7. Hemophobia

112 20 137

♡Chapter dedicated to Tumike-John

"My demons lay in waiting,
Tempting me away." Skillet.

You know all about 'flinging accusations', don't you Savannah?

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

You know all about 'flinging accusations', don't you Savannah?

They shouldn't have, but Ryder's words scared her almost as much as being in this room. She knew exactly what he was referring to, how could she not? It seemed that Ryder had never truly forgiven her for the night when everything changed.

She couldn't blame him for that, after all, she had never truly forgiven herself.

She knew that they were both at fault for what happened, as much as she tried to lay the blame at his feet, an offering he had been quick to accept at the time. She had hoped that by never speaking of it, she could pretend that the squeal of breaks, the crunch of glass, the crimson blood was all an illusion. A product of an overactive imagination.

But guilt is not so easily swept under the rug.

Guilt is an avalanche; it envelopes you in it's cold embrace, sucking you in until you are buried beneath a mountain of regrets.

Blinking her tears away, Savannah forced herself not to dwell on it. Right now, she had to focus on surviving whatever mental torture she was about to be put through. Ignoring the others as they continued arguing, she closed her eyes and tried to think.

What was she most afraid of?

Spiders. But she was also afraid of snakes. And rats. And deep water. No, the psycho said darkest fears, for her that was spiders, no question.

She waited in anticipation for them to appear, if she was prepared for it, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She guessed that she would probably see hundreds of them, crawling all over her, their legs scuttling across her skin.

The thought made her feel weak at the knees, if she had been standing, there was no way she would be able to keep herself upright. She swore she could already feel them creeping over her, feel the tiny hairs on their bodies tickling her arms.

She took deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly as she waited for them to come.

But they never did.

Instead, she felt a gnawing on her stomach, as if something was eating her insides, tearing at her flesh and organs with its sharp teeth.

The feeling was both familiar and foreign at the same time. Familiar, because she had become accustomed to the constant ache in her stomach over the last year. Foreign, because this was magnified by a thousand as if it had become more intense with time, like a perfectly aged port.

She opened her eyes and looked down, screaming as she saw blood soaking through her light blue dress, spreading like water paint across her torso.

It's not real, it's not real.

Phobia Where stories live. Discover now