As I scream in pain, A warm, metallic taste forms in my mouth, A blow to the stomach causes me to wince in pain, I attempt to shout for help, although my voice is nowhere to be found, opening my mouth only causes more blood to gather, and my hands fly down to my stomach, forming a protective barrier. My trousers are pulled off and I scream as another pain hits my face, I know what's about to happen, I try to shout for help. Using every last bit of energy, I scream, although I don't call for my mother this time, I call for someone who might actually come.
My eyes spring open as I jolt forward, my eyes meet with my fathers, who looks sympathetic. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and let out a sigh of relief.
He came.
I blink myself awake, half blinded by the light, and look at my father, who is crouched at the side of my bed.
"You came." I whisper, shocked that someone had actually come.
"Of course I did, I always will." He replies, making it sound like it was obvious that he would.
"I'm sorry." I mutter, ashamed that I'd woken him up.
"Don't you dare apologise. Ok?" He tells me. "This isn't your fault. You've not got anything to be sorry for." He's stays with me for five more minutes, which I spend reassuring him that I'm ok. After my father switches the light off, I roll over and attempt to sleep once more. Not only did he come, but he made it before the dream reached the worst part.
A warm wet sensation spreads across my face, waking me. My sleepy eyes meet with Oscar, who has backed off from licking me. Pushing him back, and getting out of bed, I walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower. A familiar feeling washes over me, and I react, I pick up a razor, and shave the minimal facial hair I have, afterwards, I take it to my arms, creating thin, but deep wounds, across my forearm I stand for a few more minutes, watching blood crawl over my arm and into the sink, then I wipe it all away, composing myself. After I'm washed and dressed I make my way downstairs, meeting my Father and Amelia in the kitchen, my hand reaches for an apple, and I make an excuse about getting my things. I run upstairs, and back in to my bathroom, where I kneel in front of the toilet. Pressing my teeth in to the apple and tearing chunks from it, I spit it in to the toilet bowl, flushing it once I'd spat out at least five or six, large pieces. Walking over to my hidden place, I take out an ecstasy pill and a Valium pill, hoping they'd get me through the day. Grabbing my backpack and jacket, I rush back downstairs, pretending I'd almost finished the apple - luckily they believe me.
It's not long before my dad pulls up in the car park, lifting my backpack, I turn to get out.
"Are we gonna have a good day today?" My dad asks, suggesting I'll work harder.
"I don't know." I say, honestly. I climb out before he has a chance to say anything else and walk through the entrance, which has already been opened. As I walk in to the classroom, and straight to my seat, I notice that my work has already been placed down. The Valium I've taken is starting to take affect. Although, I'm not as affected as usual, probably due to the tolerance I've built up over the weekend. I slouch forward and put my head on the desk, not even attempting the work. However, a quick, hard, nudge soon sends me sitting up straight, my eyes fall on Lauren, who is responsible.
"What the fuck was that for!?" I shout, irritated. She looks at me shocked.
"Sit up and do some work, please." She orders. Ignoring her, I slouch forward again, with my head sitting on the table like before.
"Michael, what is wrong with you today?" She asks, sounding a bit annoyed. Looking at Lauren, who has now crouched down beside me, I get even more irritated.
"Nothing. Leave me alone." I demand. She listens and walks away, and I lie in this position for another hour or so until lunch. I don't eat again, but instead take the ecstasy tablet I have, waking me up slightly. Walking as slowly as I can back to class, I compose myself, trying not to let away that I'm high. I think it works, I spend the last couple of hours in the same position as before, occasionally picking up a pen and playing with it. The clock reaches two o'clock and I walk through to the therapy room, noticing that I'm here before my father and Amelia so I take advantage of the sofa space and stretch out, putting my arm over my eyes to block out the sun streaming in from the windows, I have no idea how long I'm like like this for, but after a while everyone walks in, trying to act cheery although they're actually not. I moved in to a position so that my father and Amelia can sit down too, and they do. Amelia in the middle and me and my Dad on the ends. Sarah, walks In at the same time, her cheery smile showing and her books falling about the place, she sits down and resumes her usual position.
