The image of Anthony’s hands flashed in my mind—warm, solid and steady. The way he’d held me this morning, like he was trying to keep me in one piece. The way he’d pulled back. The space he’d made between us.
I held you to keep from breaking. The words replayed in my head like an unending echo of pain.
NotI want you.
NotI need you.
Just:I’m trying to keep you intact.
My chest caved inward. I wasn’t intact. I was barely assembled. I lifted the blade and brought it down against my skin. Just enough that I could feel the burn as it sliced. The initial sting was sharp and clean and unmistakably real. Like your first breath of fresh air on a cold winter morning.
A breath shuddered out of me as I watched my blood well to the surface. There. There it was. The sudden, honest clarity of it. The way it cut through the fog. The way my body snapped to the present like it had been called by name.
Tears slid down my face before I realized I was crying. Not from the pain. But from the sheer relief.
“The blade doesn’t lie to me,” I whispered. “It doesn't leave.”
It answered when I reached for it. That was the difference. I lifted it and dragged it across my arm again. Another hit of adrenaline and dopamine surged under my skin. I felt alive. Even if it was just a fleeting, momentary reprieve.
When my skin was a map of my pain, the blade fell from my hand, clattering on the floorboards. I pressed my forehead to my knees and breathed through it. Through the ache. Through the small, bright sensation that proved I was still here.
That I could be reached. That something could touch me and stay.
My phone buzzed against the nightstand, and I flinched like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn't have. I lookedup slowly at the illuminated screen. A message from Anthony flashed on the screen.
My pulse spiked so hard it made me dizzy. For a second I just stared at the screen. I took a deep steady breath before I reached for it. Unable to open it yet, I held it to my chest instead. Like a second heartbeat. Like proof that I wasn’t completely alone.
“I’m here,” I breathed into the quiet. Not sure who I was saying it to anymore. Him? Me? The part of myself that was still waiting for someone to stay?
My phone vibrated again. This time I looked.
Anthony
I’m at the store. I realized you didn’t eat before I left. I’m grabbing a few things and I’ll be back soon, okay?
Soon. The word settled into me like something warm and dangerous.
Okay.
He was coming back. My fingers tightened around the phone. Relief hit first. Because if he mattered this much, he could hurt me this much too. Then fear, sharp and immediate—because if he could come back, he could also leave again.
The ache in my chest flared. Not the numb one. The other one. The one that wanted. The one that reached.
My gaze dropped to the blade where it lay abandoned on the floor, drops of blood splattered around it.
Soon wasn’t now. Soon still meant waiting. Waiting meant being alone inside my head. I hated that I was counting down the minutes like this. I hated that I needed something this badly. I swallowed and picked up the blade as bile surged up my throat and pressed the blade into my skin again.
Not deep. Never too deep. Just enough to pull myself back into my body. Just enough to remind myself I existed while time passed.
A quiet, shaky breath slipped out of me.This is what anchors me.The pain wasn’t the point. Thereturnwas. The way my body snapped into focus. The way the fog cleared just enough to breathe again. The way the ache became a shape instead of a void.
My phone buzzed again.
Anthony
I got that soup you like. The one with the tiny noodles.
My throat closed. He remembered an idle conversation we’d had one afternoon. But of course he did.
