A/n: Contains vague references to child abuse.

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Reliving The Past

by, Cassandra

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I hate waking up as it is; I'm not a morning person. But waking up like this... this is hell. Unable to see, unable to move. Four walls surround me, darkness envelopes me, and panic overwhelms me. I want to scream but my heart is in my throat, making it hard to breathe much less scream. Being confined in one place is the definition of hell for me. I need space to move, I need light and air to breathe. All three at the same time is vital to my existence. I can't just breathe air.

I don't even want to think about what could have possibly gotten me here. If I start thinking my mind will go straight to the reason for my fear. All I remember is walking to my car, then darkness. I vaguely remember a hand over my mouth, the sickening smell of chloraphome... a voice, too familiar, whispering in my ear. Familiar at the time, but now, will the fear building inside me fogging my senses, I can't remember where I've heard it before. The thought sends a chill down my spine.

I know my eyes are open, but I can't even see my hand in front of my face. I even go as far as to touch my face, making damn sure that I don't have my eyes closed. It's too dark, unnaturally dark. For a girl who, even at twenty four, still sleeps with a light on, it's unbearably dark. In the dark it's far too easy to get lost in nightmare, even after you open your eyes. With even a sliver of light, it's easier to breathe at two in the morning when you're scared to death.

I consider myself a strong person. I wouldn't have gotten this far in life if I wasn't. But this is my Achilles' heel, one that I've made damn sure no one knows about. So my mind immediately jumps to the conclusion that this was planned. Someone knows me well enough to know this is what could break me. And the voice being so familiar... did they stalk me? How could I have not have noticed? This is what I've been trained for, damnit!

Logically, somewhere deep inside buried under the fear, I know that they're looking for me. Or will be, depending on how long I've been missing. Logically I know I'm not alone, though right now I feel like the only person on earth. Logically I know this was probably a random attack, but with the darkness wrapping its claws around my throat, I'm convinced someone's out to get me. Logically I know. But logic hates the dark as much as I do, and it's not bound by the four walls caging me in. Logic left the building long ago.

The panic took over the second I opened my eyes to pure darkness. Panic loves darkness, so it's not going to give up till I'm screaming for mercy. But it's cruel as well, choking me, making it impossible for me to make a sound. No matter how hard I try, no matter how strong I am, panic is stronger when tag teaming with fear. The darkness lingers, watching like a proud parent. The three together counteract the air I need, the light I love, and the space I crave.

I can feel the panic spread through me, like a drug I can't resist. It makes itself at home in my stomach, settling like a rock. It makes me nauseous, the urge to vomit becoming unbearable. The panic quickly changes to hysterics, going to my head, killing any trace of logic that dared to linger. Finally the panic moves out of my throat, and I give in to the desperate need to scream. Logic would have told me that there's no one there to hear.

Logic would have gotten it through my head that the walls aren't going to move just because I hit them. The only thing it's going to accomplish is bruising my fists, and drawing blood from my fingers. I would have known better then banging my head against them. But logic is dead and panic reins. And the only thing that can be heard is my hysterical screams for help.

The walls move in, stealing my already labored breath. The images from the past rise up from where the darkness unburied them. They flash by, the feelings in them adding to the present. The tears that fall down my face mirror the ones from the past. I'm no longer here. The cocktail of fear, panic and darkness transport me back to a time I wish I could forget. I'm no longer a competent twenty four year old woman, but a helpless eight year old. The sound of laughter flood my ears as the images continue.

I know the door doesn't lock, but I never tried to open it. I could probably run fast enough to get away, but there's no where for me to go. The floor is cold and I shiver though I'm burning up. The only light is the sliver squeezing under the door. I could move it I wanted to, but I'd probably touch a wall. No use reminding myself that I'm stuck. I watch the shadows pass, knowing she's preoccupied. I could make a run for it, but the result could be deadly.

This hurts less, but I consider it the worst of the two evils. I'd rather know what's coming, see it coming. I'd rather hurt in the light then breathe in the dark. His torture is hell; hers is ten times worse. At least he cares, in his own twisted way. She couldn't care less. She wouldn't notice if I died, he would. Not that it in any way justifies him. But still, I'd be totally alone without him. No one would care.

I'm still screaming, but my mouth isn't open. I can see the light in my mind, but my eyes only register darkness. I can feel the hunger gnawing at my stomach, and the tears streaming down my face. I'm aware of the present, but living in the past. I know what happens as I stand and reach for the doorknob. I know I can't stop it, but I still scream, telling myself to stop. It's not worth it. It's never worth it.

No one's there, but her eyes are ingrained in my mind, the green irises burning hotter then wildfire. She stands frozen, words formed on her lips but remaining unspoken. I can hear the static cackle over the phone, and know what's coming. I know the second the phone hits the floor, but the past can't be rewritten. I stand where I am, hoping that this time it'll be different. She'd forgotten I was there, and I made a mistake in reminding her.

I run, but she's always faster, the door is always farther, the obstacles are always harder. My wrist snaps, and though its years past I can still feel the pain. Her hand bruises, and her words twist the ever present knife in my back. I close my eyes against the dark, hoping to shut out the images of the past. But they're forever in my mind, doomed to repeat over and over again. I fight harder against my demons, succeeding in causing myself more pain.

I don't know how long I've been in the dark, or how long I've been in the past. I've lost all sense of time, lost all sense of sense. My hands feel nothing though they're covered in blood; my face no longer registers the tears free falling down it. I can't hear anything anymore. Breathing has become nonexistent. The only thing that remains is my sight, forever entranced by the image in my mind.

I don't register the real light spilling into the constricting darkness. I don't feel the real hands pulling be out of my own personal hell. I don't hear real the voices trying to break through the haze of fear. All I know is the life I've lived, the actions of the past. The demons that will forever haunt me. I guess three straight days in a closet will do that to you. Being in a shipping box isn't much better. Reliving the past is never fun. I used to hate waking up, but now I hate closing my eyes.