One of the most common symptoms of PTSD were vivid nightmares, which were also my least favorite part. Not that I had a favorite to begin with.
PTSD flashbacks are different from normal nightmares and they're just as annoying as you'd expect them to be. Rather than scary images and the absurd situations that nightmares happen, most of which are of certain events such as getting chased by a serial killer of finding yourself buried underground, these types of nightmares are...calmer, in a sense. This one was no different and I knew it was going to be bad by how normal it started.
There were no loud noises, or sudden death music, or even a sudden feeling of impending doom. There was no monster or killer, or life or death situation that I had to survive or battle I had to fight. There was no fire or public nudity or failing a test or whatever people dream of that makes them scared. Those nightmares scared you for a day or two, then you woke up, drank some tea or water, cried for a few minutes, then you slowly forgot about it.
There were no serious injuries here. No confinement or imprisonment. No screaming or pleading. No explosions. This was much, much worse.
My nightmare started with the smell of arroz con leche cooking on a winter morning.
My mother was a small woman, barely taller than my own pathetic 5'3 stature, who liked to dress up even in the comfort of her own home. Today, she was wearing a white and blue floral dress with her favorite sandals. Her long, brown hair was in a bun high on her head and her makeup was done, even though I was sure we had no plans today.
I'll pretend I didn't see the devil horns growing out of her head or the fact that she was floating above the ground instead of walking on it.
She was singing along to one of her songs from the speaker on the counter, belting the words with the singer and dancing along to the beat. She used a wooden spoon as her microphone, occasionally tapping it on the counter when the chorus appeared. I couldn't make out what the song was, nor the words she sang, nor the instruments, even though my mother's voice was clear.
My siblings were nowhere to be found, which was odd since Marisol liked to be the first one at the table in order to get the most amount of food, if Miguel didn't beat her to it. Mercedes almost never joined us for breakfast, so I wasn't too concerned, but even Luis should have been down here by now. My father was also gone, but I never saw him in the mornings.
"Mamá, where are the kids?" I asked, appearing next to her and helping her stir the rice.
My voice was high, and female once again, as was the rest of my body. I was back in my original form, back to poor eyesight and non-straight teeth and marked skin, except not exactly. I had never left this body. Not yet at least.
This was from before.
She gave a small shrug, and she kept singing, not looking at me yet as she was too focused on finishing the last notes of her song without blowing her voice out on the grito.
"Can you do the dishes while I get the table ready, mija? They should be down in a few minutes." She said and started to portion out the rice pudding.
Suddenly, I was washing dishes, even though I didn't remember turning on the sink or grabbing any soap. My mother was next to me, helping me dry them off as she continued to sing and dance to the cheesy love songs. I hummed along as I went, washing dish after dish that kept appearing.
"Aria, mija, let me see your face for a moment."
I felt a hand on my cheek, warm and soft, and turned to look at my mother. She was smiling at me, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, as she inspected my face. I didn't react and let her move my head from side to side.
"Dios mio, have you seen yourself?! You really need to get those eyebrows done the next time you go to the mall. You're basically Frida Kahlo at this point!" She explained, ending it with a sharp grimace. "I don't want you to spend money, so I'll pay for it. Just tell me how much it is."
She rubbed my forehead, right where my eyebrows were, pushing my glasses out of the way to see me better. I swallowed down the growing pinch of nerves in my stomach the more displeased she looked.
"Have you been taking care of yourself at all? Your face is practically a pizza with that much acne and your teeth are as yellow as a damn lemon. Do you even own a mirror?" She tutted and let go of my face. "You can't even say it's the makeup breaking you out like your sister since you don't even wear any. Honestly, what's wrong with you? It hurts me seeing that you're not taking care of yourself."
"But madre," I started to argue, even though her gaze made me shrink back. "I have been taking care of myself. I just stopped using the products you gave me since they were making my skin oily and making my teeth hurt-"
"Your skin is oily and your teeth hurt because of all the crap you eat. I saw a pizza box in your room the last time I went to visit, so don't even try to lie to me. You shouldn't put all that grease into your body unless you want to get fat and ugly. No man is going to want to talk to you if you don't try to look your best. You already look like a boy since you cut your beautiful hair off, not that you brushed it anyways."
I barely contained myself from running a hand through my hair. I was going to say something to my defense, when she shook her head at my expression. I shut my mouth and looked down at the dishes, scrubbing away even harder.
"But whatever, I tried so hard to instill good habits into my children and this is what they do with it. You're an adult now in college and I can't say anything to you without you getting angry. You don't need your mother anymore unless it's to cry for her to help you with something."
I caught myself before I could feel the family rise of anger and annoyance. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to pretend that my eyes didn't sting.
"Look up when I'm talking to you, Aria. You know it's rude to not engage with someone." She demanded, causing me to freeze.
I forced myself to look over at her, even though I really didn't want to. She clicked her tongue in annoyance and rolled her eyes.
