𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆...
𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃!
Crystal Lake, Cunningham County, New Jersey.
A mixture of the best memories and worst trauma was weighed on the shoulders of one location. It was a lot to place on the poor lake. She believes she's shed more tears tha...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
WELCOME BACK, SAM REED! YOU HAVE (1) MAINTENANCE REQUEST(S). REQUESTED IN (13/9/57), (3287) DAY(S) AGO!
NOVEMBER 2ND, 1966, VIRGINIA.
She was... exhausted.
Sam was slouched over in her chair, fiddling with a pencil between her fingers.
The 19-year-old woman sat in the second furthest row from the front of the room. An older man droned on with his lecture at the chalkboard- scribbling details on it with white chalk.
Bored and slightly irritated- her gaze shifted toward a random wall as she delved into her thoughts.
Now and then- she couldn't stop thinking about what had happened nine years ago.
Her fingers kneaded her sweater dress riding up her thighs- absentmindedly picking at any strands of wool.
Now and then- she wished she was the one that drowned in that lake.
Was it trauma? Not only did her best friend die- but she nearly drowned. She only survived because she was thrown in second, giving Pamela enough time to get there and save one of them.
She wished she saved her son instead.
Sam fidgeted with her college textbook absentmindedly.
The woman ended up dedicating her life to wanting to educate less fortunate children. She wants to help those who are bullied, born differently, or need more help.
She was here to get her Bachelor of Arts in Early Care & Education, or ECE.
Sam imagines that perhaps Jason would be proud of her.
Ever since the day he died- her mom stopped dropping her off at camp. She heard Pamela's mental state worsened.
Apparently- both of their lives could've been saved that day if the counselors weren't busy fucking in some barn. The woman clenched her pencil tightly in her fist at the thought, feeling sour.
Was it wrong that she's glad they ended up somehow murdered that summer? It made her feel like a psychopath.
Perhaps it was the trauma talking.
"Girl, you should really get help."
Sam flinched and whipped her head to the left. Her friend, Tammy, sat in the chair beside her. Except... they didn't share this period.
She spaced out so much that she didn't realize the lecture was over.
"I'm..." The woman pursed her lips, "I'm fi-fine."
She's started to go to speech therapy for her speech impediment. Of course- her alcoholic mother and neglecting father never bothered, so there was a chance she'd still suffer a small stutter for the rest of her adult life.
"Uhuh." Tammy lifted her head and sniffed the air annoyingly, "I'm smelling bullshit."
She's known Tammy since she was 5- and she's always been very... blunt. That's the kindest way to put it.
Sam sighed and rubbed her face, "L-Listen... Ther-Therapy is exs-s-spensive." She'd huff with twitching eyelids, "I can de-deal with it m-mmm-myself."
It didn't help that therapy was looked down upon in the 60's. Anyone who had therapy was people who were royally fucked up.
"Could you say the same thing for your stutter?" Tammy raised a brow.
Fuck, she's good.
"Listen... I'm just worried about you." The brunette leaned toward her and touched her arm, "Sometimes, you feel like you're straight-up hydrophobic. At least go to therapy for that."
Sam pursed her lips and averted her eyes.
"Please... just consider it." The woman smiled.
The ginger sighed, "... Alr-rig-right."
Tammy's smile turned into a grin, "That's the spirit." She said, "Now, come on, I'm hungry as a pregnant lady."
Sam softly smiled.
Perhaps Tammy was right.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
