Are you okay?” I asked, not sure exactly what I was supposed to do.

He chuckled morosely. “Well I’m just dandy,” His mouth twisted down in a sick mix between a smile and a frown. I blanched and took a step back in fear as the rank smell of alcohol hit me.

He chuckled again before stumbling forward. “That’s right; you should be scared of me,”

I gasped as he fell into me, so that I was forced to support him. I grunted, not up to holding the weight.

“Elliot…” I warned.

He righted himself again, using my shoulders for support. Suddenly, faster than I thought he could move in his drunken state, he encircled my waist with his arms and leaned down, burying his head into my chest.

I coughed faintly, trying to get him to snap out of it.

“I miss you Carlea…” He mumbled.

“There there…it’s alright,” I mumbled, patting his head awkwardly.

“I’m such a hypocrite,” He muttered.

“I- “ I was at a loss for words. Who was I to interfere with a drunken man’s ramblings?

I became more uncomfortable by the minute, until I just couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Elliot I really need you to get off of me,” I protested, trying to lightly push him away.

He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. “I’m a really bad guy.”

“No…you’re not,” I mumbled, gnawing on the inside of my cheek.

“Liar,” He barked, laughing. “I ruined your life, kitten. You hate me. It doesn’t even matter how I feel inside, what I do - you’ll hate me just the same. No matter what.”

“No I won’t…” I soothed.

He fixed a serious expression on me, “I’m not an idiot.” He stood up brushing himself off, but soon stumbled into the wall again. I jumped; my arms out and ready to catch him.

When he started laughing again, I felt my heart restart in my chest. Why I was so concerned for his safety, I have no idea. I creased my brows in confusion.

And then I noticed that a steady stream of tears was rolling down Elliot’s face.

“He was so little. He couldn’t even walk yet,” He stuttered, “and then-then the scream. The eyes…the…the…” Suddenly his expression transformed into to one of utter despair. As his face crumpled, he slowly sunk to his knees. He covered his face with his hands, harsh sobs wracking his body.

I stood, there transfixed. It was like a car accident. No matter how terrible it is, you just can’t stop watching, frozen in horror.

Every sob that rang through the room was another pang through my heart. Maybe he was suffering after all…No, not maybe: He was suffering.