Ev

I was surprised to wake up and see that Daniel was still asleep. I checked my phone only to see that I had been asleep for six hours. That was way too little for the night I had had. I dropped my phone on the mattress and fell back against my pillow. Just another hour of sleep, I wasn't asking for much.

But Omen wasn't having any of it. She must have noticed me waking up because she immediately jumped up on the bed and came to rub her face to mine. I found myself wondering why I had wanted to adopt her, but as the purring set in my heart melted and that question faded to nothing. She truly was a sweetheart.

I got up on my elbows and noticed that the window next to the table was open. I hadn't seen that when I had come in but knowing the state that I was in six hours ago, it didn't surprise me. I shed a glance at Daniel. Maybe he had woken up and opened the window and then had fallen asleep again. Or maybe I just hadn't noticed it. It was probably the later.

Eventually, I got out of bed. First thing I did was pour Omen some food in her bowl, as she had started to meow and I wanted her to calm down as to not wake Daniel up. This was one of the few mornings where he didn't wake up before sunrise. He needed the rest. After she started eating, I went to the bathroom to piss and take off my smudged make-up. With my slightly purple nose and faded hair, the fucked-up make-up really made me look like a mess. I yawned and splashed some water on my face to wake me up.

I went to sit on the table after I started brewing some coffee. I thought about drawing but then decided against it as I looked over at Daniel again. I opened my laptop and searched for the phrase "can trauma cause nightmares".

To be frank, I wasn't certain that Daniel had gone through trauma. He hadn't told me anything specific. But something about his reactions just gave me the feeling that he had. As for the nightmares... I didn't know him for long, but he had nightmares almost every night, so something was definitely up.

As I read the first sentence that popped up from my search, I felt my heart drop. Nightmares can arise for a number of reasons—stress, anxiety, irregular sleep, medications, mental health disorders—but perhaps the most studied cause is post-traumatic stress disorder.

Did Danny have PTSD?

The shuffle I heard from the bed made me close the tab I had open and look up at where Daniel moved. He didn't rise, but he did raise his head a bit. He said nothing, noted that I was sitting by the table and let his head drop back on the pillow again.

"Hi..." I said and slowly stood up. He grunted back and hid his face in the pillow. I opened my mouth to speak up, but my ringtone interrupted me. I saw that Marcie was calling me and I picked up. "Good morning."

"Hey. Eh, do ya... are ya busy right now?" she asked. There was a certain wavering in her tone that I wasn't used to. I eyed Danny.

"Not... really..." I replied carefully. "If you want me to come to the shop today I–"

"No, no," she cut in. "I- uh... I need ya to take me somewhere. And pick me up. It's... it's important," she went on.

"Oh... okay. Should I pick you up from your place or...?"

"No, I'm at the tattoo shop. I'm gonna close it early today. Just be here as soon as possible, okay?"

"Sure. I'll just put something on, and I'll be on my way," I told her.

As soon as I hung up, I went to my dresser and looked at my clothes. I picked out a ripped black sweater thinking that the weather wasn't bad enough for me to not wear it and a pair of dark grey jeans.

"Where are you going?" Daniel asked, his voice still groggy from sleep. I looked over at him, seeing that he hadn't even turned to look at me. He had probably heard me while I was on the phone.

"Marcie, my friend, needs me for something. I don't think it will take long, but don't wait around for me if you get hungry," I replied and took my phone and keys.

I waited for a second, but when Daniel ended up not replying to me, I nodded to myself and lowered down to pet Omen goodbye. I looked at her purr and move against my hand and then without saying anything else to Daniel I left my apartment.

I took my car and in a little less than fifteen minutes I was waiting for Marcie right out of the tattoo shop. I quickly texted her, saying that I was outside and then looked through my news feed. The world was still a clusterfuck and as I was about to set my phone aside a headline caught my attention.

Exclusive: Marianna Maxwell...

That was Danny's mother, wasn't it?

A tap on my window made me jump and look up at Marcie who was standing outside. I smiled at her and nodded her to come in, just as I closed my phone and set it down.

"Are you alright?" I asked her, giving her a once-over look.

She seemed frazzled. And upset. And uneasy. She gave a small nod and closed her eyes for a second. When she opened her eyes again something helpless glimmered in them.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just... can you take me to this address?" she asked and showed me an address written on a piece of paper. I raised an eyebrow at that.

