P.T.S.D |mashton

At Home With Him In My Arms

Ashton's pov

It was as if the world could have collapsed and I'd be the only one hurt. As if the sky could fall but only above my head. I woke up feeling like if I died in that moment I would be okay with it. By now I was mindlessly wandering around, my feet felt heavy and my mind was broken into pieces, my brain practically ashes littering my skull due to the explosion of my thoughts.

It's a terrible feeling. As if any source of happiness and every purpose to live has been drained from my body. I was stumbling every five seconds, my head was spinning, my mouth dry, every muscle and bone in my body throbbing horribly. Maybe if I took a blade and ran it across my skin enough times all of the thinking and aggression would go away. Or maybe I could find a tall enough building, it's not like anyone would care.

I hate this feeling. I don't want to die, but there's something inside of me screaming at me to just end it all, the pain, the anger, the symptoms, it's all too much. I can't handle the screaming, the voices, the anger, it get's harder with ever passing day, and I can't help but think, that one day I'll snap. That one day the anger, and the past with all come bubbling to the surface like hot molten lava and I won't be able to stop it, I won't be able to fight it off and someone will end up getting hurt, or I'll end up hurting myself. It's a terrible burden to bare, it's my burden.

It was Friday when things got a bit easier. The thoughts were going away but I was avoiding something. I knew exactly what that thing was, or more like who it was, but I didn't want to face him. He knows too much, I'm getting too comfortable with him. But he gives off this beautiful glow that seems to brighten everything, it's like a warmth that radiates from his bright smile, and I was loving it. I felt at home with him in his arms, but my symptoms are uncontrollable, I wouldn't be able to stop myself if a flashback became too much.

Then there's the possibility of him forcing me to tell him, and with that little pout of his I wouldn't be able to keep it a secret. Then he might leave, and I don't want him to leave. This has gotten out of hand and I don't even really know the boy. It's like his presence and the fact that he exists is enough to keep me on my toes, like the possibility of ever becoming close to him is giving at least part of my life purpose. I couldn't shake him from my mind, when we kissed at the party, how he tasted of vodka and chocolate, how his colorful head felt pressed against my lap, how all I can feel when I think of him is warmth. It's an awful yet magnificent outcome of a stupid spin the bottle game.

Thoughts upon thoughts of the boy swarmed my head as I sat on a dusty old couch in the basement of a person I didn't quite know the name of. Calum informed me of another party and with the thoughts in my head I didn't feel like saying no, so I let the tan boy drive me to a house and pour me a drink. There was already a bubbly feeling in my stomach but with the alcohol everything seemed ten times calmer, my thoughts were simmering into a distant rumble of problems. There was a red solo cup in my hand, my other resting on someone's hip, the liquid resting in the cup splashing against the sides as the person attached their lips to my neck, straddling my lap as if they've known me for years.

There was a guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach but I couldn't think clear enough the stop the person. The pair of lips were soft and slightly chapped, reminding me of Michael's, but these lips were thinner than Michael's plump lips. I finally opened my eyes, focusing in on the girl in my lap, her short, skin tight dress riding up past her hips. Any other day the sight would have been pleasing, but I don't do one night stands, and even though I'm bisexual, I didn't like the way she was kissing me. It made me feel unusually guilty and all I could think of is 'what would Michael think if he saw this?'. I gently pushed the girl off of me, ignoring the angry whine she made when she landed on the couch.

I pushed myself up from the couch, my surroundings almost completely blurry, the sound of music filling my ears, echoing in my ear drums. My eyes couldn't focus on one object, blurry figures dancing around me in a jumbled sway to the music, making my head spin more than it already was.

"Michael" I whispered to myself, like he was some goal I was attempting to reach as I walked through the jumbling mess of dancing bodies. I could vaguely decipher Calum's voice over the blaring music.

"Ashton are you okay?" I shook my head frantically, but I wasn't answering his question, I shook my head because I didn't want to talk to Calum, I wanted to talk to Michael. I only wanted Michael.

Suddenly there was a sharp pain in my arm, everything went completely silent as I stumbled, feeling grass against my feet. It's happening.

I walked downstairs, the black socks on my feet padding against the wooden staircase. They were sitting on the couch, there lips were moving but I couldn't hear anything, only the sound of my movements filling my ears as I stood in the doorway of the living room. Dad was really close to her, he looked angry but I couldn't hear what he was saying. Then mom was pushing him back, she had tears in her eyes, her face vibrant red with anger.

Then the door was swinging open, my figure trembling as the man stormed into the house. He was clad in a black hoodie that covered his entire large figure including his head, black pants, and matching black gloves that held a sharp silver knife. He patted my shoulder before walking past me and into the living room.

Then there was blood, a lot of blood. He was wiping the knife on moms shirt, he dropped it in front of me before walking out of the door. I collapsed in front of mom, pulling her head onto my lap, watching her life drain from her as I screamed.

I screamed.

I screamed.