your not really sure how you got here, but your here now.

you don't like it

hate

it

a boy fills up a cup of water, and it's not sure what to think of it.

it's the middle of the night, so he really shouldn't be up — not that it's complaining, time doesn't really matter when you need to do things; but it is quite worried. what if someone finds out? that'd be— well, um— they'd have to r—

water is a trigger, trauma, to the child —why should he drink it? why? whywhenitcausedsomuchpainwhywnywhy—

and he is drinking it. the last time water touched his throat was when he was crying, and in pain, and it doesn't—will never—like pain. pain is pain.  pain should die.

maybe not die, as it did help him live — but it's not sure what to do here, so it's going to say it to feel more confident — but pain is here now, and it can see the boy is straining, trying to not gag and vomit his guts out.

it wants to help, wants to blockblock, but it can't, because what if? what if? someone pains him, hurts him, breaks a bone during when the boy is weak and the boy can't scream because everything is numb. what if? someone is of danger to him, and it can't help but loose the rope that tires to his fingers because he's going to die. he's going to die because he doesn't know this person is trying to kill him, kidnapping him (mush him up into a meat grinde—)

"you should block it," it hears her whisper, but it waves her off, her disappointment clear as it stares back at the boy.  "look at him. he is hurting, block it."

"i shouldn't," it says, turning to the pair of eyes only to lock its focus on him once more. it watches as the boy takes a breath, putting the glass down and looking at it, eyes a tad foggy as tears run down his face.

"he's crying," she says, putting a hand on its shoulder. "you know what to do."

"i just— i can't," it whisper yells, shaking a bit as it sees him almost vomit from staring at the pit of deadness in his cup. he shouldn't— wouldn't— can't go on like this. he can't go vomiting every time he sees water. can't remember— can't feel. don't feel. please don't (feel).

because if it suppresses it, it means that the tasks and outcomes and everything will be lost. survival skills with the flashbacks will be helpful because then he'd know what to do, what to think, to feel, how to fight. it could —would— backfire if it blocked it. what if they were pushed into a lake? they wouldn't know how to swim, wouldn't understand why, would panic, would drown—

the boy takes a breath, drinks it, and realises that he forgot why he was so afraid of it