I've kind of neglected this fic, since I've been working on "The CD" and other one-shot fics.
Thanks for being patient.
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Greg looked down to his hands. They were beginning to shake.
"Not now," he murmured angrily, and tightened his grip on the wheel.
He gritted, and resisted the urge to shut his eyes. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He remembered how he felt after having a bad flash back; a sickness spread from your stomach up to your chest, you felt like you couldn't breathe.
Then came the calm. The bitter resentment about what had happened; the fear that it could happen again.
And the loneliness. Not the fact that you were physically alone, but that no-one understood. You can't tell someone you've had one, you can describe them or how they make you feel. Because the other person will think you're crazy.
He'd been told to go to counselling. But what was the point in that? When people try to 'help' they generally do it not out of genuine concern, but because they're paid to. They don't want to listen – they just want you to take pills. They don't see sometimes you need to hurt.
He looked up toward the lights, which constantly seemed to flick to red on his approach. And it was begging to infuriate him; it was dawn, there were hardly any cars about, and when he did come to lights, no cars crossed in the opposing direction.
He looked down to his foot on the accelerator pedal.
Dare he?
He could feel the adrenaline in his body, the familiar metallic taste in his mouth. His thoughts went back to Sara.
It took a lot to shake her. It must have been bad.
He remembered his third flashback; he could taste the acrid smoke in his mouth, the pain felt fresh again…it felt more than real.
And that's when the thoughts came. The thoughts of harming yourself; anything to take away the memories, to bring yourself back into reality…
He floored it. He'd deal with the consequences later.
He knew she should have taken some time off; especially after he heard about her response to a case, going into a flat, which hadn't been cleared.
The more he heard about her incidents; the more he was worried that she was deliberately going out of her way to hurt herself; or get herself hurt.
But even if she was ok, if she was just struggling, there was no way should be left by herself.
His mind wandered back to Catherine's words, about what Sara had said, "she couldn't do it anymore" – what had Sara meant by that?
She couldn't do the job? Her life?
The dawn light was now casting eerie shadows, which were beginning to unnerve Greg.
"She's ok," he whispered to himself. He tried to believe the words he spoke.
"You're overacting…she's stronger than you…she'd never try to hurt herself."
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Short chapter; I know. More should be up soon.
Thanks for being patient.
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Greg looked down to his hands. They were beginning to shake.
"Not now," he murmured angrily, and tightened his grip on the wheel.
He gritted, and resisted the urge to shut his eyes. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He remembered how he felt after having a bad flash back; a sickness spread from your stomach up to your chest, you felt like you couldn't breathe.
Then came the calm. The bitter resentment about what had happened; the fear that it could happen again.
And the loneliness. Not the fact that you were physically alone, but that no-one understood. You can't tell someone you've had one, you can describe them or how they make you feel. Because the other person will think you're crazy.
He'd been told to go to counselling. But what was the point in that? When people try to 'help' they generally do it not out of genuine concern, but because they're paid to. They don't want to listen – they just want you to take pills. They don't see sometimes you need to hurt.
He looked up toward the lights, which constantly seemed to flick to red on his approach. And it was begging to infuriate him; it was dawn, there were hardly any cars about, and when he did come to lights, no cars crossed in the opposing direction.
He looked down to his foot on the accelerator pedal.
Dare he?
He could feel the adrenaline in his body, the familiar metallic taste in his mouth. His thoughts went back to Sara.
It took a lot to shake her. It must have been bad.
He remembered his third flashback; he could taste the acrid smoke in his mouth, the pain felt fresh again…it felt more than real.
And that's when the thoughts came. The thoughts of harming yourself; anything to take away the memories, to bring yourself back into reality…
He floored it. He'd deal with the consequences later.
He knew she should have taken some time off; especially after he heard about her response to a case, going into a flat, which hadn't been cleared.
The more he heard about her incidents; the more he was worried that she was deliberately going out of her way to hurt herself; or get herself hurt.
But even if she was ok, if she was just struggling, there was no way should be left by herself.
His mind wandered back to Catherine's words, about what Sara had said, "she couldn't do it anymore" – what had Sara meant by that?
She couldn't do the job? Her life?
The dawn light was now casting eerie shadows, which were beginning to unnerve Greg.
"She's ok," he whispered to himself. He tried to believe the words he spoke.
"You're overacting…she's stronger than you…she'd never try to hurt herself."
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Short chapter; I know. More should be up soon.