"Ay, what are you crying for? We're just having a discussion here, so start acting like an adult. No one yelled at you or hit you, so there's no need for you to do that."
I nodded, blinking a few times until she was satisfied.
"Honestly, you should have never moved into those dorms with that girl. It was just a big waste of money and the only thing that's happening is that you're poor and sensitive and... ugh." She sighed heavily and leaned onto the counter, suddenly looking very tired. "Look, I may seem harsh, but I'm saying this because I love you. You're my first baby and I love you. I only want what's best for you."
"I love you too, madre." I responded out of instinct, even though the urge to cry was still there.
"Not as much as I love you." She kissed my forehead. "How about, after breakfast, I can show you how to apply some makeup. It's never too late to learn and I'm sure Mercedes won't mind us using her stuff. You would look so much prettier with some eyeshadow here and there."
She hugged me and went back to singing.
My nightmares didn't stop at one, most of the time. They happened in a sequence and very rarely did they give me any time to adjust to the whiplash of things. The nightmares that came immediately afterwards started in the middle or, with a sudden wave of pure, cold terror.
My mother was the most loving and caring person that I have ever known, but if there was one thing that we knew, it's that her anger was violent and explosive at times. I never knew what could set her off and it was never the same thing on any day. Walking on eggshells was never fun, even if it became second nature at some point. Most of the time they went unharmed, but sometimes I would fuck up big time.
The shards of glass across the floor were my broken eggshells today. My siblings had run the moment the glass of orange juice hit the ground, some to get my mother and the others, the twins, had run to hide under their bed or in their closet.
"¿Y ahora qué hiciste, pendeja?" My mother screamed, materializing in front of me.
She wore nothing but a bathrobe today, along with a towel on her head. Well, what was the head of a boar in place of her normal head.
I couldn't say anything before she slapped me across the face, her nails raking across my skin and splitting it open. It must have been a day where she was extremely angry because she didn't hold back. The pain made me almost cry on the spot.
"Look at the fucking mess you made! What are you, five? Look at this and tell me that this is something someone your age would do."
She sounded like my mother, even though her tone was vibrating as if it were mixed in with a hive of bees.
I didn't answer. Speaking would just make it worse and get you hit again, and it was best to just stay quiet while she got everything out of her system. I'm not my sister. I don't like making my mother angrier than she already is.
"Why the fuck are you just sitting there? Clean it up before it gets sticky and attracts flies!" She yelled, then put her hand up to stop me. "No. You know what? Stay right there. I'll just clean it up. I already do everything I this damn house! Might as well clean up your messes too since you're too lazy to do anything without someone having to tell you!"
A mop appeared in her hand, along with a bucket.
"B-But I can clean it-" My voice was soft, and it shook, which only made her mad.
"Why? So you can break the mop too? Just go off and be stupid somewhere else. Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up before you bleed all over my floor!"
I looked down, finally registering the burning in my hands from the shards of glass I had started to pick up. I guess I was so scared that I didn't even notice. I pushed myself up, wincing at the sharp pain in my palms, which caused my mother to snort.
"Fucking useless." I heard her mutter as I ran for the bathroom.
Another nightmare came next, this one with no words.
I was in the corner of a bedroom, crying hysterically as I watched my father, a large bear of a man whose face was never shown yet I instantly recognized, take a belt to my 6-year-old brother's back while my sister screamed in my mother's arms. There was no context for this one and it could have been a fake memory, but the screams of the twins were horrific. My father only hit him six times, but it was enough to leave marks.
I treated those marks later that night.
Yet another nightmare came afterwards, this one jumbled and mixed up so bad that I barely recognized what was happening. All I recognized was my mother screaming and pleading for my father to stop. I didn't want to know why.
The final one was the worst, even if it was the shortest.
My mother pulled my hair harder, shaking me around even as I was screaming for her to stop. She slammed me to the floor, knocking the wind out of me. The floor cracked underneath me, yet the shards only fell into who knows where.
"I should break your fucking face for that shit you just pulled!" She yelled so close to my face that I could smell the tequila on her breath. "You think this shit was funny? That it was cute? How can I even call you my daughter after this?"
I covered my ears, curling up just in case she tried to slap me again.
"But that's what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted everyone to think that you're a whore?!"
"I'm not a whore." I whimpered out.
"Yes, you are! You'll end up on the fucking street, sucking dick for pocket change! You're nothing but a slut and a bitch, prostituting yourself out there while your siblings make good money and get good grades. But knowing you, you love it!" She stomped her foot next to my head. "Because you're a whore!"
"No, I'm not."
"Nothing but a zorra that I fucked up in raising."
I woke up crying with Bilbo above me, terrified and shaking me awake. I barely had time to gasp before I grabbed him and pulled him to my chest. I didn't scream, didn't struggle, nor did I make a sound as he held me.
I don't know how long I stared at the sky before panic started to set in.
