✠ Chapter Thirty-Three ✠

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Healing Gabriel: Chapter Thirty-Three

 

                                (*)Gabriel's POV(*)

 

      When I shot up in my bed, I thought it was the stench of that room that was making me choke. I thought it was the compressing feeling against my chest that was going to result in a heart attack. But in reality, it was the gasping, heavy sobs that took up so much room in my throat I could hardly breathe. The compressing feeling in my chest was not that of a heart attack, but instead the very highlight of an anxiety attack.

      A loud noise had filled the room, making me cover my ears and cry harder. I had the same nightmare that I'd been trying so hard to avoid, but this time, it was ten times more realistic. I could see every face as if they were right in front of me; I could hear every voice, every scream, every moan, every plead like a record soundtrack being blasted straight into my ears. Everything was so loud and chaotic, making me claw at my arms in a desperate attempt to make myself pass out from the pain.

      It didn't work. If anything, the pain made the images behind my closed lids and the sounds ringing through my ears even more vivid. I was so freaking terrified, sweating a beaucoup and everything. I don't think I ever had to deal with the aftermath of a nightmare as awful as this before, ever. At least, none that I could recall.

      Through the rampage I could feel a presence so close to me I huddled even tighter into myself, wanting to throw up due to all the convulsing my body caused me with each rakish sob. I covered my ears as I screamed, the harshness of the action burning my throat. "D-don't tou-touch me," I begged between each gasp of air I could manage between my heaving sobs. "Pl-please, go aw-away, lea-leave me al-alone! Plea-se, ple-please, oh, God, don-don't h-hurt me! I-I'm sor-ry, so-so sorr-y," I choked out, pulling tirelessly at the soaked-with-sweat clumps of blond hair on my head.

      Oh, God. Blond.

      Hey, Blondie, you're looking more like a whore each and every fucking day that blond little head of yours is here. You know, Blondie, the only reason you're even here is because of your hair--other than that, you ain't worth a goddamn minute of his time. You're ugly and average as shit; you're scum. Scum. And that's all you'll ever amount to be, you retarded skank. And don't even bother trying to kill yourself. As long as that pretty little head of yours is intact, it's all he needs. You're only useful because of your body, whore.

      I gagged at the dark-humored words racing through my head. I could see the person whose words they belonged to--Eightie. Oh, God, Eightie. He and all the others were screaming insults at me, and everything they said was right. I was useless. I was ugly, average, dirty, disgusting, scum. I was a whore, a slut; I was everything that deserved to be degraded. The reality of it all made me scream and cry out in desperation, almost vomiting as well when I opened my mouth. That stupid, whore mouth that went perfect with my mangy, slutty blond hair . . .

      "Gabriel, wake up. Wake up, Gabe, please. Fuck, you're bleeding, shit, oh shit, calm down, calm down. Just calm down." I couldn't tell if whoever was speaking was saying the latter to me or him/herself. They earned my attention, though, their gentle yet very audible phrases cutting through the flashbacks like a sharp knife slicing through thick, sludgy butter.

      "Breathe, Gabriel, breathe. You're okay, everything's okay, Gabe. It's just me. Come on, open your eyes--please, please wake up, kitten," the voice, very different from the ones in my head, whimpered the pet name, as if desperate and running low on the knowledge of what to do.

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