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Chapter nine
> TW <
- Mention of intrusive thoughts, thoughts of self h*rm, and flashbacks of sexual assault)
✦
I wish I was more self-aware. I wish I knew what I was doing before it was happening. But for the first time, I couldn't pull myself out of what one would call a nightmare.
Hands touching me, everywhere. It hardly felt like a nightmare at all, it felt too real. Too much like what had actually happened, which left me wondering what I had done to cause myself to go through the same pain once again.
I was shaking, squirming, trying to push them off of me as hands grasped and groped me everywhere. A hand closed down around my mouth.
Again, my brain told me.
Let it happen, don't fight it.
It's your fault, you deserve whatever comes to you. You're not strong enough to fix your own problems.
I wish I was more self-aware that it was a dream. I wish I didn't have to wake up to Zavier sitting beside me on the bed, softly shaking my arm trying to get me to snap out of it. As I squirmed and shrieked in my sleep, sweat dripped down my forehead that mixed with the tears falling from my eyes.
I don't cry.
I haven't cried since that day when I realized I shouldn't be crying over shit I can't change. And if I can change what's happening even then I shouldn't cry because then it's my fault if what happens happens.
But most of all I wish I was strong enough to fight back, even if it was just a dream.
"Kaiyo," Zavier whispered, quite aggressively as my eyes fluttered open.
My breath was heavy as if I'd just run a race though I couldn't recall why I felt that way. My body was suddenly too aware. Of everything. Of how close he was to me as I sat on my bed. Of how his hand was closed around my wrist and how he was leaning in with a mixed look of worry but also annoyance.
"Get off of me!" I cried out, flinching away so hard my back hit the headboard.
Zavier narrowed his eyes at me, scanning my face all the way down to my wrist which I was cradling in the other hand as if it was injured. "Something wrong, Kaiyo?" He spoke, his voice a bit louder than a whisper.
"No fucking shit," I snapped, scrunching my nose up at the face he made in return, which was an expression of concern.
Weird.
"Well... do you want to talk about-."
I don't know why that made me so mad. Or why I wanted to cry and rip his voice box out of his throat. But I knew what he was going to say before he could even finish the sentence and they were words I never wanted to hear him say again.
