The entire room was spinning. Jason’s heart was beating so fast, he could’ve sworn it would burst out of his chest at any moment now. His face lay in the palms of his trembling hands. He couldn’t even speak. He felt sick; he felt afraid.   Jason just kept reliving it over and over again; even in his dreams, he wasn’t safe; it haunted him. He felt everything all over again—the excruciating blows to his body and to his face. He felt his own blood dripping out of his nose as he lay there on the cold floor, completely limp. He couldn’t escape; he could hear the ticking, and then!—he wakes up.   “Fuck—I’m sorry… I can't." he hissed, his head slowly raising up to look at his friend, who he didn’t even notice was there at first until his vision started to clear and he saw the worried eyes staring at him. His friend probably ran into his bedroom because of the loud crash. When Jason first woke up, he had immediately gone into fight or flight mode and knocked various things off of his nightstand.   Jason let his friend stay over for the night on the couch. He didn’t care to do that; that’s what friends are for, and he trusted this person more than anything, which was rare for him. But he didn’t think his friend would be on his bed, a comforting hand on his back, rubbing small circles on it in an attempt to help, which he didn’t mind, trying to soothe him and bring him back from his night terror, from his own personal hell.