Broken and Together

Chapter Eight: Trauma

    Warning: This chapter includes a panic attack/breakdown of sorts. It's not that bad, but I like to warn readers of such things ahead of time, just in case.

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    A long silence fell over the dining area as Charlie, Henry, and William stared at Michael who panted heavily. His eyes remained fixed on the animatronic in the shadowed hall, as one of his hands gripped his head. He half expected to hear the voices again, but thus far, he had not. Through the pounding of his heart and the cold shock and guilt he felt, he became aware that he was beginning to lose his cool. His body trembled, sweat rolled down his forehead, and his breaths grew staggered and frequent, each gust sending pain through his chest.

    "Michael, what did you just say?" someone asked from behind, Michael couldn't be sure which one of them had; he couldn't answer, anyway. He began to hyperventilate, leaning forward and fighting against his increasing breath as his gaze drifted away from the slumped animatronic bear. His body shook, and he wanted so desperately to stop the gusts of air rushing in and out, but somehow...he just couldn't.

    "Mike! Are you okay?" Charlie's voice rang out—he could recognize it anywhere. A hand touched his arm. "H-hey, it's gonna be okay. It's okay. What's wrong?"

    He swallowed hard, attempting to fight through the tightening pain that felt like it was crushing his entire chest. Each breath hurt, and every thought that made its way through his crumbling mind felt distant and muddled. He managed to blurt out, "I-I'm fine...I'm fine...I just...I...I-I..." He trailed off. Whatever was happening, it brought back a slew of horrible memories, all those times he'd tormented his dear little brother—every single scare, cruel word, and horrid action—but most of all, that dreaded day itself. The day he accidentally killed his brother. The sobbing...the noises...the blood...Michael swallowed repeatedly, wrapping his arms around himself and leaning forward. A few voices came from around him, as someone nudged him urgently and seemed to be rubbing his back, but he hardly noticed.

    Just like that, he could feel himself breaking down. He hadn't in so long, kept himself away from such things with bitterness and solitude, but he could tell his walls were crumbling. He hated looking weak, especially in front of other people, but when a lump lodged in his tightening throat and his eyes burned as they filled with tears, he knew it couldn't be avoided.

    Michael...Evan's voice came again. It's me.

    "I'm sorry!" Michael burst out, falling to his knees and putting his head in his hands. A couple sobs choked their way out of his throat, and tears welled up and spilled over. It felt like he was back in that hospital room, sitting beside the bed and holding his brother's corpse close as he wept and repeatedly spoke those two words, now so familiar to him. I'm sorry.

    I'm sorry, he thought. I'm so sorry! I'm sorry! Gah, I'm sorry! It felt like he'd been repeating those same two words ever since that day in 1983. But it still wasn't enough. It never would be, would it?

    Thankfully, Michael's sobbing quieted shortly after those thoughts. As he gradually recovered himself, he released his head and glanced to the side. Charlie sat with him, her hand resting on his quivering back and her warm eyes fixed on him. He recognized her expression of intense concern.

    "Hey." She brushed a tear away with her thumb. "It's okay."

    He gulped, shifting his eyes to the side then back at her. "Sorry."

    "No, don't apologize." She shook her head. "Everyone has moments like this, it's nothing to be ashamed of or sorry about."

    Henry gave a word of agreement. He stood a few paces behind her; he looked concerned, but had given Michael some space, to his relief. William was even farther behind him, leaning against a wall. When Michael met his gaze, William sent him a smirk. Shuddering, Michael turned back to Charlie.