92 Season Three: Chap 1
     Regan was wide awake from her dream. She woke up with her face down in the mix of blood and water on the table, coughing up the crude mix of liquid he had inhaled during her lucid dream. She sat up straight, holding her throat tightly as if she was being strangled like the waves pulled her under before, and coughed up the water as she would have coughed up the salty waters in her dream.

    That is¡­ if it was a dream.

    Regan looked down at her hands, opening and closing them and then wiped her face with them, watching as the pinkish water ran down her hand. 'Yea¡­ it was a dream.' Yet the shivers continued to run down her spine and her throat dried up, the feeling of betrayal replaying in her head. The betrayal she did to herself.

    Regan looked up at the grey walls as they stared back at her with unfamiliarity. Slowly her eyes searched the wall looking for a reminder that this wasn't another one of her dreams where she was trapped in the same cold walls her reality held. There at the corner of the room was the same watch she glared for hours a day waiting for certain times in a day to arrive. It was close to one of those times. It was 7:50, 10 minutes before Vixen would arrive with dinner.

    She looked down at her wet clothes and the mess on the table. 'Shit.'

    Quickly she stood up from her seat and reached under her couch to pull out handfuls of tissue paper. Quickly she ran them over the table trying her best to clean up the mess on the table. Her hand moved furiously, pushing more pinkish-water off the table than letting the tissue paper soak it in. She was panicking, again.

    Her wrist grazed the edge of the table and she jerked her head back in pain. The throbbing kicked back in, beating like a thumping heart. 'Arg!' Regan thought to herself as she crawled into a ball, trying to roll back and forth before slamming her head into her couch behind her.

    '7:51fuck,' she muttered to herself as the throbbing of the cuts on her wrist seemed to increase, "he can't see this¡­ugh what was I thinking?'

    Quickly she grabbed some tissues and used them for the original reason they were stashed, to wipe the wounds she caused on herself. Flinching at the pain she felt from touching the cuts, she buried her head in her knees. 'What will he think when he sees this? How much lower can I go in his books?' Regan thought to herself as she left cleaning her wound since the pain was too much to take. 'Will I be moved? To a side for actual deranged people where I don't even get to see the light?'

    Regan sat still for a second and chuckled. 'If I am, it's not like I don't deserve it anyway,' she raised her wrist to her face and stared at her wounds disgustedly, 'that's if he hasn't noticed them yet¡­' She continued cleaning to push her thoughts away but they kept running in. 'Is this what he meant by pathetic? He took one look at the stripes of my wrist and was immediately revulsed? It's not like I even tried that hard to hide it and it's basically impossible since some of the cuts wrap around my wrist, if sowhat will happen if he sees these? Fresh new cuts as a result of another breakdown and a fucked up room as more evidence.'

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