𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ➀

6 DEMONS

We stay upright for another few moments with me holding her against me until my post orgasmic bliss passes. And in no fucking time at all the feel of her skin against mine forces my brain and body to betray me. I can't have her this close to me. My heart rate begins to pick up rapidly and not in a good way. 

Even though my brain is screaming at me to just drop her limp, trembling body onto the mattress, I don't. In circumstances such as these, I usually just throw whoever is in my arms onto the bed and tell them to get dressed and get the fuck out. I don't do that this time though. What the hell is going on with me?

I pull myself out from inside of her and gently lay her on the bed. She doesn't say anything as she lays there with small breaths coming out of her mouth. Monica scoots up and puts her head on my pillow looking up at me with the goofiest fucking smile in the universe. Good dick will do that to a girl.

I roll the condom off and wince slightly at the end because I'm so fucking sensitive after that mind-bending orgasm. "How you feeling there, sweetheart?" I chuckle down to her smiling face and then freeze. What in the actual fuck did I just ask her?  I mentally punch myself in the face. Since when do I care? I cringe just at the word.  You're still fucked up.  Yeah, that's it. I'm just going to blame it on the alcohol still coursing through my system. 

She's still looking up at me, warmly now though, and it takes everything in me not to sprint out the door even though I'm butt naked. "I'm great, handsome." Monica looks like she's seeing stars. Again, good dick will do that to a girl.

"Alright, well, uh," you need to leave. But I don't say it. I run my hands threw my hair as I awkwardly search for the words. "I'm going to take a shower." What?

"Okay."  She smiles again.

Fuck me. If that isn't the most beautiful smile I've ever seen I don't know what is. Now I want to gag myself. I don't even say anything as I abruptly turn and practically fucking catapult myself towards the bathroom. She'll be gone when I get out. She won't be lying there. I continuously tell these things to myself.

I turn the water on to an excruciatingly cold temperature. I'm hoping it knocks some god damn sense into my brain.  I step in and automatically recoil from the burning cold sensation of the water. It does the trick though. My brain sobers right up. I grab my sponge and start to scrub myself, trying to wash the day's events away from me viciously. 

Once I feel like I've scrubbed every inch of my skin raw, ridding myself of all unfamiliar touches, I step out. I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist. Stepping out of the bathroom I notice, to my dismay and utter panic, that Monica is lying soundly asleep in my bed, lightly snoring.

Oh life, why do you just continue to keep fucking with me? 

I try and shake her awake but it's no use. She's passed the fuck out and with the amount of liquor she's consumed there will be no waking her up for a while. She's in my bed. Fuck, she's sleeping in my bed. No one ever sleeps in my bed but me. I shudder at the thought of the awkward morning that's most likely going to ensue tomorrow. 

God damn it. Why couldn't I just keep it in my fucking pants? This girl lives directly across from me.

I slip on some sweats and then head into the kitchen. I grab the whiskey off the counter and practically chug the rest of the bottle. It won't be the first time I say it and it most certainly won't be the last but fuck my life.

-&-

Warmth. An overabundance of warmth. Why am I so fucking warm?

And that's when I realize I have just awoken to my very own personal hell. I feel a weight on my chest, on my torso, on my arms. I feel skin on my skin. I feel someone touching me; everywhere. Almost every inch of my skin is being touched.

Panic. Pure undulated panic sears like a wildfire through my veins, scorching me from the inside out. I want to scream as the demons begin to fill my brain and consume me. I snap my eyes open to find a peacefully sleeping Monica atop my chest. Her head is on my pectoral. Her arm is wrapped tightly around my torso and her legs are wrapped around mine.

How did I get in the bed?  More importantly, why did I get in the bed if someone else was in it? Pain. I just feel the sensation of it everywhere.

I forcefully jerk my body out from underneath hers causing her to bounce slightly onto the bed with a oomph sound, but I don't care. I do not care one bit because I feel the darkness. I feel the agony that's about to take ahold of me.  I go into the kitchen and quickly realize I do not have any more alcohol. I do not have any more of anything left in my fucking apartment to dull what is about to happen. 

"Sean?" I hear Monica beginning to get up from the bed. "Sean, are you okay?" She sounds a bit panicky. Join the club, sweetheart.

No, okay is the very last thing I am right now, actually. I don't say a word to her as I enter the bathroom and slam the door. I almost thought I broke the damn thing but I didn't, thankfully. I turn the faucet on and rub the water on my skin trying to wash the warmth of her body away. It's fucking useless.

I press my back up against the wall and slide down until my ass hits the floor. I bring my knees to my chest and put my head in my hands preparing myself for it. My breathing accelerates. My heart pounds. And the visions slowly creep into my brain one by one. There it is. The reason why the feeling of anyone's hands affectionately on my skin is revolting.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkkkkk.  Just get out of my fucking head!

"Sean?"  Her voice calls from behind the door.  "Sean, are you okay? What happened?" Oh sweetheart, it's the last thing you'll ever want to hear. "Sean, you're scaring me!"

"Just go."  It comes out harshly.

"Wait, what?" She sounds hurt and I could fucking care less because no one knows hurt like I do.

"I said get the fuck out of my apartment, Monica." The words came out angrily because I don't want anyone here. I don't want anyone witnessing the damaged fucking wreck of a mess that I am, especially her. 

"Sean..."

"GET OUT!" I scream it and now she's crying. I've fucking made her cry but unfortunately, I still can't find a fuck to give because my brain is currently conjuring up the most horrific images. "Monica, I swear to fucking god if you don't get THE FUCK OUT of my apartment..."

She sobs all the way out until I hear the door slam. But at least now I'm alone. Well, not entirely. It's just me and my festering internal wounds here on the fucking bathroom floor.  I slowly slide up the wall and even the cool feeling of the wall makes me want to recoil. Once standing, I punch the wall in front of me with everything I have.

I fucking loathe this feeling. This feeling that my past is like a dark sludge sticking to my skin, my soul, my everything... Slowly wrapping itself around my heart like a vice grip until it no longer beats in my chest, until I am this hollow fucking shell of a man.

I fucking hate post-traumatic stress disorder.

✭✭✭✭✭
A/N:

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a mental health condition that's triggered by a terrifying event — either experiencing it or witnessing it.

The condition may last months or years, with triggers that can bring back memories of the trauma accompanied by intense emotional and physical reactions.

Symptoms may include nightmares or unwanted memories of the trauma, avoidance of situations that bring back memories of the trauma, heightened reactions, anxiety, or depressed mood.

For those of you who don't know, now you know.