Phillip’s hand never strayed from his monster’s back. Her fur was soft and comforting in his cold grip, but he knew that she would not bring comfort, given the chance.

PTSD would make his life hell when given the opportunity. She would never relent until he was screaming and sobbing and collapsed onto the floor like a little baby, then his dad would have to carry him out while all the rest of the kids laughed at him.

But they weren’t laughing then, Phillip thought bitterly. His grip tightened on his monster’s silky fur momentarily, then relaxed as he took a deep breath.

He wouldn’t have a mental breakdown here. Not in the third week of school. It was way too soon to let everybody know that he was insane.

His pocket buzzed and he jumped, fighting to hold in a scream. He would never get used to it; he knew. He pulled out his phone and flinched at how bright the screen was. It was from dad.

He read the text quickly: Hey Phil. I’ll be gone after you get home from school and I’ll be home around six. Need anything from the store?

Phillip sighed in relief. His dad usually forgot to tell him where he’d be after he’d get home from school. Once, when Phillip had arrived home, his dad was nowhere to be found. He nearly had a breakdown and almost called the cops. Since then, dad had been very careful to tell Phillip exactly where he was.

He replied quickly: I need a new stylus. And make sure that it’s not the rubbery kind and it’s the fine-tipped one. And don’t call me Phil.

Almost immediately, his dad responded: Sorry Phillip. I forgot. And I’ll read the labels this time. How are you feeling?

Sometimes, it got annoying when dad was always inquiring about his wellbeing. But it was comforting for Phillip to know that his dad was always caring and concerned, unlike his mom had been.

Feeling dead like always :/

Text me if you need to come home or anything, okay?

Got it, pops. Gtg now, see you at six. Love you.

Love you too, have a good day! And remember to take your meds.

Phillip slipped his phone back in his pocket, and glanced up at his monster. She was a good couple heads taller than he was, and even taller when she stood on her back legs.

“Well, looks like I’m gonna be alone with you tonight.” He said to PTSD. “Won’t that be a great time?”

She snorted in reply, lowering her skull to sniff at the ground. “Can you at least hold off the torture until we get home?” he asked drily, not expecting an answer.

Her empty eye sockets considered him for a moment, then went back to sniffing the floor for threats.

That was the one thing that he could depend on PTSD. He could never be snuck up on, never be scared by anyone, or surprised by any person. He was always high-strung and looking around for danger. He sat in the seat closest to the exit in every single class so if needed, he could escape quickly. He treated every person as if they would pull a gun on him at any second. He distanced himself from people whenever possible. Because he was paranoid.

Too paranoid.

As he stared at his monster, taking in the symbols in her dark fur which always intrigued him, he heard the unmistakable earsplitting sound of gunfire.

The sound echoed in Phillip’s brain and he covered his ears and dropped to his knees on the floor. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and he looked around for a place to hide.

His eyes met PTSD’s unsympathetic sockets, and the sound worsened. It was so loud that he thought it would stay etched in his brain forever. He prayed to whatever god there was, hoping that the terrifying sound would stop.

Another gunfire, and he sucked in a breath and stifled a scream. Any sound would alert the gunman or woman to his position. He threw himself under the desk and toppled it over in his rush. He positioned himself behind the desk, trying to offer himself as much protection as possible.

Another volley echoed in his brain, and he was sure that he had been spotted. This is it, he found himself thinking. He’s come back to finish the job. He’ll find me and make my death longer.

Unconsciously, Phillip’s hand strayed to his left thigh, where he could feel the blood and the tear in his clothes. The sharp tang of burnt flesh made his way to his nose, and he knew that the murderer had set fire to the kitchen, trapping all those poor students that were inside.

Tears blurred his vision, and he hurriedly dashed them away. He would need every single one of his senses if he was going to somehow survive this.

And as soon as it started, everything stopped. Students were beside Phillip, asking if he was alright. He yelled at them to get down if they didn’t want to get shot. A girl wrinkled her nose and her brows came together.

“What are you talking about?” she asked in confusion. “the bell hasn’t even rung yet. You alright?”

“Get down!” he growled, tugging at her arm, but the girl would not budge. “Do you wanna get shot?”

The girl pulled her arm away from him and stood up. “Don’t touch me!” she cried. “What's wrong with you? Are you mentally disturbed, or something?”

“What?” Phillip said, his tone shaky and doubtful. “you didn’t hear the gunshots? Y-you don’t smell the smoke?”

Now more kids were whispering to each other. But most of them were just laughing. The girl shot him a disgusted look, then walked away and joined a group of giggling and snobby teenage girls.

All too soon Phillip realized what had happened, then he shot up from his place on the floor and ran out of the classroom, PTSD right on his heels.

“Get away from me!” he shouted over his shoulder, glancing back briefly. Students stared at him as he flew past, but he was too scared to care what they thought of him. All his brain could process right now was to get away from his monster.

Passing what seemed like thousands of hallways, he finally reached the exit door. He burst out into the courtyard, panting heavily from his mad-dash inside the school. He gulped in lungfuls of air, convinced that he’d never be able to breathe again.

But then something inside his brain clicked.

He reached inside his pocket and, with trembling hands, pulled out two, red tube-like pills. His hands shook as he unclasped his water bottle from the chain on his backpack. Popping the two pills in his mouth, he dumped water into his mouth and swallowed. He took a couple more swings, then emptied the rest of the water onto his monster’s head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he screamed; voice hoarse. “You just had to wait until we were in the classroom, huh? Then you decided I’d have a stupid breakdown!” he found himself pacing, his hands running through his hair. “Now everybody thinks I’m mentally disturbed!” he pointed an accusing finger at PTSD, who was sitting on the stone that made up the courtyard.

“Did you see that girls face?” Phillip continued to shout, unaware of the crowd that had gathered around him. “She’s disgusted! And it’s all your fault!” he collapsed onto the ground and buried his face in his monster’s side.

“Why did you chose me?” he mumbled from beneath her thick coat. “you could’ve chosen anyone, but why me?”

Not expecting a reaction, Phillip was startled when PTSD heaved herself up off the ground. Her jaw clamped around his arm, none too gentle, and started to guide him away from the crowd he had gathered.

Dumbly, he followed. He had no idea where she was guiding him, but he was too tired to care at this point.

He limped along beside her, rubbing at the spot on his thigh. That was where the bullet had entered him.

His monster’s grip never allowed one moment of release, and he was sure that he’d have bite marks imprinted on his flesh forever.

The meds never kicked in that day.