He didn’t know what had happened to me, and that was a relief. I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want him to look at me differently, to see how easily I’d been used. I didn’t want him to see the cracks, the filth beneath my skin. I didn’t want him to see how easily I had been broken.
With him, there was peace and Love—the kind I never thought I’d have, the kind my body didn’t even realize it could crave. Even when something triggered me, my heart and mind pushed it into that locked box deep inside because I didn’t want to be an emotional burden to him. I didn’t want him to run from me.
And maybe I held onto him too tightly. I fell too deep, got too attached, I let my mind wrap around him like a lifeline, until he wasn’t just a person anymore, he was the only thing holding me up, the only thing between me and the pit.
I loved him. I still do.
And I thought… I thought that would be enough. Enough to let me feel human again. Enough to make me forget.
But now—
Now it feels like I was using him.
Using him to escape the rotting parts of me that I didn’t want to look at.
And the box… It’s shattered now. I can’t seem to fix it and shove the content back inside. My brain won’t let me. It’s like it’s done trying to protect me. Like it’s tired of carrying everything.
Maybe it couldn’t handle seeing the camera.
Or maybe it’s worse, maybe it’s because Alex knows.
He knows what happened to me.
He knows what I did.
And worst of all, he saw me being used like I was nothing. Like, I was trash.
And now I can’t stop thinking that I am not worthy to be with him.
I am not worthy of anyone.
I am nothing.
Bile burns my throat as I press my head deeper into the hospital pillow, my body rigid, my chest tight. The silence presses in on me like it’s trying to crush me alive. I can’t open my mouth. I can’t find my voice.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him again without feeling this suffocating, skin-crawling shame.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to speak to him.
I don’t even know if I’ll be able to speak at all.
Because the memories I buried, the ones I nailed shut and buried so deep—
They’re awake again.
And they’re loud.
Louder than any sound that I can’t hear.
***
A hand moves through my hair, slow and deliberate, as if trying to coax life back into me. The strands catch betweenfingers, warm, grounding, yet my body refuses to react. I force my eyes open.
Tyler’s there.
His gaze is soft, but weighed down by something almost unbearable—sadness, worry, maybe a touch of helplessness. He manages a small, strained smile, the kind that’s meant to reassure but breaks halfway through. I can’t even return it. My face doesn’t know how anymore.
My room is dim. I know it’s afternoon, the heavy warmth in the air tells me, but the curtains are drawn tight. The air feels stale. My blanket is wrapped around me like armor, and I’ve been lying here for… I don’t know how long. Time feels elastic. Days could have passed, or maybe it’s only been hours.
