I still remember the day it happened.

The memories are as fresh in my mind as if the events had only just occurred. They called it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and their words still cry out in my mind. You're strong, they said. You'll make it through the tough times.

No matter how many times I tell myself that I want to forget, the fragments and echoes of my pure terror always found a way to push back into my thoughts.

How many years had it been since the fateful day? Three, perhaps? Four? Time had only blurred itself into a distasteful mess.

So many people had visited me, asked me if I was alright, offered their support and then left. Every time there was a knock at the door, I was forced to push away my anxieties and mask them with a smile.

But no matter how much I pretend I'm okay, I still see the bloodstains, hear the gunshots, and feel the tension between the survivors.

I can't look at myself without reliving the memories. Although nobody had asked me to tell them the whole story yet, I still see the eyes of the slaughtered within the eyes of the living.

I still see the pity on their faces. Poor little Isabelle, traumatised after that terror attack.

I think about that often. It's almost the only thing that I can think about.

I can only hope that this fear will not be with me forever.

~

Knock knock.

Isabelle Hawthorne looked up from her book, To Kill A Mockingbird, and her eyes travelled to the door that had just been pounded. She quietly remained still in her chair, hoping that whoever it was would just go away.

Knock knock knock.

"Leave, please. Just go away." She whispered to herself, hoping that her visitor would somehow get the message and disappear.

"Hello? Miss Hawthorne, are you home?" Came a man's voice from outside.

"Damn it." Isabelle muttered. She put her book down and got up out of her armchair, silently treading towards her front door.

She could well have pretended she wasn't home, or better yet, pretended she didn't exist. All of the curtains and blinds were closed; the way they always were. She never went outside, not for anything. She had her groceries delivered to her door, and she never had any mail to collect, so going away from the comfort of her home was not necessary.

She just shut herself off from the world. Shut herself away to stay safe.

Safe from any more attacks.

Isabelle's fingers wrapped around the door handle, but her palm lingered there, not daring to twist it. She was tempted to just sneak back to her chair and pretend like her visitors weren't there.

"Miss Hawthorne? Hello?"

Isabelle exhaled sharply. She closed her eyes tightly and wrenched the handle, opening the door. Her eyelids fluttered open, overwhelmed by the brightness. Sunshine streamed in, making her wince, and the fresh scent of springtime filled her senses; the smell of flowers and pollen plentiful.

"Ah, Miss Hawthorne! Glad to have caught you at home." Spoke her visitor, who was a smiling man, beaming down at her.

"Can I help you?" Isabelle spoke quietly, barely above a murmur.

"My name is Liam Bridges, and if it's alright with you, I'd love to come in and have a chat with you." He said, his voice gentle, as if he was trying not to overwhelm her. Like he was holding a fragile piece of glass and was trying not to drop it.

His sweet smile reached his eyes - vibrant green orbs that sparkled and gleamed as he watched her carefully.
His black hair was an organised mess, to say in the least. He had light stubble on his face, and his physique was clearly defined from under his untucked dress shirt.

"Why, what's the occasion?" She asked. Nobody had ever been so enthusiastic to be around her after the 'incident'. Usually it was out of pity or obligation, and nine times out of ten it was awkward for both parties.

"It's the five year anniversary of the supermarket shooting and I'd like to hear your story." He said, his tone serious but his smile still present.

Isabelle couldn't believe it. Five years? That long? "M-my story?"

"Of course. I want to know first hand what it was like. I want to feel your fear with you, relive it and go through the raw pain with you."

Isabelle shook her head frantically. "You don't want to know what this feels like." Tears began to well in her eyes, but she pushed them away. "I can't live with it."

Liam's eyes lost the hint of a smile, and was replaced by pure sympathy. "Maybe letting it out into the open will free you from your prison."

