Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Blue
Salt & Steel, the cooking show I'm pretending to watch and don't care about, fills the screen. I pull the blanket higher, tucking my legs under it and letting Red's shirt hang off one shoulder just like when he left.
Demi sits beside me, cross-legged, scrolling on her phone and making commentary every thirty seconds, like it's a sport.
"That man just salted after tasting. That's unhinged behavior," she claims.
I snort, but the sound comes out half a second late. Everything I do feels delayed today. My body might as well be running through molasses while my brain sprints in frantic loops.
Demi subtly glances at me. "Still doing okay?"
"Yeah," I assure her, not a total lie or truth either.
My phone's turned face down on the coffee table. I haven't touched it in ten minutes, and my restraint's worthy of a medal.
Red texted me an hour ago.
Red: Green?
I answered no because that's what I was supposed to say. Demi is here, and I'm not bleeding, crying, or actively destroying anything. Over the last month, I've worked hard not to manipulate Red, so I don't want to go backward.
The doorbell rings. The sound punches straight through my chest.
Demi freezes mid-scroll. "Are you expecting someone?"
"No." My stomach drops.
Another ring and a firm knock hit the door.
My skin prickles. A familiar buzzing in my hands occurs, and my body knows who it is before my brain finishes catching up. I stand and state, "I've got it."
Demi watches me closely, her phone forgotten. "Blue—"
"I've got it," I repeat, firmer, because if I don't say it like that, I might not move at all.
The third knock comes before I reach the door. My father calls, "Blue! Open the door."
I stop with my hand hovering over the lock. My chest tightens, and my breath shallows, like I'm twelve years old again and about to be scolded for something I don't understand but somehow already feel guilty for.
I open the door, and a colder burst of air hits me. I realize I'm not wearing much. I cross my arms over my chest.
My father's coat is buttoned, his jaw is clenched, and his eyes are sharp with something between anger and disbelief. He looks at me like I'm a problem that's escalated beyond his control.
He demands, "Why aren't you answering your phone?"
"I needed space," I say. My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
He scoffs. "Space? You don't get to disappear or shut us out. Ivanovs don't run from family. You don't—" He gestures vaguely into Red's condo, "—do this."
I groan. "I'm not disappearing. I'm setting a boundary."
He laughs once, humorless. "That man has filled your head with nonsense."
My spine stiffens. "Don't talk about him."
His eyes narrow. "You think this is love? You think he's protecting you? He's isolating you."
"That's not true."
He snaps, "You don't know what true is right now. You're infatuated and not thinking straight. And you're going to ruin your life over this."
The words press like weights into my ribs. Shame creeps in fast, insidious, whispering that maybe he's right. I'm aware I can be dramatic and wrong at times.
No. Red loves me, and I love him. We'll figure out how to survive this without destroying our lives.
Dad steps forward, like he's going to come inside.
I move without thinking, blocking him and state, "You're not welcome here right now."
His head jerks backward. Hurt fills his expression.
"Not today, Dad," I add softly.
He stares at me like he's seeing a stranger where his daughter used to be. Then he coldly asserts, "You don't get to shut me out."
My knees tremble. "Setting a boundary isn't shutting you out. Now I'm asking you to leave. We can talk another day."
Demi steps next to me. "Hey, Uncle Adrian."
My father's gaze flicks to her, then hardens. He accuses, "You're not innocent in this mess, Demi. We're going to discuss your involvement, too."
"Dad! Stop! Demi doesn't determine who I love!" I argue.
She doesn't flinch and backs me up. "We both love you, Uncle Adrian, but right now's not the best time for this. It's better if you go."
The look he gives her is sharp enough to cut diamonds.
She winces, but puts her arm around my shoulders. "Nothing personal."
"Nothing personal?" he fumes.
"Yes. Let's give it a few days," she suggests.
"Demi, why don't you go home? This is between Blue and me," he claims.
She shakes her head. "Sorry. Can't do it. Not today."
His gaze darts between us. Then his expression tightens. He finally shakes his head, and disappointment radiates off him in waves.
He looks up at the ceiling a moment, then back at me. In a calmer voice, he claims, "Your mother is beside herself. I'm beside myself. We love you, Blue."
"No one is debating that," I offer.
"Then why are you shutting me out right now?" he questions.
I sigh and grip the side of the door, suddenly exhausted. "Dad, I love Red. It's not going to change. And he loves me. I'm better with him. I'm a mess without him. I need you and Mom to understand that and until you do, I can't deal with this...this fury of yours."
"Fury of mine?" he questions.
"Yes. I physically can't handle it. So let's talk later, okay?"
A moment passes with tension growing. Then he turns and walks away.
When I shut the door, my hands tremble.
Demi watches me carefully. She says gently, "Hey. You did good."
My laugh comes out short and brittle. "I feel like I just committed a crime."
She steps closer. "You enforced a boundary."
My chest tightens. "He looked at me like I was—" I can't finish the sentence.
"Like you disappointed him," Demi supplies softly. "Yeah. I saw."
Her admission makes it worse.
She claims, "Don't worry. I'm in the disappointment boat, and I'm sure I'm going to hear about it from my dad too."
I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted, like all my energy drained out the moment he left. My phone buzzes on the table, but I don't pick it up.
Demi sits beside me again, close but not touching. "You want to talk about it?"
I stare at the TV screen. "Not yet."
My skin still buzzes. My chest aches. Beneath it all, something darker stirs. It's an old, familiar urge curling at the edges of my thoughts. I press my palms into my thighs, grounding myself, breathing as Red taught me, but it won't disappear.
It's not a surprise. It never just disappears. It waits until I'm alone and then it breathes destruction into me.
My phone buzzes again. I stare at it like it's a living thing. Like if I don't look directly at it, it can't hurt me. But Dad was here, so that means Mom is next.
Demi exhales slowly beside me. "You going to check that?"
I shake my head.
It buzzes again. Then again. The third vibration scrapes across my nerves.
"Blue?" Demi asks.
"I know." My voice sounds thin. I finally reach for it, and my chest tightens.
Mom: Can we talk?
Mom: Your dad and I love you.
Mom: Are you safe?
That last one makes my throat close. My brain latches onto the word and twists it.
Safe from what?
From Red?
From myself?
My hands start buzzing harder.
Demi peers closer. "What's it say?"
"Nothing," I answer too fast.
Demi's eyes narrow slightly. "Who is it?"
"My mom." I swallow and look back at my phone.
Mom: Are you safe?
The words blur for a second.
Safe.
The question splits into two inside my head.
Safe from him?
Or safe from me?
"What did she say? You look freaked out," Demi pushes.
"I'm fine," I say, but my voice thins at the edges, betraying me.
Demi reaches over slowly and takes the phone from my hand. She reads the screen. Her jaw tightens. "Oh. I see."
I whisper, "She means safe from Red."
Demi nods, but I'm not sure if she believes me.
All my brain hears is Mom's freaked-out, worried voice.
Are you stable?
Are you spiraling?
Are you about to hurt yourself?
My skin prickles harder. The buzzing spreads from my hands into my forearms. My thighs start aching with tension.
Two more texts arrive.
Mom: We are worried about you.
Mom: Please answer me.
Worried.
Answer me.
The words pile up until I can't tell if they're a concern or accusation. I murmur, "I ruined everything."
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."