"Since when did I turn into a taxi driver? How am I supposed to know where this address is?" I asked back softly.

"I can give you directions," she immediately said. I licked my lips, not taking my gaze from hers for a second and then sighed.

"Let's go," I muttered and started driving.

The only words that left her mouth on the drive were which turns I needed to make. When she wasn't speaking, she would either gaze out the window or look up to the monotone ceiling of my car. I was itching to find out what was bothering her, but at the same time, I didn't want to pry and ask her a bunch of questions. She already seemed to be dealing with a lot.

"Just take another left turn here and we're there," she said while moving her head around in order to crack her neck. "It won't take long. But I do need someone to pick me up, so if you go somewhere keep your phone on you so I can reach you."

"Marcie, where are we..." my voice faltered as I saw what the building at the end of the street was. "You're pregnant?" I softly asked her.

"I found out two days ago. I'm not keeping it," she said at once. I slowly nodded.

"And does Derek..."

"I haven't told him. And I'm not going to. I don't want to be a mother, Ev," Marcie said her voice, not for a second lowering. Again, I nodded. "I don't need to tell him," she went on, this time making me squint. She wasn't trying to convince me.

"You don't need to. If he wants a child, he can go get himself a girl that wants to carry his child," I assured her. She moved her head and took a deep breath, eyeing the people that were sitting in front of the clinic. "Do you want me to come with you?" I asked her.

"No, it's fine. This won't be the first time I have entitled people yelling at me to get my attention," she snapped and opened the door. "Thank you," she told me right before stepping out and closing the door.

I watched as she walked quickly and passed the protesters, keeping her head low while doing so. I almost jumped out of the car when a middle-aged man tried to get in her way, his face fully red from anger. She easily walked past him, but I could tell from her body language that she had been scared. What a pathetic excuse of a man.

A little after she had walked inside, I got my phone and opened it. My eyes immediately fell on the headline I had seen right before Marcie had jumped into my car. It was a video interview and without hesitation, I clicked on it to play.

"Being a mother while having the job I do certainly is a struggle, but at the end of the day, my profession is not that different than being responsible for a child. As any mother knows, children can be difficult, but with an open heart and an open ear and mutual understanding there nothing that can't be solved. In politics, I have always tried to listen to the people, propose ideas that will help them and figure out ways for the community to flourish. That being said, Adam is a teenage boy-" both her and the interviewer chuckled at that- "and sometimes he is hard to handle, but there has never been a situation or an issue with him that wasn't solvable. He is my son. My flesh and blood. I love him more than I love myself. And I would do anything to get him back."

"So, there is no possibility that his disappearance was his own doing?" the interviewer asked her.

"Are you asking me whether he ran away?" Marianna asked back. The interviewer kept looking at her and only gave her a small nod. "I can't think of a reason for him to run away. He never once showed a dislike of the life we provided him. I am just hoping that no matter where he is, he never forgets how much we love him."

I watched a few more minutes, seeing the interviewer change the topic to something more political and after losing my interest, I closed it. I sat there silently for a couple of minutes and then took a cigarette and my lighter and stepped out of the car. My thoughts from this morning quickly invaded my mind as I took in my first puff of smoke.

Did Danny have PTSD?

Nothing about the way his mother had talked about him had indicated that. But at the same time, I doubted that a politician such as her would easily go out and announce that her son had gone through something so traumatic that had given him a stress disorder. And yet, that being known could have helped find him. My eyes wandered to the sign by the clinic's door.

Therapy and counselling.

I finished my cigarette and threw it in the trash, while at the same time locking my car. I let out a heavy exhale and started heading toward the clinic. I hadn't seen another person walk inside since Marcie had about fifteen minutes ago, and the protesters had calmed down a bit, but as soon as they saw me approaching, they started getting livid again. That man that had gotten in Marcie's face was the loudest of all.

"Murder enabler!" I heard his voice just as I managed to get past them.

I stopped dead in my tracks and breathed in slowly, trying to control my annoyance. Then I turned around to face the forty-something-year-old asshole, that, sure enough, had walked up to me and was almost breathing distance away.

