reason to live (short story) - (UPDATED)✔️

"he's dead."

WARNING PTSD- post traumatic stress disorder

when you lose things, you gain things.
—

the distraught of my mere existence would've been a surprise. was i meant to have become the person that i am today? Elliot wouldn't know. he's crying, i'm crying. i told him i was afraid. the thought of my past replaying in ways i knew would pain the both of us.

so i set aside the stone that i'd once recall, i was hoping to do it alone. to feel and express without much gratitude to the ones i'd affect. all i've ever done was affect Elliot, neither negative nor positive. my legs shake and i ball myself into a hole.

a hole so deep that the nearest star couldn't even be seen with a microscope. a hole so deep that if i wandered alone through the darkness of my depths, i'd be sure to never return at all nor the same. it was of which we declined, the ability to feel what once was so hidden.

he's standing away. he won't come over. i don't want him to.

i release the pleads, the prayers. the scar on my mother's left cheek replaying so vividly as she screams for me to run. i was twelve, how was i supposed to know? how could i get a grip of things that i couldn't even hold together?

his hand making a smooth commotion with her face. i recall instances where multiple men would approach me from the house, their names.

Jeret

Frank

Tom

Sam

Louis

Joshua

etc.

so many men. she'd cry and scream, she'd beg for me to be okay, she'd beg misleading words for the safety of her child, she'd beg and beg and beg. "don't touch him! please i'll do anything, just don't touch my baby!" i feel a sting releasing through my lungs as i cling for the remaining air i had left.

"don't touch him. please, please." the words rolling off my tongue all at once. "please, just help me." i rock myself, finding comfort in the motion. the words continuing to whisper out of my mouth as Elliot meets my gaze.

"he's dead, i promise he can't hurt you again." he sounds scared and hurt, he sounds like he's exhausted too. "i promise." his soft words rephrasing in my head as he walks closer to pull me into a hug. i want to question him. i want to overthink, over-analyze, but instead, i believe.

for the very first time, i look at Elliot and believe.

and without hesitation, i silently swear to myself that my doubts will no longer be procured through my brain against him because after that moment, I believed.