✚ Chapter Twenty-Seven ✚

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Healing Gabriel: Chapter Twenty-Seven 


                                      (*)Gabriel's POV(*)

       When Jurnee set her tray on the table across from me and leaned over the table, I can honestly say I thought nothing of it. I assumed that she was just showing off her chest to Evan or something, because, well, she was Jurnee. The assumption made me slightly jealous, so I decided to ignore her as she opened her mouth to speak.

      It was the next day at lunch, and here she was, completely ditzy and careless once again. I guess it was too good to be true to think that she actually got something out of yesterday's video. I think that if Jurnee learned to be nicer to people from the video, then maybe I wouldn't have minded watching it that much.

      Truthfully, I don't know why I was so overtaken by the video. Maybe it was the contents within it that set me off. The reminders of what I used to be caught up in were all in the video, from bullying to rejection to suicide. I just wished the principal would've given a small warning or something about the contents and images that would be shown in the motion picture. Something that I could've prepared myself with.

      I looked down at my lap, staring at my hands as if they were the most interesting things in the world. And, heh, maybe they were. Disgustingly interesting, that is. Everything that they touched, everyone . . .

      But they touched good things, the little voice reminded me, trying to squash the thoughts. The comfort the voice tried to offer didn't help very much. I felt bad. I had defiled any of the supposed good things I touched. I . . . I had dirtied Evan. I've been making him dirty from the first time he placed his hand on my shoulder. Right?

      God! I hated this. It was like ever since I started talking more about my personal feelings and past to people, the more old habits I started to pick back up. And I did not want to pick up the "Must-Get-Clean" habit again. That was one of the worst ones, the one where I could hardly go three hours without feeling the need to take a shower. Or, at the very least, wash my hands and arms till they were red and raw.

        Maybe I should just stop being so open. Things weren't so complicated when I kept everything inside me.

       Okay, that was an obvious lie. But at least when I hadn't talked to Evan or Alana or my father about my thoughts, I was able to keep my unnatural physical reactions to a minimum. Now it seemed like I was regaining every bad habit I had right after the incident, the very habits that I'd been trying so hard to get over. Some of them were already showing up more prominently, like the lucid, longer-lasting flashbacks and nightmares, or blaming myself for things I would know, in a right state of mind, to be out of my control. Also, some of the older habits were just beginning to reoccur, like feeling dirty and needing to be clean, the scratching at my wrists.

      It was stressing. I felt the feeling of not wanting to talk anymore. Talking made vigorous flashbacks and surreal nightmares battle against the slowly developing, happier thoughts and memories that were starting to spring up inside my head.

       Oh, God, I thought in distress, pulling at my hair as I rested my elbows on the tabletop, continuing to stare down at my lap. I think I might be starting to relapse. And I know I'm not exactly the best at thinking rationally, but relapsing seemed to be the only logical reason why, after seeming to be doing so well for several weeks, my mentality was deteriorating.

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