I frowned. I didn’t like the idea of digging through my brain like that, finding all the different possible reasons for me being this fucked up. Doing that for years, though? That sounded even worse.
Iris was silent with me for a moment before finally breaking the moment. “You’re uncomfortable.”
“Obviously.”
“Is hurting more comfortable for you than the idea of healing and not hurting anymore?”
Taken aback, I squished the throw pillow in my hands closer to my stomach. “Why would I want to hurt? Why would I want to be this way?”
She shook her head. “Again, that’s not what I said. I asked if it was more comfortable. Think about it for a second. You’ve been silent, and you’ve been hurting for, what, fifteen years, you said? We as humans are inclined to stay where we’re comfortable. It’s hard to get out of that comfort zone. The idea of healing and no longer having depression as your blanket is out of your comfort zone, isn’t it? Life without wanting to harm yourself. Life without crippling sadness and fierce protectiveness over everyone but yourself. It’d be weird, wouldn’t it? It’d make complete sense for you to want to stay within those lines, Moon. It’s human. It’s normal. It doesn’t make you any less determined to get better. It doesn’t make you worthless. Or a mistake. Or a failure.”
I stared at her, not totally sure what to say or what to think. It was painful to admit it to myself, much less admit it to someonewho was practically still a stranger, but she was right. Being alone was easier than letting someone else in.
Holding my heart by myself was somehow lighter than sharing the weight with someone else—someone like Emerson.
Picking at the stitches on top of the pillow, I cleared my throat. “Maybe. But what do I do about it?”
“You write the words. You give yourself grace. You allow vulnerability. What has been done to you—what you have gone through—does not change who you are as a person, or what you need as a human. Step outside of your comfort zone, take note of the data you receive from doing so, and apply it to your everyday life. Slowly. Baby steps. You’ve never tried to give yourself compassion, so it’ll be brand new. It’ll be difficult, but that’s what I’m here for. You just have to be willing to be uncomfortable.”
She said it like it was simple. She said it like it was okay to not understand. She said it like shebelievedI could do it. Vulnerability was truly fucking terrifying, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t at least think about trying if it meant I’d feel anything but this.
Emerson made it worth it. Being in love also sounded scary, but being happy, healthy,andin love? Sounded kind of amazing.
Emerson would be home soon.Going to my apartment didn’t feel right, but being at his house also didn’t feel right. At least Emerson would be at his house, and I seemed to always want him, even though I didn’t think I wanted anyone at the moment.
Honestly, I wanted to be alone. But I didn’t at the same time. It was late, and I’d had all day to think about what Iris said—which was a lot. I thought about doing some stained glass to take my mind off of it, though I decided not to since that would mean going back to my apartment, rather than staying at Emerson’s house.
I heard the front door open and close from behind the living room couch I was sitting on, Emerson’s footsteps following soon after. He leaned over the back of the couch, kissing me on the top of my head. “Hi, baby.”
I didn’t take my eyes off my phone. “Hi.”
“I’m going to go shower real quick, and then I’ll join you. How was your day?”
Thinking about my day made me want to curl into a protective ball and never come out. “Fine.”
“Hmm. Well, we can talk more about it after my shower. I’ll make it quick.”
“I’m not the shower police, Em. You can bathe for however long you want. Doesn’t matter to me.”
He’d been rubbing my shoulder with one of his hands. It stopped entirely after I’d spoken, Emerson pausing for a second. “Alright. You be good while I’m gone.”
I rolled my eyes. “What am I gonna do? Start a fire in your absence because I can’t be left alone for more than five minutes?”
“I was just joking around, brat. Think about dinner. I can cook tonight.”
I didn’t say anything as he walked away to shower. I couldn’t think of anything important to add to that, knowing that anything I did say would just be some flavor of bratty or just plain rude.
Thinking about dinner was the last thing I wanted to do. The shower started in the distance as Emerson washed his day away, while I was stuck wallowing in mine with no way out. It was all in my head, most of it still not making much sense, yet all thesense in the world, and somehow, that made it ten times worse. Not being able to see the grime, despite being knee-deep in it.
Sometimes, it felt like drowning. Drowning in a sea so dark, I couldn’t see any light to guide me out. I wasn’t the strongest swimmer, always left behind whenever I went swimming with friends at the lake—just another thing I was okay at, but not good at. I was comfortable with that idea. Being left behind so I wouldn’t inconvenience anyone else, even if it inconvenienced me the most. It came naturally to me now.
I thought back to the stained glass puddle of blood I’d made recently, remembering the comfort it gave me to see the light shine through it in my window. The color gleamed over the walls, shrouding them in a red and orange light reminiscent of my worst years. For some reason, I thought it looked beautiful. For some reason, it reminded me of what I thought home was supposed to feel like.
Emerson walked back into the living room, standing right in front of me, his hair still wet and dripping. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his choice of pants was a pair of sweatpants just tight enough to show off everything I craved about him. Water clung to the skin on his stomach, stray drops sliding down into the mouth-watering tuft of black and gray hair just below his belly button. I wanted to lick it, and that kind of pissed me off, because I didn’t want to feel anything new.
I didn’t want to feel something other than mad and hurt. I was comfortable with mad and hurt. I wasuncomfortable with the level of awe I felt when I looked at Em, my heart desperately trying to reach out from my chest, begging to meet with his. It was new. New was scary.
He put a hand on his hip, tilting his head as he looked down at me. “So, what do you think about dinner?”
