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The Trazodone helps with my fucking insomnia, but it doesn't stop me from waking up in the middle of the night

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The Trazodone helps with my fucking insomnia, but it doesn't stop me from waking up in the middle of the night.

It's an old feeling, that jolt awake, and it's not from a nightmare. Something is wrong.

I take in everything all at once.

My blanket is either stuffed deep into the couch or stuck on something. It's trapping me, tightly. The top is pressed against my chest and each time I move, it feels like rug burn. My right arm is asleep and my left is still in a cast for my collarbone. Due to how the blanket is, I struggle to move my legs.

The hall light is on.

"Oh, you like that?"

Female voice.

She groans.

"Oh, yeah."

I'm drowsy and disillusioned.

The flashback slithers into my brain.

Her weight crushing my legs and stomach.

"Does that feel good? Of course, it does, pretty boy. Of course, you like it."

I slam my hand against the couch to wake it up and push myself to the floor. Jerking my head up, the realizations continue.

She's not here yet. She's mocking me from the hallway. She loves to fucking mock me. Fucking bitch. She's going to do it again. She tucked in my blankets so I couldn't move.

I cautiously look towards the hallway. The bathroom is my sanctuary. Fucking Dad is asleep in the chair this time. He left the fucking TV on. I have to get past him without waking him up.

I rush past where I heard her voice and make it to the bathroom, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

She won't come in here.

I lie absolutely still.

Footsteps. Louder. Faster.

She's coming into the bathroom. She's either careless or confident. It doesn't matter if Dad sees. She knows he won't do anything.

I can't stop myself from crying. I cover my mouth as my heart beats faster.

She ruined my sanctuary.

She's at the sink, washing her hands.

At the worst possible moment, she turns in my direction.

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