Nightmares were unfortunately common for Glírae. It was only a matter of time before they would rear their ugly heads again, ready to break his friend down for the night. However, he didn't expect one so soon.
He knew something was off when Glírae started stirring and mumbling, something he never did unless something was distressing him. He was always so calm and still when sleeping, to the point of scaring him sometimes when it appeared he had stopped breathing entirely. When he started saying the word for mother in his native tongue, Bilbo had shot out of bed.
He had scared Nori, who was on watch, half to death and had woken up a few others in his struggle to get to the elf, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when Glírae was trembling and gripping his head and beginning to cry in his sleep. It was a miracle that he had woken him up when he did, one that ended without him getting hit this time, even if it did end with a crushing hug.
He let himself be held onto, trying to soothe the panicking elf. Glírae's heart was thumping rapidly against his chest, and he was shaking like mad. When his breath began to speed up instead of slowing down, Bilbo felt his chest constrict. Oh mercy, he was going to start panicking again soon.
Before he could say anything, he was pushed off onto the ground. Glírae shot up, throwing the blankets off and taking off towards the trees, even at his and the Companies protest.
Gandalf ran after him, followed closely by Bilbo himself. Bilbo screamed out his name, but the only response he got was the sound of a terrified cry. Bilbo ran faster, faster than even Gandalf, and stumbled into the clearing where they had done the laundry earlier that day.
There, hunched over the bushes, Glírae was gripping onto a tree for support and heaving onto the floor. From the sounds of it, there wasn't much for him to vomit as he had barely eaten his dinner that night. He was pale, trembling and disoriented, a sight that still broke Bilbo's heart even after so many years of seeing it. Thankfully, it didn't seem like he would run again.
Gandalf took a step forward, but Bilbo grabbed his robes to pull him back.
"Go back to the camp. He doesn't need someone he barely knows around him right now. I can handle this." Bilbo sighed and shook his head. "I won't be back until morning, so please put away our sleeping bags and supplies. You still owe us for the room two days ago."
Whatever Gandalf was going to say died at Bilbo's stern words and he promptly turned to leave.
Bilbo took and deep breath. Glírae gave him a shaky nod as he sat down at the base of the tree, then vomited once more on the ground. Bilbo stroked his back once a few minutes passed and he was coherent enough to give his consent to be touched, silently cursing the poor excuses that ever called themselves his parents.
It was going to be a long night.
Kili knew this was an awful idea.
He should have simply left it alone and just put away the supplies like Gandalf had told him too. Still, he could not help but want to get closer to his elf. After the disaster of a conversation they had that morning, where every plan for an engagement gift had been thrown down the drain.
His beloved had no love for gold or gemstones found in the mountains, so making a gift with his craft was infinitely more difficult. He knew nothing about woodcarving or textiles, and he had refused to ask Bofur for his help lest he sabotaged his proposal. He had seen the way the older Dwarves in the Company had begun to look at his elf and he refused to be waylaid by them.
This was his true love, not theirs.
Even so, he knew he should not have done what he did. He should have run after his love and comforted him from the terrible dream he had. He should have been there to embrace him and wipe his tears and promise him all the sweet riches of the world. He should have been there as a shoulder to cry on, but instead he was frozen by sleep and fear and had remained in the camp while their burglar and the wizard had gone after them instead.
When Gandalf had returned to the camp some minutes later and had asked them to pack up the supplies left behind, he had volunteered to help. And now, he was making a terrible mistake.
"What are you doing?" Fili hissed in the background, startling him so bad that he had dropped the stolen sketchbook. "You're snooping through his bag like a filthy vagabond!"
Kili shushed his brother, picking the book back up and moving close to the light of the fire. Thankfully, the others had gone back to sleep and Gandalf was busy keeping watch on the trees for when the two returned.
"I just want a look. Nothing more than a few pages. I want to know what he likes and what would make for a good engagement present. He has no love for the stuff I am comfortable with, but there must be something that I can make him."
His brother gave him a look of horror, even as he too sat down next to him.
"An engagement gift? Kili, you've known him for a week! He has spoken to you once! You've heard him say that he has no interest in marriage or courting and is terrified of the very thought!"
Kili shook his head, opening the book, then pausing when he realized that he had opened it upside down.
"He is wrong. You've heard his thoughts as I have. Surely you recognize how unhealthy they are. Whoever taught him to think that way is to blame, and he needs someone to show him that love is not like that. I want to show him how wonderful love can be."
Kili opened the page to the right one and felt his heart stop.
"So, you stole from him and violated his privacy to show you respect him?" Fili hissed, cuffing him on the head. "What is wrong with you?"
Kili didn't answer, far too horrified at the image he was seeing to do anything in his defense.
Drawn on the blank pages, in charcoal and ink, was a figure. Naked, bound in chains and covered by flowers. The lines drawn across were angry, precise and smeared by water stains that must have been teardrops. This was personal and something he should not have seen.
This was a mistake.