A'roya

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Helllo....late but on time hehehee.

Have fun with this one babes!

Jericho's ok; it wasn't enough to kill him. He'll wake up soon and no longer be on Xanax. The doctor told us he wasn't addicted based on the levels of Xanax in his body, but he wasn't responsible with his medication. The doctor said Jericho would have to go to therapy for his anxiety and suggested that Jericho might have some symptoms of PTSD. Xanax or any other medications for anxiety, panic, or depression won't be prescribed to him anymore.

Come to think of it, Jericho never told anyone what happened during his time in the navy. All he said was that it was hell, death at every turn. But he never said anything more than that.

Phoebe was taking this into account. She found Jericho passed out, and the doctors concluded he was passed out for at least an hour.

Phoebe's ok as well; her blood pressure's gone down, and so has her stress. Elora came an hour ago to comfort Phoebe. Khassy was already in the hospital; she finished her shift and hurried up to Jericho's room.

Vincent fell asleep, he was holding me, and all of a sudden, I heard his heavy breathing. I called him, and he didn't answer.

Phoebe then told me he was asleep, gone. His eyes closed, his head resting on mine.

I swear...tall people can do anything, even sleeping with their head on top of yours.

I don't blame Vincent for sleeping; he's been up, taking care of me. Vampires are essentially humans with powers and the need for blood.

They aren't animals; they're kind of like a human Vampire bat. They can be in the sun but work best in the dark.

Vincent tends to sleep during the afternoon and work during the mornings and evenings.

But he's been with me; no complaints.

After a while, Jericho woke up, confused about why he went from usually doing his thing to the hospital.

I explained everything to him. I was sad, angry...why didn't I stop him? Why couldn't I help him, be by his side? Instead, I cowered away, letting him get in trouble all by himself.

Jericho was diagnosed was anxiety when he was nine; he hid it very well. I don't remember what mom would do to him when we were younger, but it affected him severely.

Our dad took both of us, secretly, to get us checked. I do remember that.

Jericho went into an anxiety attack the day before. His report card came, and he had a C- in Spanish, something our mom forced him to take in elementary school.

Mom was going to beat his ass; she didn't use shoes, hangers, or a belt. She used chairs, wires, and heavy objects.

When dad was around, she gave us a small smack on the arm, barely hurt; that was a warning for "when your dad leaves, I'm gonna hurt you."

After the one time I got in trouble for going to Harris Teeter after school instead of coming home, and she threw an old radio at me, I knew never to do that again.

It hit my stomach, and even though it wasn't enough to damage anything severely, it hurt like a bitch, and she kept going, beating me with a laptop charger.

I don't know who raised my mom, but they didn't do it right, that's for sure.

Maybe it's why I endured Derek's abuse....why I thought that acting the way he wanted me to would be enough.