I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t have her at the forefront of my mind every damn day.
But, I do. And every day it feels like a betrayal of the man who saved me.
The man I call my best fucking friend.
CHAPTER THREE
Lily
Song - Fear, NF
If I keep myself busy, I can stop my mind from dragging me under. I can hold back the panic. The fear that tears through me like it wants to hollow me out from the inside.
I keep trying to convince myself that if I bury it deep enough, maybe it will fade. It never does. It lingers, clamped around my ribs like a vice, waiting for the moment I finally crack.
Therapy has kept it quieter and given me ways to ground myself and feel safe enough to exist.
Yet in the silence, it’s all I hear.
I blend the light gold glitter into my eyeshadow, stare at my reflection, and smile—my armor. On the surface, no one can see what’s clawing at me beneath my skin.
How scared I am of the memories that stalk me.
“Shit.” I hiss when my hand smacks against the curling iron on the dressing table.
I suck the sting out of my finger and breathe through it.
I have one hour until I need to be at The Midnight Gallery. My one pride. My sanctuary. Yes, I opened it with my corrupt father’s money, but I made it thrive by being myself. It’s everything my mother despises.
It’s beauty carved out of darkness. My own mom is one of the reasons I learned to live inside it. My resentment toward her comes from years of her pushing me to one side. She ripped me away from my father, and instead of being a parent who loved me twice as much, she became more distant. I was second to the men in her life. And then the final blow was the husband. She brought him into my life. She didn’t protect me.
I run my hands through my hair nervously, trying to get hold of my spiraling thoughts before they dive too deep.
Tonight is a huge showing. Months of work and the kind of pressure that explains the tremble in my fingers as I curl my hair, and the way my heartbeat thunders in my ears.
Maybe I’m getting sick. Maybe I didn’t eat enough today, and my blood sugar is dipping.
I drop the hairbrush and brace myself on the dresser.
Breathe, Lily. Breathe.
I close my eyes and try to follow the rise and fall of my lungs, yet nothing in my head loosens. The black cloud settles over me and fills every inch of me.
I grab my phone and call my best friend, Hallie. I just need her voice—something to pull me out of the drowning sensation.
She answers, and the relief hits so hard I exhale like I’ve been underwater.
“Lily. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Hallie laughs.
Since she’s become a mom, I swear she’s started using that tone on me more.
I force a laugh. “Yeah. Calling to make sure you’re on time.”
There’s a pause. In four years, I’ve phoned her at the start of countless panic attacks, and I’m not sure she’s ever realized. I don’t want her to know, or to see me at my worst. The thought of having to explain why I’m like this makes my hands tremble. I’m not sure I can even find the words to voice it. I am not her burden to deal with.
What makes Hallie’s friendship so beautiful is that I know, without a doubt, I can rely on her to help me. Even when she doesn’t know what’s going on in my head, she’s always there. A constant for me. If she knew, she’d drop everything to be by my side.
And that isn’t what she needs. She has a family, a little baby boy relying on her. They need her. I just need to get stronger on my own.
