Ijolt awake, my heart pounding against my ribs as fragments of the same dream I discussed with Red during our session scatter. Shadows linger in my mind, but sunlight filters through the blinds, casting stripes across the tangled sheets where Red and I slept entwined last night.
Where is he?
A new panic hits. I slide my hand across his side of the bed.
It's still warm. He's probably in the kitchen making coffee.
I sit up, then slide my legs so my feet hit the floor, my fingers trailing over the faint scars on my thigh. The skin's smooth now, hiding the truth about how I pierced it with pins. But my hand's a different story. Each raised line on my knuckles reminds me of the chaos I felt that night, the pain I often crave. Ironically, it also serves as a reminder of the calm Red has woven into my days.
A month has passed without me harming myself. The realization sinks in, heavy with a rush of pride that warms my chest, yet fear coils tight in my gut at what slipping back might cost.
I could lose Red.
The fear is often a driver for me not to succumb to my desires of self-harm. And as much as I hate the thought, I acknowledge it serves a good purpose.
We need to tell my parents about us.
If they learn about our relationship from someone else, everything crumbles. The thought spirals, twisting sharper. I picture my mother's face crumpling in disappointment, her eyes narrowing as she demands explanations. My father would loom, his voice low and controlled, deciding how to fix me yet again, and stripping away my choices.
My breath quickens, and I brace against the invisible impact, my shoulders tensing as if their judgment already presses down.
If only they knew...
Red has given me stability through his routines that anchor my mornings and evenings. He provides structure through our sessions, turning my scattered thoughts into something manageable. Safety wraps around me in his arms, where the world quiets and I breathe easier. Without him, I would still chase pain to drown the noise.
They don't know the extent of my self-harm.
I'm not telling them.
Jitters bounce around my stomach.
Would they view this as love or as him exploiting my vulnerability?
The doubt creeps in, cold and insistent, making my stomach churn.
No. Stop giving them so much power.
Protection surges through me, fierce and unyielding, erasing the whisper before it takes root. I shove the negativity away, clenching my jaw. Red's mine, and I chose him.
The faint aroma of fresh coffee flares, calming me.
He is here.
He didn't leave.
I head into the bathroom, turning the shower to cold. Water cascades over me, shocking my skin into alertness. I inhale deeply, hold for four counts, then exhale slowly, just as Red taught me. The ritual steadies my pulse, grounding me in the present moment.
Steam clouds the mirror when I step out, but I wipe it clear and stare at my reflection. Water drips from my hair, tracing paths down my neck. My eyes search for changes, the sharper set of my jaw, the steadier gaze that holds without flinching. I decide strength shows in the way my hands no longer tremble as much, and in the scars that fade instead of multiply.
"I'm with Red," I whisper to the glass, the words hanging in the air. My voice wavers, so I try again, louder. "I'm with Red."
Heaviness builds with each repetition, pressing on my chest until my breath comes shorter. Anxiety surges, and my pulse thunders in my ears.
I need backup.
Aunt Kora's face pops into my mind, with her sharp eyes and understanding nods. She's the one adult who listens without immediately trying to reshape me.
She already knows we're together.
