Dear Mrs Therapist,
Today was shit.
I never asked you if I was allowed to swear in these things but...
Too damn bad.
I just can't believe it.
I feel so useless.
I feel like a pawn in a game of chess, useless mostly, but...
I watched him do it.
I watched him kick her in the stomach, gravel crunching as he recoiled from the impact, the smear of wet mud on her deep blue jumper.
Her back hit the table first.
Her whole body seemed to curve around it.
Crunch.
Every night.
Every night I dream of it happening again and again and again. Every time I remember more, more details, like the blood trickling from her eye, her terrified expression as she saw the boot swing towards her and that noise.
Every time... every time I have that dream I wake up and hear the crunch. The crunch of bones against hard, hard plastic.
She could have died.
I just sat there.
I did nothing.
She could have died and I could have stopped that, saved her from what she's become; a cripple.
But I did nothing.
Because I'm worthless.
I'm worth nothing.
I'm not even worth the air I breathe, might as well save the planet some and kill myself right?
But...
She...
She needs me, I can feel it...
She never stirs, 'for her own good,' they said, as they sedated her enough to make her fall into a coma.
You should see her... she can't even breathe on her own and it's my fault.
It's my fault.
It's.
All.
My.
Fault.
- Phil
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Why I have trust issues: phan
FanfictionPhil Lester has been bullied for years and when he is diagnosed with chronic depression it starts to go downhill. But could the new boy prove to be the light in an otherwise dark world? Read to find out. Trigger Warning: contains scenes of abuse, gr...
