Chapter 22 #2
"Okay. That's different."
Is it?
My hands buzz harder. My thighs ache, begging for impact. My chest compresses in on itself.
Pain is cleaner than shame. It's specific. Shame spreads.
Mom's plea flashes in my brain.
Please answer me.
The phone vibrates again in Demi's hand.
She flips it face down without looking at it. She calmly declares, "We need to mute that for an hour."
My stomach flips. "She's going to think—"
"She's already thinking," Demi interrupts gently. "Right now, we're focused on you."
Focused on me.
That's the problem. Everything is focused on me. My choice. My relationship. My failure. My disappointment.
The urge shifts from quiet to more insistent. I need something sharp, so I stand abruptly.
Demi stands too. "Where are you going?"
"Bathroom," I say too fast.
She doesn't move out of my path. "Blue."
The buzzing grows louder. My brain catalogs where I can find something sharp.
Kitchen drawer.
Bathroom cabinet.
Cosmetic bag.
"Let's call Red," Demi gently suggests.
I shake my head. "No. I don't want to manipulate him."
Demi frowns. "What are you talking about?"
"I don't want to text Red and make him come home because I can't handle this."
"You telling him you're struggling isn't manipulation."
"It feels like it."
"It's not."
I swallow hard. My eyes sting.
"Let's text him green," she says.
"No. I'm yellow," I lie as the buzzing shifts sharper and more demanding. I press my nails into my thighs, but it's not enough.
Demi steps closer and cups my face firmly. "Blue, look at me."
I meet her gaze, but I'm in a tunnel.
She affirms, "You are not weak for struggling. You are not dramatic. And you are not a burden."
The last word hits the hardest. I feel like a burden...on everyone. And that's when it turns clear.
Loving me costs people too much.
Tears spill unexpectedly. I cry, "I don't want to hurt them."
"You're not hurting anyone," Demi insists.
"I don't want to hurt him either."
"You're not. Red loves you," she states.
I can't breathe right. The buzzing peaks, and I need it to die. There has to be quiet for me to have peace. The only thing that will do it is one sharp sensation that drowns out the emotional noise.
"I need something," I say again, more desperate this time.
Demi's eyes soften, but her jaw tightens. She carefully agrees, "Okay, then we find something safe."
Safe.
The word echoes. My chest rises and falls too fast.
She adds gently, "Or, you text him."
I stare at the muted phone.
Green.
And the longer I pretend I'm not green, the louder the destruction inside me starts to breathe.
Green. Green. Green!
The word sits in my throat, but I can't say it out loud.
Demi hugs me. "Hey. Everything is going to be okay."
I know it's not. I'm at the place where I either choose to take care of this, or I'm going to implode.
"Just text Red, Green," she suggests.
"I can't," I whisper.
She pulls back and pins her gaze on me. "Yes, you can. Green doesn't mean you're weak. It means you're choosing not to fight alone."
My chest tightens.
The buzzing turns unbearable. The subtleness turns loud and demanding, crawling under my skin like something alive. My brain keeps giving me the same solutions.
Kitchen drawer.
Bathroom cabinet.
Cosmetic bag.
I press my nails into my thighs harder, but it's not enough.
It's never enough.
I mumble, "I don't want to be the reason he leaves work."
Demi answers, "He cares more about you than work. He gave you the code word for a reason."
That's the problem. He did it because he knows me. He sees me.
He still stays.
For how long?
More panic pummels me.
Loving me costs people too much.
My red phone cover catches my eye. It still sits on the coffee table.
Green.
If I text it, he'll come. If I don't, I might shatter. What cost is greater?
The buzzing spikes so hard, my vision tunnels.
I rush to the phone and grab it before I can talk myself out of it. My fingers shake so badly, I mistype.
Me: Greeb.
I delete.
Me: Greem.
I delete again and try again.
Me: GREEN.
I hit send before I can analyze it. The message whooshes away. Then there's silence.
Demi exhales slowly like she's been holding her breath for ten minutes. She praises, "Good. That's good, Blue."
My chest heaves in short breaths. The buzzing grows more insistent.
It takes less than ten seconds.
Red: On my way.
The relief that hits is sharp and humiliating all at once. My knees buckle, and I drop back onto the couch. The buzzing grows more frantic. I press my face into the pillow, saying over and over, "Go away."
Demi strokes my back, assuring, "He'll be here soon."
The condo feels too small, bright, and loud all at once. Salt & Steel is still playing on the TV, and some chef is shouting about reductions.
"Turn it off," I gasp, lifting my head from the pillow.