"How is everyone?" She asks, looking at us. My Dad and Amelia both smile and mutter something about being ok - I stay silent. "I know it's been a tough weekend, would any of you like to speak about something In particular?" We all stay silent for a couple minutes until Sarah speaks again.
"Dad, I know you'd like to bring something up, so why don't we do that now. What is it you'd like to say?" My dad tenses up as she finished the speech and I shoot him a look. Composing himself, he begins.
"Yeah, I'm worried about the way Michael is handling this." He says with a sad tone. Sarah starts to write something, But I take no notice and look at my dad who is putting the spotlight on me.
"I'm fine." I throw in.
"You're not though, are you?" He adds, rotating his head to look at me. "You're nightmares are getting worse, you're acting up in school and you've gone back to not opening up." He goes on. I feel Amelia's arm wrap around me for support, I don't nudge it away, I welcome it.
"Michael, how often to these dreams happen?" Katherine questions, getting ready to write in her book.
"I don't know, almost every night." I admit, looking at the floor. I can still feel the ecstasy inside me and I cherish the last couple of hours I'll have.
"Do you want to explain to your parents what happens in these dream?" She probes. I noticed she used the term 'parents'
"No, I don't think you want to know." I state. They all look at me, waiting for me to speak, but I don't.
"I think we'd all like to know, so we can help you." Sarah says, writing something else down.
"You can't though, no one can." I reply, looking down at the floor.
"Maybe we can." She says, giving me a concerned face, but then flashing a quick smile. I shake my head refusing to speak. Amelia wraps her arm tighter around me.
"We can try, but you have to talk to us." Amelia tells me, I look at her, however, she is already looking at me.
"Why don't you try? You can stop If it gets too hard or uncomfortable." She assures me. "Why don't you start off by telling us how it starts?" Sarah suggests.
"I'm on the floor, he's kicking and punching me." I start, focusing my eyes on the floor and avoiding eye contact with everyone, but I can tell they are all looking at me.
"Who's punching you, Michael?" Sarah asks. My eyes fly up to meet with hers.
"You know who." I spit, my eyes fall straight back to the floor.
"John?" She asks, readying her pen. His name makes me shiver, she says it as though it's no big deal. I nod, but don't speak. "What happens next?" She urges.
"I try to scream for help, but I can't breathe or shout, and my mouth fills with blood." I continue. I try to show no emotion, and i think it's working. "But then eventually I can speak and I shout for someone to help." I sit quietly for a minute, waiting for her to ask me another question.
"Do you shout for anyone in particular?" She interrogates, with a calm expression on her face.
"I used to shout for my Mother, but she would never come." I admit.
"Who do you shout for now?" I don't speak to answer her, I simple look to my left, to where my parents are sitting and then look at Sarah. "Your Father and Amelia?" She asks. I nod, refusing to speak. "It seems like perhaps you have accepted the loss of your mother and moved your father and Amelia in her place." She turns to my parents and turns a page in her book. "Is there anything else you'd like to bring up?" She asks, my father shakes his head and so does Amelia. Then she looks at me, and asks me the same thing, I also shake my head. "Michael, do you remember what I said about John's conditions for early release?"
"Yeah." I mutter quietly. I reminisce about the therapy session on Monday, and about all the things Sarah told me.
"Those still stand, and anytime you feel worried or scared, or even angry, I want to try and speak to someone about it. Whether it's me, your Father or Amelia - ok?" She explains, with a soft, kind tone. We say goodbye and make our way out to the car, during all of which, I don't say a word. The journey home is silent too, I don't have anything to say - no one does.
I go straight to my bedroom, and go to the drugs, I then look through them all, wondering what I could take. I decide on heroin, and I prepare my arm. Soon, I slip away...