Writing prompt answers

I Had to Lose Them

mj7194 here ya go. Sorry it's kinda short, but I didn't really know what else to do with your prompt. Hope you enjoy this, even though it's awful.

"I...um...I don't know." My words were cracked and stale. They didn't flow like they normally did when I was talking, but instead they jumped around and messed with my voice. The officer sighed and repeated herself,
"You don't know why three people are dead? Why three people you know are dead? Even when you were there?" She sounded more impatient the more she talked, and I was sure if I denied it much longer she would lose it on me. I took a deep breath, trying to get my words to sound confident.
"You're right. I do know. But I don't know why." She looked a little relived.
"Okay. That's a start. What do you know?"
"I know my three closest friends were killed tonight. Ashley, Jason, and Sam. I know they were killed by a sniper that's gone now. I don't know why though. Or why they didn't kill me."

Week 3:
Why didn't they kill me? The thought had been bouncing around inside my head for weeks, more so since I was administered to this mental institution for PTSD. The nightmares haven't gotten better, and the flashes I see even when I'm awake haven't either. On the other hand, the nightmares and flashbacks haven't gotten worse, and my anxiety has gotten better.

Why didn't they kill me? Why didn't they kill me? Why didn't they kill me? Why didn't the-
"Emily? Emily Worthington?" My thoughts were interrupted by the familiar voice of my counselor across the cafeteria. I stood,
"Present." She nodded, writing something down on the clipboard she always kept with her.
"It's time."

Week 7:
Why didn't they kill me? The thought still plagued my mind as I sat in the cafeteria again, staring at my food but not eating it. The nightmares are still here, though dissipating, slowly. The flashbacks aren't so bad either. I guess you could say I'm getting better. Hopefully, I'm getting better.

Week 10:
Why didn't they kill me? I was surprised when I sat down that the thought had resurfaced. It was becoming less and less of a problem as my weeks here grew. I didn't even know why I was still here. I didn't have anymore nightmares, my flashbacks were nonexistent, and my anxiety hadn't bubbled up at all for at least two weeks.

Week 12:
I'm glad they didn't kill me, I thought as I walked out of the institution doors and towards my car. Three months, and now I'm done. I relived how much better if a person I had become. I was better than I was, even before the shooting. I wish my friends could see me now. They should've been able to. I guess I had to lose them, to be better. Which sucks, but sometimes we must lose something to gain something else. I wish I hadn't lost them, but maybe my life will be better, now. I hope so.