Demi turns on the couch, facing me. She furrows her eyebrows, adamantly stating, "You didn't ruin anything."
"I shouldn't have told them."
"You're allowed to love who you want, Blue."
My eyes well with tears. "Am I?"
"Yes," she insists, and scoots closer.
My chest feels hollow and heavy at the same time, like someone scooped something out and replaced it with concrete. The buzzing sharpens, but it's still patient. I know what it's doing. It's curling around the edges of my thoughts, waiting for the right moment to offer relief.
I squeeze my palms into my thighs harder, trying to make it go away.
Demi puts her hand over mine and lowers her voice. "Let's breathe together. Count with me." She takes a deep breath, smiles, and says, "One."
I stare at the floor, take a broken lungful of air, and state, "Two."
"Good," she praises, and takes another breath. "Three."
Mom's text flashes in my mind.
Are you safe?
My brain answers it honestly this time.
No.
I'm not safe inside my own body.
I'm holding back something sharp and ugly with nothing but willpower and a blanket.
"Breathe, Blue," Demi orders.
I blurt out, "I hate that they can't just be happy someone loves me."
Demi nods slowly. "I know."
"He's smart and talented and actually cares about me."
"Yes. I know," she repeats.
I close my eyes. "Why can't they be happy for me?"
Demi moves closer until her knee touches mine. It grounds me a little. She carefully asks, "What's happening right now?"
I open my eyes and stare at the coffee table. "I need something."
Her entire body goes still. "What kind of something?"
I hesitate. If I say it out loud, it becomes real. But if I don't talk about it, I know it'll grow teeth.
I admit, "Something sharp."
My confession settles heavily between us.
Demi inhales slowly through her nose. She asserts, "You don't actually want to hurt yourself."
"I don't want to feel like this."