"Motherfucker, do you masturbate?" I snapped back, my question catching him off guard. "Cause if you do, you are millions of times worse than any person that has ever had an abortion. And if you say you don't, you're a motherfucking liar."

He almost took a step back. I was a bit taller than him and I knew I was way more fired up for an argument that he was, but I also knew that people like him weren't keen on listening and thinking.

"These women are killing children," he pointed out. I forced myself not to roll my eyes. I opened my mouth, ready to counter that when a woman spoke up.

"If these girls didn't want to get pregnant, they should have known better and not have had sex," she yelled at me. My gaze wavered to her, not losing a hint of my furry.

"You realise that what you are saying is that having a kid is punishment for having sex, right?" I paused to scoff at her. "Hell, I don't even like kids, but I'd never call them a fucking punishment."

"Children are blessings!" another woman from the crowd yelled out.

"And yet you idiots want them to be born in shitty conditions by people that don't even fucking want them."

"If they don't want them, they can give them up for adoption. At least they'll be alive then," the first woman said. I squinted at her.

"Do you even fucking know how shitty it is to grow up in the system? Do you even fucking know how many kids get abused there? How many kill themselves? How many have you personally adopted? None? One? Two? There are thousands more all fucking alone, you ignorant bitch," I growled.

"How would you have liked it if your mother had aborted you?" the first man said. I turned to look at him and then took a threatening step closer.

"If the drug addict you call my mother had aborted me, I would have fucking loved it," I said while seething. He took a step back this time.

His eyes wandered down to my neck and my arms, where you could slightly see my tattoos. I didn't wait for him to formulate an answer and just turned around, ready to be done with this.

"Like mother like son," the man said under his breath.

A sardonic smile split my face, even though he wasn't able to see it, and without skipping a beat, I raised my middle finger at him and walked inside the clinic.

The change of atmosphere was like a punch in the gut. From the grey weather outside and the angry mod awaiting to the quiet, white and green waiting room I calmed down at once. It was like finally laying on your bed after a rough day. I sighed, quickly lowering my hand and walked up to the nurse that was sitting by an office. She looked up at me and smiled sweetly.

"Hello, how may I help you?" she asked softly. I smiled back at her.

"I was wondering... uh, how can you tell whether someone has PTSD?" I asked, not sure how to phrase it other than simply as is.

She pulled back, her eyebrows shooting upward and her smile ever-so-slightly faltering. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.

"I am not qualified to help you with that question, but I could ask if a therapist is currently available to talk with you. Are you asking for a friend or...?"

"Yes, for a friend," I immediately answered. She nodded and reached for a phone.

A couple of moments later I was up on the second floor waiting for someone to call my name. Next to me was sitting a woman close to sixty years old, reading a leaflet about breast cancer. I squirmed, knowing full-well that I was not in the right place, but at the same time not feeling unwelcomed. A woman in a doctor's coat came out of a room opposite of me and called out my name and I immediately shot up and went to her.

"Hello," she said as she sat down by her desk, offering me the seat opposite of her. "I was told this would be a consultation."

"Yes. I had a question. About a friend of mine," I replied. "So, uh... how do I know whether someone has PTSD?"

She blinked a couple of times and then clasped her hands in front of her.

"There are some indicating symptoms, but the best way for a diagnosis is for your friend to talk to a doctor," she replied.

"They can't," I muttered. "I mean, they refuse, but also they are not in a position to talk to one," I went on. She nodded.

"Are they currently living in an abusive household?" she asked me.

"They used to... I think..."

She frowned for a second and took a pen. I watched as she started going through a notepad and then wrote down something in a piece of paper.

"Here's a list of some private practice psychologists that might be of more help. As I said, a diagnosis can't be made through you. An actual doctor needs to talk to your friend. If they are unable to, you can still get educated on post-traumatic stress disorder by one of the fellow doctors I list here," she said and handed me the paper. Three different numbers were written down, names accompanying them.

"Thank you," I sincerely said while looking up at her.

"Though, if I may give you this piece of advice, don't focus on your friend's past. While they need to address the trauma, they might have gone through, forcing them to open up can do more harm than good."

I nodded and stood up. After I thanked her again, I went downstairs to wait for Marcie. I didn't want her to face those idiots outside on her own.

I definitely needed to call one of those doctors though...