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Therapy Part Two

Short story By: WJS
True confessions


same as part one


Submitted:Apr 16, 2014    Reads: 8    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


They say I woke up in the middle of the night. Screaming. I dont remember that though. I remember waking up the next day, alone in the hospital. After sometime my Mom walked in. She looked so tired, so devasted. She was glad to see I was awake. My back ached. I could where they had sown up the wound, and it still burned lightly. Sometimes it still does. We talked for awhile about what happened. Through the tears I told her what had happened. When the police were informed, no charges were to be pressed. We didnt want the attention, and we didnt want a trail. We had gone through enough. Then I asked about my brother.

He had not yet awakened. I wanted more than anything to get up and to see him, but the doctor advised against it. They had more tests to run, and they didnt know if it was the right time yet. So I lay in bed all day. I tried to entertain myself but all I could think about was my brother. I ate lightly and threw up. Somewhere in the late night I fell asleep.

I woke up the next day, the same as the first. The first thing I did after trying to eat was ask about my brother. He was still asleep is what they told me. Asleep. They made it sound like he was only dreaming, that this was perfectly normal and he would wake up at any time. He wasnt. He was in a coma that would last for 4 days total. Then hed simply wake up and everything would be normal. Except when he woke up he remembered nothing. He remembered nothing about what had happened, who the boys were, or why they had attacked us. We would never know.

That whole time my brother was out, he was dead. I got to see him, he was breathing, but he was not himself. He wasnt my brother. I thought he would die if he wasnt already. I couldnt talk to him like my mom could, I could only stare. It was my fault. I hadnt been there for him I hadnt done my duty. I shouldve helped him earlier, I should have turned around saw he was losing and fought harder and faster for him. But I didnt, so it was my fault. He was hurt, he was dying and I couldnt save him I couldnt do anything for the person who had always done everything for me. I had had my chance to protect him and I let it go by so it was all my fault.

I told my mom that it was my fault. Thatswhen the doctors suggested therapy. A close family frien would later diagnose me with ptsd, and now pts. Theres really no difference between the two, both hurt just as much. He does things for us off the record to save us legal trouble. My brother had recieved help from him, but doesnt need it as much because he stll doesnt remember or wont talk about what he does remember.

Then he woke up. I cried. My mom cried. He had no clue where he was, why he was here, or what had happened to him. This too, was my fault. He was suffering. Through physical therapy there were able to restore him. He is now the same person he always was. The only difference is about two weeks of blurry memory. And it was my fault.





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