Demi lunges for the remote. The screen goes black.
Silence crashes down, but it's so much worse.
My hands shake uncontrollably. My thighs ache, begging for destruction. My chest tightens like a vise, squeezing it. I manage to get out, "I can't."
"You can't what?" Demi asks, kneeling in front of me.
"Do this."
"Do what?"
Tears fall from my eyes. I bury my face in the pillow again.
Demi stays close. "Red's coming."
The word coming does something to me. Grounds me and unravels me at the same time.
What if he gets here, sees this, and decides I'm too much?
The buzzing peaks so hard, I stand abruptly and start pacing.
"Blue," Demi says carefully.
"I can't be like this," I snap. "I can't keep costing people this much."
"You're not costing anyone anything."
Red rushes through the door. He moves quickly to my side. "Bluebird."
My tears pour out faster.
He rapidly scans me.
My body shakes so hard, my knees buckle.
He steps closer, catches me, and puts a firm hand on my shoulder, ordering, "Blue. Look at me."
I blink several times.
"I'm here. Stay with me."
I completely lose it. I sob into his chest, the fabric of his shirt muffling the raw, ugly sounds escaping me. His arms wrap around my body like a vise, holding me upright.
The world narrows to the scent of his clean soap, faint cologne, and that underlying warmth that's always been my anchor. But even that can't drown out the storm inside.
Faintly, through the haze of my breakdown, I hear his voice. "Demi, you can go. I've got her."
There's a pause, then a shuffle of feet. Demi's voice comes out hesitant, "Call me if you need anything. Both of you."
The door clicks shut behind her, leaving just us in the echoing silence of the condo. Red holds me, one hand stroking my hair in slow, deliberate motions, as if he's coaxing the chaos out of me drop by drop.
But it's not working. The buzzing under my skin has turned into a roar, a relentless demand for release. I need pain, something to cut through the shame and the ache in my chest.
"Red," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Please...let me feel pain. I need it."
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes searching mine. Concern etches deep into his features. "Bluebird, talk to me. What's going on?"
The words tumble out in a rush, laced with tears.
"My dad came over. He was so angry and disappointed.
And Mom's texts...they're worried I'm not safe.
With you. From myself. I ruined everything, Red.
I always do this. I cost too much. You won't want me anymore.
You can't always love someone like me, someone who.
..who needs this pain just to feel normal again. "
His jaw tightens, but his touch remains gentle as he cups my face, his thumbs brushing away the streams of salt on my cheeks.
"That's not true, Blue. I love you. That means all of you.
The messy parts, the strong parts, the parts that scare you.
I'm not going anywhere. You're not a cost. You're my everything. "
I shake my head, the denial bubbling up like acid.
"But it hurts you. Seeing me like this. I see it in your eyes.
One day, it'll be too much. You'll realize I'm broken, and you deserve better.
Someone who doesn't fall apart over family drama, who doesn't crave.
..this." I wince as the urge surges sharper than before, twisting in my gut like a knife.
My thighs burn with phantom anticipation, my mind flashes to sharp, pointed blades, and the sweet sting that promises quiet. I pull away from him, wrapping my arms around myself, rocking slightly. "Please, Red. Let me hurt myself. Just a little. It'll make it stop. I promise I'll be better after."
He puts both palms over my cheeks.
I beg, "Please. I need pain."
He assesses me further, keeping his hands locked on my cheeks, then nods. "Okay, Bluebird. If you want to feel, I'll give it to you in a safe way."
"You will?"
"Yes."
"Thank you," I whisper.
He takes my hand and leads me toward the bedroom.
Fear mixes with desperate hope as my heart hammers in my chest.
Is he going to let me hurt?
Or is this another attempt to talk me down?
We cross the threshold into the bedroom. The sheets are still rumpled from this morning. He releases my hand, then moves to the closet, pulling out the box he keeps hidden. It's the one filled with toys, restraints, things that turn pain into pleasure, chaos into control.
My breath hitches as he sets it on the bed, unlocking it with the key from his pocket. The lid opens, revealing the array of vibrators, plugs, and more.
He reaches in and pulls out a leather paddle and a pair of nipple clamps. The gold chain glints under the lamp light, taunting the relief it holds.
He holds them up, his eyes narrowing to dark slits. His voice stays steady, laced with the dominant edge that always makes my pulse race. "Let me help you, Bluebird."
"Yes." I swallow hard, staring at the items, my body responding before my mind can catch up. A shiver runs through me, the buzzing shifting from destructive to anticipatory. "Red..."