Author’s Note: This is part two to a story I made awhile back. It follows Chris and his thoughts after the shooting that happened and watching the people he knew for years die right in front of him. The denial he felt for not doing something sooner. I hope you all enjoy.
And alarm clock was going off. Chris lifted his hand up and slammed it down on top of the clock which was on the bedside table. Next he lifted his head up to see what the time was. 5:31am. “Damn. It’s too early for this.”
He lifted his whole body straight up and then twisted his legs off the bed and his feet touched the hardwood floor of his room. He rubbed his eyes with his hands then began to stretch and yawn. He stood up and began his day.
He showered, put clothes on and was sitting down at the kitchen table. He grabbed a bottle of Ibuprofen from the shelf behind the chair then put it in his mouth and guzzled down a glass of water. He sat there for a few minutes then stood up to get food from the fridge for breakfast. When he reached for the fridge handle he noticed a yellow piece of paper attached to the freezer portion. It read:
Me and you’re father have left early this morning for our meeting with the Board of Directors here. We left money under the television for pizza tonight and tomorrow. We will be home in a few days. We love you so much.
Ps. Don’t forget your medication and that you have a therapy session tonight too.
‘Of course,’ he thought to himself. He went into the living room and grabbed the money then walked into the bathroom and grabbed his bottle of anti-depressant pills. ‘Ever since that f*****g shooting, my mind hasn’t been right,’ he thought to himself.
He stared at the name on the bottle and froze. He decided to put the bottle back and not take the pills. He spent 3 months on these pills and going to these therapy sessions seriously and nothing has changed. He still feels f****d up in the head like his mind just a jumbled jigsaw. The pieces are there but are not together and connected.
The stress was getting to him. Every night, he would dream of that day at school. The day Samuel murdered all those students. The therapist said he has PTSD and that it could fo away but it will take time. Every day and every night he felt his mind slipping into a dark void and he had no idea if he could bring back out into the light.
Chris walked back out of the bathroom and went outside and started up his car. He sat there for a few moments then put the car in drive and took off.
“Tell me Chris. How have you been feeling?” the women across the desk from where Chris was sitting.
“Well…” it took Chris some time to figure out the words he wanted to say but couldn’t. A lump formed in his throat and he found it hard to talk. His vision faded in and out and soon he began to feel a bit lightheaded and queezy.
Finally after a few moments he proceeded to talk.
“I feel fine. Or at least as fine as what I can be. Sometimes it feels like I have a weight on me and I can’t shake it.”
“That’s normal. You been through a very serious traumatic experience. Thats why I’m here because I want to make you feel like your old self again.”
Chris looked into his therapists dark green eyes and felt a bit ashamed for some of the thoughts that popped up in his head. He closed his eyes then looked away. Mrs. Saunders has been his therapist every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the the last 3 months to almost 4 months. She helped as much as she could but the sessions were helping less and less.
He tried to push the thoughts away because there was a 15 year age difference and he was still in high school. It was hard. But he managed to and went back to looking into her eyes again.
“Do you think you are ready to go back to school again, Chris?”
“I don’t know. Honestly I don’t know how I’m still alive. I should’ve died next to those other students but I didn’t. I lived while the others perished. The only survivor of that classroom. I didn’t know Samuel was even capable of such monstrous acts. We never expected him. He went from class to class after the bell we don’t even know how the school doors were padlocked. Unless he could freeze time it was impossible.”
The therapist lifted her hand up and and adjusted her glasses then sighed. “There’s more to it than what was seen by you or John or anybody else in that school. Look Chris, you had a hard few months. Take a few more weeks off, get your priorities straight and then call me and we will evaluate you again and see if your ready for society and to be a normal teen again.”
With that Chris stood up then walked out of the office, walked down through the lobby and out there door where he started up his car and drove.
He reached his home and pulled into the driveway. One more day until his parents are home. He walked inside and went into his room. He thought back to what the therapist said. It didn’t make sense to him. What don’t we all know including the school board.
After a minute of sitting on his bed, he began to think a bit about the day at school. The blood all over him and the floor. The smell. The fear. It overwhelmed him in that moment and now.
“I could’ve saved them all if I wasn’t just a coward or I would’ve died first. This is b******t. Why did I have to be the survivor. Why couldn’t I have just died there with them.”
Chris began to sob, and in a matter of a few seconds, tears streamed down his face. He wiped his cheek of with the nack of his hand then stood up. He walked into his dad’s study and grabbed a bottle of scotch and the pistol kept in the bottom drawer just incase there was a home intrusion. He then walked to into the basement.
He dragged a dusty chair from the corner of the basement and placed it under the only light and sat down. He popped open the scotch and began to guzzle it. Tears began to well up in the corner of his eyes again. He couldn’t take it much longer. The pain, the constant nightmares, the feeling that it isn’t over with and someone was watching you.
He began to feel numb from the alcohol. He began to see double at his vision, was still enough to function. He found a notepad and pen surprisingly but it was used by his father when working on his knick knack electronics and he began to jot down a quick letter to his parents. The letter explained why he did it and why he felt nothing was helping.
After he finished the letter, he placed it down next to his chair then picked up the pistol from the floor. He stared at it long and hard then guzzled down another long drink that finished off the rest of the scotch.
“That’s it,” he said as he wiped another tear from his cheek. “Now let’s end this tonight. Just know mother, father I love you both.”
He cocked the pistol and put it into his mouth. The metal felt cold on his lips. The taste was awful. It was a horror story come true but he couldn’t live. He put his index finger on the trigger and as the tears steamrolled down his face…
Chris woke up in his bed, the sheets wet from sweat and his clothes soaking wet. It felt all so real but it was just a dream. A dream he wish was a reality. He sat up then walked over to the light switch to turn the lights on. When his hand touched the switch a felt something touched the back of his head.
“Don’t move Chris or your brains go all over the wall. Now slowly turn around.”
Chris puts his hand down but that voice it sounded cynical and full of hate. It sounded familiar. He turned around but all he could see was a dark outline of a human in front of him.
Chris could see the gun waving for him to move over so he took a few side steps that put him close to his closet. As he reached the destination the shadowed figure held his hand out for Chris to stop moving.
The figure still pointing the gun at Chris took his empty hand and leaned toward the light switch and flipped it on. The light was sudden and bright that Chris had to block his eyes for a moment. Then the figure began to speak and as he did Chris for use to the light and moved his hand. Now he was string face to face with the intruder.
“Now, you must pay.”
Chris couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had to have been drunk or still dreaming. This couldn’t have been him. He was arrested.
This couldn’t be Samuel.
TO BE CONTINUED…