Cassius
Don’t Let Her Break
I don’t sleep.
Zae does—eventually—but I don’t. She’s curled into me on her side with my arm around her waist. At some point after the movie and the pizza, during the crying and talking and apologizing, we shifted down under the blankets.
Now her fingers are hooked into my T-shirt, knuckles pale against the black cotton like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
Her breathing’s mostly even now. Every once in a while it hitches, a tiny stutter like her body’s still catching up to everything she finally admitted to tonight.
It’s 1:17 a.m but I can’t sleep. My eyes burn from holding too much in. Every time I blink, I see her in that bathroom at fifteen, slipping in the water with her hands covered in blood. I imagine the phone sliding out of her grip while she screams at it to work.
My jaw clamps, then I force it to relax because the last thing she needs is to wake up to me vibrating with barely contained rage. I drag in a slow breath, nose buried in her hair. She still smells like her shampoo and her vanilla lotion. It’s familiar and warm and feels like home.
My thumb has been tracing idle circles under the hem of her shirt at her hip for so long the motion is automatic now. I make myself stop so I don’t tickle her awake.
You’re not alone now.
I hear my own voice from earlier and decide I better back that shit up with more than good intentions.
So I very carefully ease my arm out from under her grip to reach my phone on the nightstand.
She mutters something and tightens her fingers, brow scrunching in her sleep, so I pause, hand hovering.
“Shh,” I whisper into her hair, pressing my palm back over her knuckles. “I’m right here, Sunshine. Just grabbing my phone.”
She settles again, her body relaxing against mine. I wait a few seconds to be sure she’s deep under again before trying one more time. This time I manage to snag the phone without jostling her too much.
The screen lights my face in harsh blue before I slam the brightness down, squinting, blinded for a moment. My notifications are a mess—missed texts from the group chat ‘skater haters’ and some random campus emails.
I ignore all of it and tap into the browser, hovering my thumbs over the keyboard for a second.
How to help someone with depression
How to support girlfriend with depression without “fixing” her
What not to say to someone who’s depressed
I end up typing:
How do I help my girlfriend when she has depression and I have anger issues
The results page fills with articles and blog posts and clinical shit that makes my head spin as I scroll.
You can’t fix them; you can walk with them.
Don’t tell them to “cheer up” or “look on the bright side.
Check the basics: food, water, meds, sleep.
Don’t make their depression about you.
Know your own limits. You are not their therapist.
That last one punches harder than it should.
I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand, then glance down to make sure I didn’t jostle her.
Zae’s face is tucked against my chest now, lips parted, lashes resting against faint shadows under her eyes.
She looks wrecked and soft at the same time.
And I know she’d hate knowing I was watching her like this.
I open my notes app before my brain can talk me out of it.
Title: Z’s Bad Day Plan (Cass, don’t be an idiot)
Ask “How are you actually?” instead of “are you okay?”
Believe her answer. No arguing.
Check if she ate? Drank water? Took her meds?
Offer options instead of barking orders, like “Want to come over and do nothing?”
“Want me to call? Or leave you alone?”
Don’t take it personal if she’s quiet. It’s not about you.
No “cheer up,” no “it’s not that bad.”
Remember: she’s not being dramatic. Her brain is lying to her.
You can say no if your anger is boiling. Take a break before you blow up.
I stare at that last line, tempted to delete it. My first instinct is to cross it out. If she needs me, I should be there, no matter what state I’m in.
That’s what a good boyfriend does, right?
Shows up. No excuses.
But then I picture tonight again—the way she flinched when she thought I might be mad, the way she apologized for being sad—and my stomach twists.
She doesn’t need me exploding in her direction because I didn’t manage my own shit first. So I keep that line.
My eyes continue skimming, bouncing between tabs now. One has a clinical article about caregiver burnout, another some forum where people are talking about being “the strong one” for their partners and ending up resentment-fried.
My chest gets tighter the further I scroll. Not because I don’t want to be here. God, if anything, it’s the opposite. I want to be in every single one of her storms. I’m just scared of becoming another weight on her chest in the process.
Out of nowhere I hear the door click, and I freeze, phone half against my chest. The knob turns slowly, and the room floods with a thin slice of hallway light before the door eases open the rest of the way to reveal Riley’s silhouette in the gap.
