Bianca
The slow beep of my alarm brought me back into reality. I winced as I reached to turn it off. Taking a closer look, I realized that my hands had scratches on them. My leg was also bandaged. Something had occurred, last night.
I remembered calling Spencer- hearing the update on Diana. Then, for some reason, I took another bus home, skipping my bar class. What had happened after that?
An unread text message from Spencer temporarily distracted me from my thoughts:
Morgan and I spent the night here. Come out, when you're up.
Anxiety slowly rose in my chest. What did I do? I opened my door, and saw Morgan watching baseball on my television. Spencer was fast asleep on my couch. "Derek," I whispered.
Morgan quickly shut off the television, and gently nudged Spencer to wake him up. "Hey, Reid; She's up, man"
Spencer hit Morgan back, "You don't have to hit me!" He looked at me, sympathetically. His eyes were puffy. I must have made him cry.
"Spencer," I gasped, "what did I do? Did I hurt you?"
"No," he answered moving over to me, putting my face in his hands. "You didn't do anything wrong. Okay?"
"But I must have, otherwise you wouldn't be here."
He had me follow him to the couch, so we could sit together. "Bianca, do you remember what happened last night?"
"I-I think I blacked out. Why? Is that normal?"
"You were hiding from me in your bedroom. You were reciting a script that you used with Bruce, when you were in his capture?"
"What?"
"Your PTSD resurfaced last night. When did you see Bruce, yesterday?"
"I didn't."
"Bianca, please don't lie to me," Spencer begged.
"I'm not. I can't remember."
"You know, it's common when we experience trauma, to have memory loss. It's a survival technique," Morgan explained.
"So I saw him?"
Morgan looked at Spencer nervously, "or something happened that made you feel he was there?"
"I made it up?"
"I wouldn't say that, Bianca," Spencer expressed, "but something brought your trauma response back."
We were silent for a few minutes. Morgan turned his attention back to the game, and Spencer pulled me close to him. "Did I hit you?"
"No. Morgan was trying to hold you down, so you hit him a little bit. But," Spencer continued, "there is no need to worry. He's experienced worse."
"That's the truth," Morgan echoed.
I abruptly turned away from Spencer. I felt humiliated. Upon feeling the all-too-common burning in my throat, I jumped up from the couch, and ran to my bathroom wheezing.
Grabbing a washcloth, I attempted to stop the blood from staining my sink. Spencer ran in, as I had left the door open. His body trembled at the sight.
"B?" He asked.
"I'm okay," I stressed, holding the bloodied washcloth behind me.
Spencer moved closer to me, gently taking the cloth from me and examining it. "Has this been happening again?"
"No. This was the first time since I visited Eliza, while you were on that case in Detroit. Please don't make me go to the hospital right now, Spence!"
"I won't," he answered. "We don't have to right now. Can I get you some medicine, though? I think that-"
"I remember," I yelled. The memory of last night surfacing to my consciousness.
"What?" He asked.
"Last night, you had called me about your mom. When we hung up, I was looking out the window. I saw Bruce across the street at one of the stops. I-I was so afraid that I skipped out on my class, and went straight home. Bruce is following me."