Trauma
Scarlett
I’ve been searching for a logical explanation of what could be triggering my memories.
So far, I know that when I walked into my room, something about the lighting and the way I looked at my bed triggered the flashbacks from the party.
Although I’ve encountered the sight of my bed a million times, that one time, it got me.
It’s all circumstantial. Another trigger was that damn citrus and cinnamon smell in the parking lot.
I’ve smelt that so many times that it doesn’t make sense.
Why is it reoccurring things that are triggering me.
Professor Elliot feels like a broken record today.
I’ve already finished this week’s readings and know about everything he talks about.
I try to avoid his eye contact, so he doesn’t call on me.
But no matter how hard I try, I can never avert his gaze.
I always look like a teacher’s pet whenever he calls on me.
Which is at least once per class. I hate it.
Once the lecture is over, I gather my laptop and place it in my bag. I throw the strap over my shoulder and head up the stairs, toward the door.
“Scarlett, can I see you a minute?” I turn around to notice Professor Elliot.
I hesitate before I walk down the stairs, toward him.
“Yeah?” I try not to seem uneasy and look around at my peers who leave the lecture hall. Usually, I wouldn’t care about being left alone with him, but today has been unsettling.
“I noticed that you were a little off today in class. Is everything okay?” He studies me.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I’m just tired today.”
“Troubles at home?” His head tilts to one side and his lips slightly purse.
“No, not really. Just didn’t get a good sleep.”
In second year, I thought Professor Elliot was cute—everyone did.
But I’ve never had a crush on him like some other girls in his classes.
He loves the attention and carries himself differently when he knows that someone notices him.
Since we’re only eight years apart, if I wasn’t his student, we’d probably be friends. We share a lot of the same interests.
“Okay, I just wanted to check in.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
A strong hand pulls on the back of my arm as I turn to leave.
“You could tell me, you know. If things weren’t okay at home.” I look down at his cold hand then back up at him.
Even under my long-sleeved shirt, the chill of his fingers washes over me. He doesn’t let go. I take a step back and try to pull away. With a subtle jolt, he lets go.
“Things are fine. Goodbye, Professor.” I look back at him as I walk up the stairs. The same nauseous feeling that I had during my first flashback fills my stomach. I shove the door open and scurry across campus. I need to get home.
I head straight to my car, open the door, throw my bag across to the back seat, and press the lock button. I tightly grip the steering wheel and try to control my breathing.
Blow out the candles, smell the roses.
I repeat it.
Blow out the candles, smell the roses.
I open the center console in search of my emergency sour gummies stash. It’s empty. Shit.
I reach into the back for my bag and pull out my other rescue pack. I tear into the wrapper and dump some gummies into my hand. I find a yellow one, pop it into my mouth, and close my eyes.
Just when I think the agony is over, I’m taken back to that night.
The room is dark. I feel so drunk that I’m starting to fade. My legs feel heavy as I crawl across the bed.
As my head lands on the pillow, the door opens. It’s too dark to see who’s coming in. “Soph?” I moan.
She doesn’t respond. Two more figures pile into the room. I want to tell them that I’ll be here for just a few minutes, but I can’t get the words out. Three of them surround the bed—one at each side. The tallest figure stands at the bottom of the bed.
They say something quietly to each other. I can’t see their faces, but the tall one’s body looks familiar. He doesn't have a bad posture of a hand in his pocket like the others. The way that he carries himself is different.
The tall one stands up straight. Clearly, he’s the leader of the pack. He places his hands on the bed but doesn’t come toward me. He just leans there.
I open my eyes. Another flashback. It was different this time. I focus on my breathing and close my eyes to try and make out their faces, but I can’t. I just want to know who they are.
I reach for the next gummy in my hand and my phone dings in my pocket. I pull it out.
Callum: Where are you?
I left so fast, I forget to call him. The only way I’m off the hook from him escorting me is if I call him after the lecture, preferably before I walk out to the car. He knows that my class got out twenty-five minutes ago.
Scarlett: Just on my way home. See you soon?
I place my phone down in the cup holder, put the car in reverse, and back out of the lot.