Isabelle was silent for a moment. Could she trust herself with opening up to a man she barely knew? The slightest thing could trigger her, and then he'd regret ever speaking to her. He'd think she was a freak, insane, some fragile girl that asked for everyone's pity.

But at the same time, he was right. She had never spoken the tale aloud. Perhaps keeping it to herself was only letting it compile into a mess of growing fear and regret. Maybe it would be good for her to let it out into the open.
Maybe it would release her from her torment.

"Okay. Come in." She said, stepping aside to let him in.

Liam flashed a smile at her, and slowly stepped inside. Isabelle rushed in behind him, shutting the door behind her. She ushered him to the living room, and let him sit on the sofa. "Stay here. I'll be back." She instructed, leaving him to sit silently on the sofa.

Isabelle yanked open the curtains, letting the sunshine stream into the room, and almost making the space seem bigger and less miserable. She rushed about the house, opening blinds and curtains. She even opened a few windows for good measure. She flicked off the various lights she had on that lit her way in the darkness of her home. When she returned, Liam was still seated patiently, waiting for her with that signature smile.

She had not seen her living room like this for quite some time - the sunlight made the room bright again. The walls had been restored to white, and the carpet was that creamy colour that she once knew so well. Her bookshelves somehow looked less gloomy, and the glass cabinets beamed with pride like they had five years ago.
The sofa that Liam was perched upon looked so strange, as if its depression was over. The several books on the coffee table seemed brand new, and her trusty armchair was almost unrecognisable.

Everything had been touched by the light and woken from the tragic slumber that had consumed Isabelle's life.

"Do you want anything? Tea? Coffee?" Isabelle asked, her voice louder than before, as if removing the gloom of her home had lifted her spirits and confidence.

"Ah, tea would be fabulous, please." He said brightly. "Just a bit of milk and no sugar."

Isabelle nodded and turned. She made her way to the kitchen, where she began to boil some water. She set down two mugs on the counter, and leaned against the wall waiting for the water to boil. She listened in silence to the bubbling, closing her eyes as it grew louder.

There were moments that she completely forgot of what happened that day. It was the little things, whether it was water boiling, thunderstorms, or the gentle thrum of her refrigerator.
She could find release in the most unexpected of places - and when she found it, she found it hard to let go. She temporarily let go of who she was, ridding herself of the memories.

But it only lasts so long.

The kettle finished its work, the bubbling ceasing, and she was again back to reality. She dropped a few tea leaves into Liam's mug, and some instant coffee into her own. She poured boiling water into both, before adding a bit of milk to each. She stared down into the milk swirls, watching the white combine with the dark. She plunged a teaspoon into both, combining the colours, making them collide, before letting them melt together.

She picked up the mugs and carried them out to the living room. Liam had been writing something on his notepad, but he put his pen down as soon as he caught sight of her. He flashed a gentle smile when she placed his tea in front of him on the coffee table, before sitting down and clutching her own mug to her chest, sinking into her armchair.

"So...?" Isabelle started, encouraging the man in front of her to speak.

"Miss Hawthorne-"

"Just call me Isabelle."

"Isabelle. If you can, I need you to tell me every detail of what happened that day. I understand if it's too much for you, and we can stop at any time you like."

"No!" She cried out. She noticed the surprised look on his face, and she quickly regained her calm composure. She cleared her throat and continued. "Uh, I mean, no, it's fine. I'm fine. I don't need your pity."

Liam smiled again. "Okay, I get it. Whatever is best for you. I am the visitor to your home, and I didn't give you any notice before I came. I'm ready to fit to your needs, and go at your pace."

The corners of Isabelle's lips turned upwards. This man she had only met minutes ago seemed to know how to deal with people suffering mental illness. He wasn't pushy, and he was accepting of her choices. I could open up to him. Maybe I am ready..

"Okay. Where do you want me to start?" Isabelle said, taking in a deep breath.

"Wherever you like. Ready when you are."

Isabelle sighed. "I guess I'll start at the beginning."