My Princess: You took everything and left me with static.
My Princess: I thought if I scared myself, maybe my body would.
Remember how to fight.
My chest caved.
My Princess: I wasn’t going to let myself drown.
She typed faster now, like she was angry—angry that I could even think that she would do such things.
My Princess: I have a mother I love. Friends who care about me.
My Princess: I’m not that selfish.
“No, I—I was just—”
My Princess: My death won’t be on you. Don’t worry.
The screen blurred.
I didn’t realise my hands were shaking until my thumb slipped and nearly dropped the phone.
My death won’t be on you.
The words keep replaying. Louder each time.
I couldn’t breathe.
It’s the fact that I’d dragged her somewhere dark enough that death was a sentence we were casually stepping around.
“Don’t say that,” I whispered.
But she already had, and there was nothing left for me to say that wouldn’t sound selfish. Nothing left to say that wouldn’t hurt her again.
So I just stayed there.
Quiet.
Her phone lit up again. My own buzzed a second later. I didn’t even want to look because every time it buzzed now, it hurt.
But I forced myself to.
My Princess: Again, I’m sorry about your mum. You didn’t deserve that; you deserved to grow up with a mother’s love.
My Princess: But you can’t just use me to fill the void.
My Princess: I’m not your crutch.
I stared at the screen until the words started to blur.
She was right.
She was so fucking right.
I wasn’t trying to get better.
I wasn’t trying to climb out of it.
