#twpanicattack

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Tristen’s brain hadn’t functioned fast enough to reply before Matilda left. He’d remained rooted to the spot long after she’d disappeared, face crimson with embarrassment and shame gnawing uncomfortably in his gut. Not ashamed because he’d almost cheated on Vicky, she deserved as much, but because Matilda hadn’t deserved.. whatever the hell that was, not after everything she’d been through recently.

He knew how she felt, she tried to hide it, but he knew. She’d opened her heart to him and what’d he done in return? Dangled the proverbial carrot right in front of her face, cruelly played with her feelings, gotten her hopes up-.. or not, she pushed him away. She probably didn’t want someone else’s fuck up of a boyfriend anyway, she didn’t want him at all.

What a fucking idiot-.. god, he was so stupid, so utterly obtuse he couldn’t bear it. If he wasn’t so pathetic maybe he would’ve had the guts to break things off with Vicky before she got pregnant; but now it was too late, now he didn’t know what to do.

Was it even his? He hoped not, that’d be a good excuse to leave, wouldn't it? She couldn’t argue her way out of that one, could she? He wasn’t so sure, she’d probably guilt trip him into staying anyway, in which case it’d be better if it were his, right? Maybe it’d be worth it then. Shit-.. the poor kid was screwed either way. He could try and convince her to-.. no, that wouldn’t be right. There was always adoption, he supposed, but no-.. he didn’t want a child, but he couldn’t just abandon it.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! He couldn’t breathe, his mouth was too dry-.. was he about to die, sat here alone on this bench? A few passers-by glanced in his direction as he began hyperventilating, but that only made things worse. Dropping his head into his hands, Tristen swallowed hard, trying his best not to empty the contents of his stomach onto the very public sidewalk. People were staring at him now; he just knew it.

He briefly contemplated launching himself over the railing behind him, it was so close. He could die a sad, wet death in peace then; one that he probably deserved-.. but he didn’t even have the backbone for that either.

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Transcript:

Using tumblr as my way to vent tonight as I’m coming to terms with the fact that I was assaulted on Sunday night. Not physically, not sexually, but I was drugged. I wouldn’t have callled it assault until the police officer rang me and told me that’s what they’re classing it as. So I now have a record against my name, Assault 08/07/18.

I was meant to be going to the pub tomorrow to watch the England game but the thought of going to a crowded place, with drink, is scaring the life out of me. So I’ve bailed on that. I also had plans to go out this weekend, which have changed to me choosing not to drink but I have a strong feeling I won’t be going at all. People can still spike your water after all.

I think the thing, at the minute, that’s most scary is the fact that all of my friends just thought I was really drunk, and I don’t blame them, why would you think I’d been drugged? The club was empty. I hadn’t gone to the bar. But I know someone got me a drink. Bits and pieces keep coming back to me but the most harrowing memory is me pleading with my friends to call me an ambulance because I couldn’t breathe. I was having a panic attack and I couldn’t tell anyone because I couldn’t string a sentence together.

I drifted in and out of consciousness and I don’t think I want to remember much more.

I was assaulted in the least physical way possible yet someone was able to maliciously steal my control away from me and cause me so much mental pain. Not to mention my body is covered in bruises.