"Maybe dreams do come true after all. Even dreams we chase at midnight hours, Shorts."
At least Ray had dreams to chase because I ran away from mine. My dreams aren't the kinda dreams I could just wake up at midnight and chase 'em.
I have nightm...
Opening my eyes felt harder than usual and when I finally did, the lights were blinding so I closed my eyes and tried again. This time I did it slowly until I adjusted to the bright lights.
Who decided that bright lights were so appealing to wake up to in hospitals?
"Pumpkin, I'm so happy you're awake," Dad whispered lovingly, his large hands brushing my hair out of my face. I swallowed, flinching at the pain in my throat. Dad took notice of that, so he brought the water that was sitting on the stand to my lips.
"What am I doing here?" I croaked. "Where's Mom and Chris?"
The Indian middle-aged doctor, who I didn't even notice was there, cleared his throat; his eyes flowing professionally across the notes on his clipboard.
"Mr. Mitchell, your daughter will be fine, eventually with time," the doctor said as if I wasn't in the room with them.
"Dr..." I promptly glanced at his name tag. "Dr. Patel...but?"
"I suggest that you take the rest of this week and next week off from school and any strenuous activity."
"Because?"
"You have soldier's heart, Ms. Mitchell."
"Please doc, speak English."
He abruptly adjusted the stethoscope around his neck, tucking the clipboard under his arm. "You have post-traumatic stress disorder, popularly known as PTSD."
"B-b-b-but I've tried so hard to forget!"
Dr. Patel made his way to the door. "I've once read that 'Our memories do not just fade away on their own. Our brains are constantly editing our recollections, from the very moment those memories first form'."
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-It hurts not because it was the first time someone was entering inside of me, but because it was him. I never knew the exact reason why I wasn't ready for the person who I claimed I love to make love to me.
But now I knew why.
Those gut feelings, they're our guardian angels in disguise.-
I winced at the memory of Josiah thrusting himself vigorously into me. Maybe it was the remembrance of that October night, or maybe it was the fact that I've caged myself in my room, but I was doing something that I never did unless I had to.
Write.
Dear nobody,
I absolutely hate expressing my feelings whether by mouth or by writing, but I suppose I'm a better writer than I am a speaker in this case. Besides, I've grown to learn that it's unhealthy and highly unrecommended to keep my feelings in because then those bottles of feelings would explode and the lid would be hard to put back on.
