AN- Um...this chapter is strange. Creepy too. Bear with me. (huggles Home and Love) -Kani
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder came in many forms. Sometimes, a shattered mind would slip into a place where reality could not reach it. Nate didn't know what it was called, but he knew what it was like to be trapped in his own body, unable to move or think, or even really be alive
It was wrong, he was still alive. He knew it…but he couldn't see. He couldn't hear anything. He couldn't move.
It was so cold.
The window was broken.
Why?
That was the question that had shut his mind down, completely disconnected him from everything real. Here, in the silence, in his own private prison, he imagined himself staring at the question…facing it down like a living creature. There was the black, and there was the white. He was the white…the black was his eyes, and the world, the cold.
No, that didn't make sense.
It was everything. There in the black, was Nate River. The white…and as he saw nothing, the black was in his eyes. Something wrong there, something off…but the thought was gone now.
Why?
Right…why? In the corner of his mind he saw another white. A white besides Nate. That shouldn't be there…he stared at it, trying to force into the black and cold with his eyes, with his black eyes.
That didn't make sense.
He tried anyway…tried because the window was broken. That clicked something together in his mind, and the other white…the other white became why. He moved forward carefully. His steps made no noise, both numb with the cold.
A ball of yarn. A white ball of yarn, and that was why.
His disjointed minds well enough that it was a metaphor, that his childish thoughts were turning something very complicated into something that he could grasp here, in the black and white.
Yarn it was, then.
He reached forward, touching his fingertips to it, rolling it slightly in the void they inhabited. It was big…as tall as his stomach and very round. The blackness was cold, but the white, the white yarn was warm. He put his hands on it, filled with wonder at the warmth it gave him. He dug his fingers in, weaving them into the white threads and it was warmer below. Pleasantly surprised, a small smile came to his face.
This was white. This was why. He began playfully burrowing his way into the yarn, pushing it aside, worming his slender arms into the heat up to his elbows. It was lovely, and if his feet weren't so cold, he might have felt his toes curling.
The yarn warmed further, now with loops hanging from the sides from his antics. They swung gently as he slowly fisted his hands in the make-shift gloves of yarn. His smile grew wider, as the warmth spread and the yarn moved. It wrapped just big snugger around his arms, making him feel safe with this small haven of warmth, and he completely forgot about why.
He tried lifting and found it weightless, which was quite amusing. This large ball of yarn that weighed nothing…his smile came back, along with his curiosity. He began wandering through the black, not entirely sure why he was there. He wasn't the only white anymore though. This ball of yarn, this was white too, and so he must take it with him.
He wandered for hours, and he finally began to worry again. Why was he here? Why…
Oh.
Why.
That's right.
He looked down at the yarn around his arms, and he frowned. This was why…this was…
He yelped as the yarn tightened brutally around his small arms. Hundred of strands tightened unmercifully, cutting off the blood to his lower arms. He began fighting, making low sounds of terror in his throat as he struggled against the binding hold.
The warmth began to heat up again, and it was becoming hot. The loose strands he'd pulled about as he dug into Why slithered tight again, and then began snaking up his arms. The threads moved across his forearms and hands, pulling so tight that the fragile skin beneath them began to rip under the tension. He cried louder, throwing himself to the ground in an effort to kick the ball away, but it did no good as it inched it's way closer to his chest, holding him tightly, so tightly.
A moment later, he felt the blood flowing into the yarn from his abused skin, rubbed raw and blistering under the heat and friction. No more, no more, the window was broken, why?
Why was the window broken?
He couldn't think of anything else, and the yarn throbbed around his poor hands, working them with unbelievable pressure. His arms folded in on themselves as the white ball inched closer, and he felt his heart would stop in his chest. Why was the window broken?
A low keening wail of absolute terror rang in his throat, and he could feel the blood slick on his arms, the threads pulling, rubbing the skin away. It felt as though he'd shoved his hands into an oven, the heat, and cold blackness, and there was nothing, nothing out there, no one to help him, why was the window broken?
The threads worked their way up, and the looser ends slowly wrapped themselves around his throat, he felt them sliding over his ears, scratching down his face. He rolled over, pushing down, down, trying to push it away, but his arms only sank deeper, and the window was broken why? The strands tightening around his throat, rubbing and pulling and there was blood there too, but he couldn't see it, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, he could not breathe…
Why was the window broken?
XXXX
"Sedate him! He's going into shock!"
"Why isn't he breathing?"
"I don't know! Pry his arm away, I've the got the Lorazepam."
"Why is he clutching his chest…C'mon Near, gimme a vein…"
XXXX
His vision alternated red and white, and that was wrong, because this was the black, and why was the window broken. So cold, he couldn't breathe; he could feel his windpipe collapsing under the strain. His heart was in his ears, his cries choked off, and in his panic, he thrashed.
XXXX
"FUCK, someone hold him!"
"It's not a seizure, he's dreaming!"
"I don't care! Hold him so I can get this in!"
XXXX
Pain, pain that was not why. It was there and it was gone, and he could feel the skin breaking around his slender throat, and the white and red was not black.
It was not black…
The window was broken…
The white began to fade…the blackness crept forward, but it was not longer cold. He watched it cover his knees, creep up his thighs, and then even the yarn faded. It dimmed fading off into the void, into the black…the black in his eyes.
That didn't make any sense.
XXXX
"Okay…okay he's out, back up."
"Check his vitals, Nona…Eric, how's his heart?"
"Slowing down, but he's coming out of it."
"Responsive?"
"No, still glassy. Jesus, what happened? He was fine…"
"I don't know. He's catatonic again, but at least he's not dreaming."
"His lips are moving…"
"What's he saying?"
"I dunno…looks like broken window."