ELBINA

Chapter 2

A gasp left my lips as my eyes jolted open. My breaths came out heavy and loud.

Why couldn't I forget?

It didn't seem to matter how long ago it was, it never gets easier.

I'd hoped that three years would be enough, enough time for me to move on and accept it for what it is. That they were gone... and there's nothing I can do about it. My hair was matted to my face, the sweat clung to each strand forcing it to sit uncomfortably against my skin.

It wasn't until I moved to sit up that I noticed the wetness of my pyjama bottoms. Warm and hot, soaking into the sheets below me.

Shaking my head, I wiped the tears from my eyes. Quickly jumping out of my bed in frustration because this was the second time this month this had happened. I was too old for this, right?

It's embarrassing but I really can't help it. I just get so scared that it happens before I can even begin to wake up. And though the nightmares had become less frequent, they were not any less terrifying.

I made fast work of pulling my clothes off, grimacing at the urine-soaked material as I peeled them off me. I flicked on the lamp by the bed, illuminating the entire room so when I turned to the digital clock beside my bed 3:43 am hit me in the face. I couldn't wake anyone up with the shower, instead I decided on grabbing a change of dry clothes till the morning.

I began stripping the covers from the bed, hoping to avoid June knowing again, she'd seen the covers two weeks ago. I can't let her see these ones too, otherwise she'll send me back to the therapist again and I just think that seeing them makes it worse.

My head throbbed relentlessly with the headache, presumably from dehydration after I'd sweated and cried it out in my sleep. As I removed the duvet cover, I glanced around my room, to the window where the only light from outside came from the glowing streetlight from across the street. My eyes shift to the walls, still plain white since I hadn't made much of a change.

Maybe, even after all this time, part of me thought that my brother would change his mind and come back for me... but he hasn't even called, never mind visited. I tried for months afterwards to call him, but he'd switched his phone number.

Now all I get is that stupid women telling me his phone number doesn't exist.

Next to the window, June had put up one of my paintings. She got me to paint or draw every Sunday now to try and integrate me with the other kids, to give me something to do. Get me using my hands like she always seemed to say... I liked it, not that I'd let her know that.

But it didn't help me one bit, not with what she thought I needed it for anyway.

This painting, not that she realised it, or maybe she did and just didn't want to say it, was a lot of blue and black colours. At the time she'd said it was abstract or something like that but those were the only colours I could think to use. To me, it resembled water and how I sat beneath it.

How I hear a scattering of words and conversations, all muffled and empty. It's how it's felt for a long time, since that day in all honesty, some days are easier... most aren't. The colours were randomly smashed onto the page, portraying the angry and thunderous ocean. It probably sounded stupid, but that doesn't change anything.

Now finished with the covers I brought them into a ball, grabbing my pyjamas along with me. I tried to ignore the strong smell of urine as I carefully tip-toed my way out of my bedroom and into the hallway. I knew this landing like the back of my hand now, so I could manoeuvre my way silently to the stairs.

It was as I hit the landing, turning on the hallway light so I can see and bypassing the front door that I heard it.

A crunch.