She steps in on quiet feet, shutting the door behind her, and then her eyes adjust enough to clock what she’s walking into. Me in Zae’s bed with her wrapped around me, dried tear tracks still faintly shining on her cheeks.
Riley’s eyebrows hike, and for a second I brace for some joke. Some wow, didn’t realize it was cuddle hour remark. Instead, she softens. She points at me, then the door, silently asking if I want her to leave.
I shake my head quickly, shifting my hand to cradle the back of Zae’s head again as she murmurs against my shirt.
Riley mouths, “She asleep?”
I nod.
Riley pads closer, dropping her bag slowly so it doesn’t thunk against anything. She stops near the foot of the bed and leans against the post, arms crossed over her chest, studying us in the dim light of my phone.
“What time is it?” she whispers.
“Almost two,” I murmur back, keeping my voice low against Zae’s hair.
“Have you slept at all?” Riley’s mouth pulls to the side, voice still soft but sharper now.
I hesitate, then give the smallest shake of my head. “I couldn’t.”
She squints at me. “You look like trash, emo boy.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, one corner of my mouth tugging up despite everything. “Really needed that boost.”
She ignores the joke, eyes flicking to the glow of my phone. “You doomscrolling?”
I tilt the screen a little so she can see the top of the article.
Her face shifts as she realizes what I’m up to. “Oh,” she breathes. “She finally opened up, then?”
“Yeah.” My throat goes rough at the reminder of her tears, of her shuddering in my arms. “We… talked.”
Riley exhales slowly, shoulders deflating as she sinks down to sit on the other bed—hers—facing us. She tucks her legs up, crossing her ankles.
“I figured something was going on,” she whispers, rubbing at one eye with the heel of her hand. “She’s been off all week, wearing more makeup than usual and telling more jokes like she was trying to make up for something.”
Guilt stabs under my ribs as I listen, noting how Riley noticed the things I hadn’t.
“I should’ve seen it.” I keep my voice low, so full of shame, of guilt. “I thought she was just tired, or coming down with a stomach thing. I’m supposed to be the one who notices, and—”
“Hey.” Riley holds up a hand, palm out. “Stop that.”
Oddly enough, I shut my mouth and listen.
“She seems really good at pretending,” Riley continues, voice gentler now, like she knows I’m on the verge of my own breakdown.
“You know that. I’ve seen her go into full Oscar-level performance mode this week for professors and group projects and her freaking advisor.
It’s not on you that she fooled you. My sister does this same thing.
I spot it because I know. Because I’ve dealt with it. ”
“Yeah, but she shouldn’t have to fool me,” I whisper, glancing down as Zae shifts closer, face burrowing deeper into my chest. “That’s what I keep coming back to.”
Riley watches us for a moment, then sighs as if she’s older than nineteen.
“Look, man. I moved in here thinking she was just this loud girl who liked anime and ate cereal for dinner.” She takes her shoes off and gently places them on the floor.
“Three weeks later, I’m recognizing signs and gently suggesting she actually email her therapist back.
So, I do not have this figured out, because I don’t know her that well. ”
“Right,” I mutter, staring at the ceiling for a second. “Great. Glad I’m not alone, I guess.”
Riley’s mouth twitches, then she sobers.
“Here’s what I do know,” she starts, leaning back against the wall once more.
“You can’t fix it. You can’t hug it out of her.
You can’t logic it away. And you will drive yourself fucking insane if you try.
Trust me, I have personal experience. I tried with my sister. ”
“Yeah,” I murmur, thumb rubbing a slow line along the curve of Zae’s shoulder. “The internet’s screaming the same thing at me.”
She nods at my phone. “You looking at the ‘what not to say’ lists?”
“Those and the ‘don’t forget to eat and drink water’ ones,” I admit. “Apparently I’m supposed to turn into a human reminder app.”
“That part’s not wrong,” Riley informs, lips quirking. “Half of my contribution is shoving a granola bar in her face and going, ‘chew this or I’m calling Cass.’”
A huff of air escapes me before I can stop it. “Incentive. I like it.”
“Exactly.” She hesitates, then adds more softly, “The other half is just being here, pretending to study and not making her feel like a burden or like she has to talk the whole time.”
Something in my chest loosens at that.
“I can do that,” I murmur, squeezing Zae closer to me. “I like existing in the same room as her.”
Riley gives me a pointed look and pretends to hurl. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
Heat creeps up my neck, but she just smiles faintly and continues.