A sob punches out of her. "Oh my God—Blue, why didn't you tell me?"
I stare at her, stunned by the question. "Because you didn't see me. Not really. You saw the version of me that you and Dad want to see. You saw what was convenient."
"If I had known, I could have helped you," she claims.
I tearfully laugh. "No. You couldn't have. Only Red can. He's the one who helps me. He's the one who stops me from taking sharp objects and scarring myself."
Horror crawls over my mother's face in slow, unmistakable stages. First, it's confusion, then dawning comprehension, and finally a raw, unfiltered fear that drains the color from her skin. It's like she's seeing the truth of my pain all at once and realizing there's no way to unsee it, no way to pretend this was ever small or survivable.
Tears roll down my cheeks. I continue, "Red sees all of me. The good and the bad. The ugly parts. The parts I hate. The parts I'm ashamed of. He sees me when I'm spiraling, and he doesn't flinch. He doesn't call me crazy. He doesn't tell me to stop being difficult. He just stays with me and stops me from doing something I can't take back."
Mom puts her shaking hand over her mouth.
My throat tightens hard. "He talks to me. He holds my hands so I can't hurt myself. He looks at me like I'm worth loving even when I'm not sure I'm worth keeping."
My mother's tears fall faster. "Blue, I didn't know. I just didn't know."
"You didn't want to know. That would admit I'm not your and Dad's perfect daughter," I state.
She flinches. "That's not fair. We never want or expect you to be perfect."
"That's not how I feel."
"I-I'm sorry if that's what you feel. But I promise you, we don't ever want you to think you have to be perfect. We're not, so how could we possibly ever expect you to be?" she cries out.
I shrug.
She puts her hand on my bicep. "Blue, we love you how you are."
I wipe my cheek with the heel of my hand, furious at the tears. Furious at myself for still wanting her to fix it. "I'm telling you this because you need to understand something. Red isn't a phase. He isn't some boy Dad can scare away."
Mom nods. "I understand."
"Do you?"
"Yes. I do now."
I laugh again, softer this time, bitter and raw. "You know what's pathetic? I didn't even start this like a normal person."
Her brows knit. "What do you mean?"
I take a breath and let the humiliation burn through me, because it's part of the story too. "Brax."
Her eyes flicker. It's the name I'm not supposed to say anymore. It's the one that used to make my father's mouth curl with contempt from the moment I first got a crush on him.
My chest tightens. More shame fills me, and I confess, "I stalked him. I watched him. I broke into his home. I showed up where he was. I made excuses. I wouldn't leave him alone because I thought if I could just get him to look at me the right way, I'd feel whole."
She stays silent with an expression I can't read.
I shake my head, and disgust twists in my mouth. "He never wanted me. He tolerated me but always told me it would never be, between us. But I let myself believe scraps were a feast. I told myself he did want me, but he never did."
Mom sympathetically says, "Blue…" But it's like she can't find the words to finish.
"I know," I snap, then soften because my chest hurts. "I know."
She squeezes my hand again.
I inhale to ground myself. Then my voice turns warmer. "I did it again. I stalked Red, too."
