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Cross-legged Conner sat on his bed, back propped against the wall behind him cushioned with a few plush pillows for added support and comfort.  He’d been working at folding his clothing, if slowly, from the pile of fresh laundry at his side on the mattress.  A smaller pile lay on the floor some short distance from his bed serving as a discard pile for anything unneeded or unwanted due to wear and tear, or simply because it didn’t fit anymore.  It was silly how many articles of clothing he’d come across, all of them had been somewhere lurking in the back of his closet or drawers, being overlooked for years; now could not have been a better time to go through all this grueling sorting.
In a way the simple action of folding shirts, pants, or anything else to be packed was a welcome distraction from his complex thoughts and unsure emotions trying to gnaw away at his mind.  For the most part Conner had managed to get a hold on himself, making a fold here, making a crease there, stacking the neat clothing in tidy little piles in front of his crossed legs.  However it didn’t stop every little thought from seeping in through cracks in the wall of distraction he’d built, and it had become increasingly arduous to seal those spots as minuets and hours ticked away.

‘What was this new school like?”
’What would the students be like?  What about the teachers?’
‘Is it really a good idea to go?’

Conner had already spent six months away from home stuck in what could only be described as a house of horrors.  Everything he’d been put through while there, the humiliation, the fear, the mental and physical pain he’d silently endured and to this day continued to deny, and the confirmation that he was utterly helpless against all of it, weak, pitiful, and unfit to be anything more than…..what he was.
Clutching a white tank top hard in his trembling hands Conner found himself gripped in a torrent of terror; knuckles had lost their color with the amount of shear force exerted on the grip he had on the shirt.  Panic still fresh from the time he’d spent away from home at Rockcreek Academy and Rehabilitation Center for Troubled Boys flooded in on swift currents, overpowering the concentration of folding laundry.  Feeling nauseous from the swell of rising hysteria he desperately tried to swallow it all back, suppress everything from rearing its ugly demonic head.  He was safe here...he was home...he was safe…
That was at least..... until he left.
He didn’t really know what this place was like, he didn’t know anything about it, sure he’d been educated on it’s purpose, but that didn’t say much considering what happened at the last place.
Frozen in those repulsive memories, past became present tainting his future like a poison.  He couldn't breath. His chest was tight, constricting his ability to get even a single full breath, heart pounding in his ears, he'd become lost in that world of terror.  All he could see, all he could think about, were those cruel memories.  Dizzy he couldn't stop the mental film from rolling, his own thoughts were forcing him to relive everything...he couldn't....stop....he couldn't breath!

Conner? The voice didn’t register, Conner? again, nothing.  Conner?  Hey!  Conner….Conner, look at me...look at me Conner.”
Suddenly snapping back to reality, staring wide eyed though watery vision, his mother’s warm hands held each side of his face, her always pleasant brown eyes were now filled with open concern.  Each breath came in ragged shaky pulls as silent tears ran down his ashen cheeks, his body shivered in a blanket of cold only he could feel.  Gently his mother pulled him into her shoulder, holding him in the sort of protective hug only a mother could give.  Quietly hushing him her hand repeatedly smoothed down the back of his shaggy blonde hair.
“You’re ok...I’m here, you’re ok….everything is ok...”
He wanted to answer, he wanted to scream and tell her he wasn’t, tell her nothing would be even remotely close to ok.  He wanted nothing to do with his fears of what was and what very well could be, he was afraid, frightened near to death...he...couldn'  Yet as much as he wanted to shout those words he couldn’t, his ability to speak was gone.  He also didn’t want to hurt her by suddenly changing his mind and deciding not to go to this new school.  Drawn into her sheltering hug Conner couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears even as he finally managed to catch his breath. Gripping at her shirt he felt like such a child, so weak and helpless from even his own thoughts; 17 year olds weren’t supposed to act like this.  Yet as he silently cried into her shoulder she didn’t judge him, she didn’t tell him to stop crying like a child, she only continued her attempts to console her son talking gently to him.
Susan, his mother, didn't know the trauma her son had gone though, only that he'd changed significantly in the last two years.  Conner never talked to anyone about it, not even his therapist.  No one knew except for him what triggered these panic attacks, but despite that she was always there for him willing to lend comfort and understanding, in the face of something she was blind to.
Conner Ashton Durand is a RP character of mine (who hasn't quite seen the light of day yet haha), and he's been on my brain for a few months now pretty much begging me to write something. Sooooooo in my spare time I put together a short intro to him and his situation that may go down in the rp, I do plan on keeping his story up to date since I've been growing more and more attached to the kid. Spelling, grammar, and sentence structure isn't amazing, but I hope that those of you who read this at least enjoy it
Note: I deleted the old one I had after editing it, since I'd typed it while half asleep *facedesk* so this one is hopefully a bit better.
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Submitted on
October 17, 2013
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