The Freaks | Sally Face

Chapter 27: Love

Sal's POV:-
It had been hours of endless torment. Beating myself up and trying not to be sick from all of the anxiety that riddled all over me. My stomach continued doing flips, making it damn near impossible to relax myself and just catch up on some sleep. Dad didn't leave my side after waking up from my nightmare. I remember hearing his gentle snores as he collapsed in the bed beside me. When he woke up, he was startled feeling guilty for not waiting for me to go back to sleep. I did my best to reassure him but I know it really got to him. It had been a while since I was so vulnerable with my Dad. It's been difficult adjusting to the life here and leaving the one behind we had in New Jersey. Surprisingly Dad didn't flinch as he gazed over my face, I mean why would he? He's seen it before but again, I don't remember the last time he had. I had checked my phone to see about a million texts from Larry and River but honestly I didn't have the willpower to message them. I knew they would be worried and I know potentially speaking to them would calm me down but I really didn't have the mental strength to contact them.

"Sal? Would you come in here for a moment?" I hear my Dad call from the other room.

"Be there in a second" I reply and bring myself to my feet.

I walk over to the night stand, plopping my glass eye in its socket and adjusting my vision. You never quite get used to putting in an eye, no matter how long you've had it. I pull my long, vibrant hair up into a messy top knot and look at my prosthetic.

My face! My face! It hurts, ouch this hurts! Mommy what is happening? Why did you do this? Why did you do that for me?

I hear my own voice in my head, the scrambling of my words and the tears that fell from my eyes as a child. Repeating them clearly like the event had just taken place rather than being over a decade ago. I press my lips tightly together, trying to keep myself calm but I knew damn well I wasn't alright. I slip on a fresh t-shirt as the one I was wearing was drenched in sweat. I didn't bother with my mask, I needed to air out my skin after the hours of tears and lack of oxygen reaching my lungs. I open the door and find Dad sitting patiently on the couch waiting for my arrival.

As I approach the couch, I started wondering what he wanted to speak about. It was weird, I had this overwhelming feeling he was going to be unhappy with me. Like I had done something wrong and was going to be told off and grounded. I was shocked to see his face, pale and eyes redder than lava. I could tell he too had been sobbing for hours, not wanting me to see him that way. I always knew my Dad to be very resilient to his emotions, well ever since Mom was killed. It's like a piece of him was disconnected and never reattached. It wasn't until he overdid it with the booze that he realised enough was enough. I look down at the floor, avoiding his gaze as I felt his eyes fixate on me.

"Son? I think we need to have a little chat..." he mutters and taps the couch beside him.

I walk over and place myself in the empty seat, twiddling my thumbs as I sat. I was so ashamed, so ashamed of myself for having a vicious anxiety attack. People often wonder what having anxiety is like, it's like a horrific feeling of guilt and that doesn't go away. Even when you've calmed down, you feel guilty for everyone who had to see you that way. It's an incredibly selfish feeling for me, I feel bad for making people worry about me. I suppose that's why I put so much time and effort into sorting everyone else's issues, because I don't want to focus on myself.

"Sal, I need you to answer me honestly ok?" Dad places his large hand on top of mine, making me stop the repeating motion.

"What is it?" I ask, still not facing him.

"Have you been taking your medication? You haven't had an attack like this for a while and I need to make sure you're keeping on top of them..." I hear his voice trembling, trying to keep himself composed.