Institutionalized

Mac, Day 10

The next few days dragged their feet like Howie got out of bed. Howie acting dead and uninterested in me or anything made for a bleak existence, I had to admit. Of course, I would never tell him that; it would do nothing but harm.

He would answer if spoken to, but rarely did he speak first. The first 24 hours I couldn't help but look at his bandaged forearms. I couldn't believe I caused that. I had always been there for him on the worst of days, and I had to go and leave him. How selfish of me. Given, it had been a rough week-- a rough month-- a rough 3 months, honestly. Suddenly I was taken back to 3 months ago.

"Mom... mom, please!" I cried, "I won't tell anyone! Don't do it... please... I'm your son... you gave birth to me, you love me, I love you... what happened?"

My mother's hands shook as she pointed a pistol at me. There were tears trickling down her face. She blinked hard.

"You don't love me, I'm not an idiot. I know I've hurt you countless times. You can't be trusted with my secret. No one can know the truth. It's too late."

My heart beat jack-hammered in my chest. I couldn't believe this was happening. What could I do? All I could think was that I couldn't die like this... I was going to die like this. I was going to die. Right now. The gun clicked. The anticipation was so thick that I couldn't breathe. Should I run? Did I have a choice? Just standing here, I was going to die no matter what. Just run. Legs, move god dammit! I couldn't move. I was too scared.

There was a knock on the door.

"Mac! Wanna go to that arcade we saw a few days ago?!" Howie called.

My mother glanced back at the door. We were standing in the living room, which was right next to the door.

"Don't. Say. A word." she hissed at me.

She waited. Howie knocked rang the doorbell several times. She waited for him to leave. Now was my chance. My phone dinged in the kitchen. I ran for the door screaming my head off.

"RUN!"

I heard a loud bang as I opened the door and another one rang in the air as I bolted. At first I didn't feel it, but a searing pain leaked into my shoulder and spread. Can't stop. I looked back. Howie was running too. So was my mother. She shot the rest of the magazine empty after I turned around, missing me with each bullet.

"HELP! SOMEONE CALL THE COPS!!" I shouted as I ran through my neighborhood, hoping someone would hear me and do it. I hadn't grabbed my phone to do it myself. I ran to the nearest public place, a publix on the corner of my street. I grabbed the first person I saw,

"Call 911, I've been shot, please," I begged.

The look of horror in her eyes as she pulled out her phone had permanently ingrained itself in my brain. After that, an ambulance came and picked me up. They were all so dreadfully desensitized to something that had left me so distraught. They saw things like this every day. I remembered all of the whole experience. The worst part was that I hadn't been hallucinating. I hadn't been delusional, it was all real, Howie and others had assured me.

"Mac?" Dayo was looking at me, frowning, "What's wrong?"

I realize I'm crying. Sobbing, actually. Gotta love PTSD flashbacks. "N-Nothing, I was just, just having a flashback, but it's over now... I'm fine..."

She crouched down and wiped my tears,

"Why don't you go get cleaned up? You can go and calm down in your room. Would you like some xanax?"