THE ELITE AGENT

48. EMERALD AND BLUE.

Elena's POV:

Entanglement. Confusion. Fear.

The last one wasn't meant to be in my list but here I am, fearing about myself. These...visions, hallucinations or daymares are getting worse every day. It feels like an eternal unknown force is pushing me under the water, suffocating me to an extent I feel I am going insane.

"How long have you been having this?" Dr Jones asked, his pen held tight as he scribbled on the clipboard. I take a deep breath and let it out.

"Two."

"Just two?"

I raise my eyebrow and he shuts up. This is why I never go to a doctor. They ask questions and push you over the edge but expect you to not fall down the cliff.

"Agent Eighteen, so you're telling me that you've been having hallucinations for past two days and today, you reacted on it by screaming something which you didn't realize you did?"

"Yeah."

He removes his glasses as he placed them on the table. I see him having a deep concerned look on his face. He nods after few seconds before turning his eyes on me.

"Are the hallucinations getting worse?"

"Yes."

"How worse?"

I look up at the ceiling as I clench my teeth. Those horrible fragments of hallucination revisits my brain. Ben being shot right on his forehead, his soulless eyes wide open as dried blood was splattered on the floor. His body, cold and static, no jokes leaving his tight lips as awful rotten smell of blood hits my nose. Though it was a nightmare, I still gets chills thinking of it. And turns out, I had a massive fight with him the same day which triggered me even more.

The next hallucination had everyone screaming at me for killing my dad which I know I didn't do. Red accusing eyes glared at me. Alex, who I can always rely on for warmth, had hatred in his eyes. My whole team were having angry disappointed scowls as they screamed. No matter how many times I told them, they kept summoning me as a liar and a killer.

Worse of all, in the first vision, I revisited that day. My home. Shattered. Broken. Brunt. My mom pushing me away, so I could live a life off her sacrifice. No matter how many times I told her she would die if she stays, she didn't lend an ear to my words. I was pushed out. I stood there helpless watching the orange flames, spreading everywhere, engulfing my mother right in front of my eyes. And what I did? I just stood there.

Watching.

"Eighteen?"

I blink my eyes as I turn my gaze to the floor, my index and thumb pinching the bridge of my nose. I have seen worse. Been through worse. But going through something I fear over and over again is bruising my soul.

A strong person has her own limited time of pretense before collapsing under the heavy blow of adversity.

"It's eight out of ten," I speak loud enough for him to hear. He looks shocked. His wide eyes shows he didn't see that coming. I've never chosen to define my pain above five. So, his shock is justifiable.

"That bad?" He eyes showed pity. Something I hate just as much as the nightmares. I sit straight as I cross my arms on my chest.

"Dr Jones, I am here not for your pity but to get a proper treatment for this problem. If you don't have a solution, you might as well tell me than wasting my time."

"No, I—Eighteen, I don't pity you. I am sorry, but I didn't realize the problem is this worse."

"I wouldn't have come to you if it was not worse."