Especially my mom. She’d be so hurt that she hadn’t been there for me, she’d be upset that I hadn’t come to her for help, and I knew she’d feel guilty for not seeing the signs that something was deeply wrong. That the distance I had put between myself and my family wasn’t just because I was growing up, but because I was hiding an addiction to alcohol.
I startled at the hand that my mom rested on my arm and looked up at her with a smile.
“Ya sure you’re okay, honey?”
She was worried already about me, and she’d only been here for a few hours. I had to make it through six more days of this.
“Yeah. Just tired,” I said, standing up straight. “Ready to keep going?”
She stared for another moment at me, trying to niggle the truth out like she could rightfully sense I was lying, before nodding and I followed her along towards the dry goods aisles.
I hated that I was simultaneously wishing she would leave already and wishing she could stay and I could divulge all my secrets. I wanted nothing more than to just free myself of the weight of it all. I craved the comfort of her embrace, her wise advice and the security of her unwavering devotion to our family. Because I knew that if I released it all, she’d be able to handle it. She’d be able to carry the burdens, the heaviness of all my secrets and Shiloh’s too.
I needed some of her strength. I was desperate to feel adequate, feel like the family I was creating with just Shiloh and Jae was enough. Feel like I wasn’t just a boy who needed his mom because life was tough and this world was big and scary and unforgiving.
Thirty-Two
July 27, Monday
Emory
I cracked my knuckles, waiting for Sarah to open the door and let me in for my therapy session.
I was anxious to speak with her. Worried about having another flashback, worried that I might hurt myself while I was out of it. Today marked day seven. If I made it through today, I’d have kept my promise to Enoch that I wouldn’t hurt myself for one week.
The urge was still there, even now. It was fucking second nature at this point to just dig my nails into my skin any time I feltanything. He’d FaceTimed me last night, his nightly question before bed to check if I’d self-harmed at all.
He might have been shirtless when he called, and I might have spent the whole time trying not to stare at his muscles.
I sighed, biting my cheek, trying not to smile like an idiot.
The door opened and I jerked out of my thoughts, meeting Sarah’s gaze.
“Emory,” she said with a smile, stepping inside her office. “Come in.”
I took my usual seat on the shitty leather couch, trying to relax when all I wanted to do was dig my nails into my skin. My knee was bouncing in the silence of her room as she settled into her chair.
“How are you doing today?”
“Fine,” I shrugged.
She raised a brow.
“Scared.”
She nodded, waiting for me to expand.
“Today is day seven without self-harming and I’m scared I’m gonna fuck it up. I don’t want a repeat of last week.”
She nodded with a smile. “That’s understandable. How have you been coping without the self-harm?”
I cleared my throat, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Um, I’ve been staying with my boyfriend and just been distracting myself I guess.”
“What do you do to distract yourself?”
“I’ve got, like, one of those squishy ball fidget things for my desk at work. And if he’s nearby I’ve squeezed his hand instead of digging my nails into my skin. We also, kind of, just got into a routine. Like, we exercised every day, ate meals together, and then went to bed at the same time. I guess…I just filled my day up with so many things that I didn’t really have as much time to do anything else. He kind of understands what I’m going through.”
“Yeah? How so?” She asked with intrigue.
