the night of june 2nd // sanders sides ✔

36 : the plastic bag [part 1]

*TW: Discussion on PTSD and therapy*

Virgil held the plastic bag in his hands. At first, he was skeptical. Maybe it wasn't what he thought it was.

But when he opened the bag which had an intimidating looking, half filled, orange bottle and a smaller plastic bag inside, he pulled out the smaller one and hesitantly opened it.

Taking a whiff of the contents of the back brought him back to the night of June 2nd.

It smelled like the party.

If he hadn't gone to that party, he wouldn't have known what that smelled like.

So Virgil realized that something had happened that night that fucked with his memory, because things were starting to piece together.

It couldn't have been the alcohol that got to him. That night was so vivid in his mind. He remembered every little detail.

But did he?

Declan walked into the room, drying his hair. He was only wearing black sweatpants, as he just got out of the shower. "Why does it smell like weed?"

Virgil shoved the bag back into the drawer. "I don't know," he said far too nervously.

And, of course, Declan saw right through that. He opened the drawer which Virgil not-so-subtly closed and sighed at the sight.

"Sorry..."

Declan shrugged. "It's fine. Not mine anyway."

"Whose-"

"That information is confidential."

Virgil flushed and looked away. "Okay."

The detective noticed Virgil was shaking and put a thick, fluffy blanket around him. He spoke quietly then. "You don't need to be afraid of me."

Virgil was glad Jennie wasn't there to see him like this. His neighbor for years offered to watch her while he was at Declan's because the neighbor had a small daughter  who loved Jennie.

"I know," he replied, just as quietly. He turned around. "I need to tell you something. I mean, right now, I don't know if it's important but it feels like it. Kind of."

"Sure."

He made Virgil lay back on the bed.

"Relax, Virge."

Virge.

That sounded cool.

"The night Roman was killed," he started, "I think something happened to me that filtered out some of what really happened. I know I saw Roman dead, I know what the murderer wore, I know I came from a party and I was drunk but it's all so clear in my head, so I couldn't have been super drunk, and I wasn't even that hungover the next morning. I don't know... Just, something happened and I'm trying to remember, because when I opened that bag, something clicked. I know that smell of weed from the party I was at, but it followed me the whole night, but I only drank. I never did any drugs that night, at least that I remember, but that smell is just so..."

"What?"

"I don't know how to describe it. It's like bad nostalgia. Something clicked too, back when I got arrested and found out someone had planted the gun in my car. And when Logan yelled at me for telling you guys it was him who framed me, I felt it. A combination of these three things happened that night, I'm sure, but I don't know exactly what it was, and I need that memory back."

Declan had a look of soft sympathy on his face.

It scared Virgil a little.

The detective scooted closer and put an arm around Virgil. "You're traumatized."

"I mean, yeah, I saw my best friend dead on a sidewa-"

"No, like, you should go see someone."

"What?"

"That's what a traumatic experience can do to you. You lose the memory of what went down because it's that bad. Now, that's not always the case, but I think it could have happened."

"Really?"

He nodded. Gently, he told him, "You should see someone to check out what's wrong."

"You think I have... PTSD or something?" Virgil asked, his heart racing. Too fast.

"I don't have the right to diagnose you. But I'm worried about you." He put a hand on Virgil's cheek. "I want you to be okay. Better to find out now, right?"

Virgil didn't see the ghost of Roman then, but he felt it.

Roman was telling him yes.

So he nodded.

All while Logan was typing away on his laptop. He was helping to assign certain kids into different teams.

When he came across a kid whose last name was Walsh, he had the overwhelming urge to move him to a different team, but he decided against it since many of the boy's friends were on the team Logan taught on.

The cold metal of the engagement ring, still on a chain around his neck, pressed through the shirt and seemed to send a shiver throughout his whole body.

He closed his laptop and put his head in his hands, sighing.

His eyes hurt.

He was cramming in as much summer work as he could so he could spend the rest of the vacation to cope.

His eyes hurt.

Fatigue dragged him down, along with the everlasting punch in the stomach that was grief.

His eyes hurt.

He turned off the light. Maybe then his eyes would hurt less.

His head hurt.

His eyes were red.

His eyes hurt.

He felt detached from the world around him, his vision foggy.

Logan Decker needed a break.