I chewed my lip, my heart skipping in my chest.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Okay,” he said, like it was that simple. He kissed my head once more. “Okay.”
I pulled the towel off of my face and let it drop to the floor before turning into Enoch’s chest.
“I love you,” he said, holding me firmly against him. “I. Love. You.”
We stayed a tangled mess of limbs, the sound of our breathing ticking each passing second. After what felt like hours, Enoch suddenly broke the silence.
“Dear Jesus, please give Shiloh the strength to stop. Give Shiloh the strength to let herself heal. Give her the courage to come to me or to seek help when she’s tempted to hurt herself. In Your name we pray, Amen.”
It was clear I wasn’t going to be able to stop on my own. That much I knew. The question was, did I believe that God, the same one that had let me be raped, the same one whose words had been used to punish and abuse me by the people who claimed to follow Him, did I believethatGod loved me enough to help me stop hurting myself?
Enoch brushed a hand down my hair as he pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“I’m,” I stumbled, my jaw clenching. I just wanted them out of my head; I wanted them to stop controlling me.God, if you love me, if you care, make me brave. I took another breath. “I’m sorry.”
My stomach flipped and I released a soft sigh.There. You did it.I took another breath.Thank you.
“Shh,” Enoch soothed, tipping my chin up. “You don’t need to apologize for coping.”
He pressed his mouth to mine, all the unspoken words forming in his kiss, like a balm to my broken soul.
He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.
It was a chant in my mind. A reminder that there was hope. A way to drown out every other lie in my head.
Enoch pulled away, tucking me closely beneath his chin.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said softly.
“It’s okay.”
“I should have left a note or texted you.”
My eyes burned, a sign the swelling was beginning to subside as I tried to blink them open. I kept them shut, listening to Enoch’s breathing.
“When’s the last time you hurt yourself?”
I cringed.
“Two days.”
“That’s good. Really good.”
Yeah right.
“I want to help.” He paused to take a breath, his fingers combing through my hair. “And I think the first thing to do is get rid of everything you use.”
I shrugged, mentally cataloguing the various sharps hiding in the apartment.
“Have you spoken to your therapist about this?”
“No.”
“Will you tell her?”
