He has been following me ever since that day. Sometimes I don't think that day really happened, that I dreamed the entire thing up. I fear my therapist doesn't believe me when I say he follows me, the one who did it. Who am I kidding, she definitely doesn't believe me, no one does. I scream about it a lot, I hope if I scream enough they will send me away to where I will be safe. My therapist says these are my brain's defence mechanisms due to the trauma I experienced, that my brain blocks out almost all my memories to keep me safe. It's a shame it didn't block out the one memory I tried so desperately to clean myself of. I’ve slammed my head against walls, I’ve ran and ran, trying to get away from the memories.

Maybe I'm already gone or maybe I died that day instead of my best friend, killed by one of our own peers. The same peer who follows me and never leaves. He is always there, watching. I think he is waiting for me to slip up, so he can take me too. He’s been getting closer lately, a little more daring each day, I wish they would stop letting him in the building. My therapist says no one is inside the building but me, her and the people like me. She tells me about my alikes a lot, but i've never seen them. Maybe because I'm always looking back, away from safety and towards the danger that lurks around the pristine halls behind me.

I walked through the halls one day, towards my room, away from my therapist who tells me nothing but a facade of words meant to help. I heard her talking to someone else.

“We should tell her that he was shot dead by police on sight,” The new voice had said.

“No. If we tell her we risk the memories of the event coming back. She is already in such a fragile place right now, more information will make it worse,” That was the voice of my therapist. It sounds like she isn't telling someone else things either. Maybe I'll find that person and ask if they can see him too. See the man who lurks around the crisp white corner, smiling as dots of red start to appear on his skin. Recently he's started making noise. It started with soft ‘pat-pats’, like a bottle clunking to the ground far in the distance, but yesterday it was rapid-fire booms. They sounded like they were right next to me. He smiled wider.

I didn't tell my therapist about the man who follows me and smiles, who is followed by booms that rattle me to my core. I don't tell her anything now. I don't see her. I don't see anyone. Just him. He has started speaking now, but his words are always broken up by laughter. I don't know what he says. The blooms are getting closer to me. He's getting closer to me. I don't want to run, last time I ran I was caught and brought back to him. He never leaves. I don't know who he is, where he came from, what he wants. I know what I want now, I want freedom. I want my friend.

I am about to complete my wish when I see people running at me. They look like people I know. But the only people I know are gone. Gone by the mysterious man with the red and the smile. They are yelling at me. Yelling to stop. I can hear them now. They are light, they are life. But they are not alive. They won't be, not anymore. They are chasing the man away, and I see red bloom from him. He is gone. Dead. We are free at last. I think I am ready to remember now.

I leave my room and walk down the white halls passing door after door until I see the one I am looking for. My therapists. It's open, and I walk in.