Tuesday, 10 November 2015

Meagre Jill Climbs The Bailey

Driving past the house always brought back so many memories. Things that I'd never even taken notice of at the time - like the roughness of his hands, or the way each of his fingers felt different as they fit snug against the nape of my neck. I lost my breath every time I went past, thinking of what could've been. Panting in a PTSD delirium I usually clung white knuckled to the wheel and lost all feeling for the accelerator. Today though, after several failed attempts, I allowed myself a pause. I put the indicator on and pulled off to the kerb. I sat there, outside that house, with my heart beating desperately fast, forcing myself to breathe. Tomorrow I might turn the engine off, and after that, who knows?

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