13. Lydia
Lydia
The days just seem to blend straight into the next. I honestly don’t even know how many days have passed at this point. I’ve been in this room for so long that time has become meaningless.
Every time I look in the mirror, all I see is someone who doesn’t look like me.
The girl I see now is all beaten and bruised—mostly on the inside, even though the purple smudges on the side of my face are still there, barely visible now under all the makeup I keep applying on top of it.
If you didn’t know it was there, you probably wouldn’t even notice it.
But I do. It’s all I see now. It’s all I can feel.
Over and over again, in my head, in my heart.
The pain feels so suffocating and confusing.
I keep telling everyone I’ve been too sick to leave my bed, and they’ve all bought the lie easily, giving me the space needed to hide what he’s done.
All I want to do is slip into the darkness and let it take me under. I hate feeling this way.
I haven’t even touched my meds because I hate the way I feel on them more than just feeling everything. Some fucked up part of my head wants to feel everything instead of moving through life like a numb robot. Feeling like that makes me more suicidal than just being in pain.
Every time Simone tries to FaceTime, I let it ring and then call her back, telling her I look too gross to be on camera, not a total lie, but it’s not from any kind of sickness.
Eli has come over every single day after school.
It feels comforting in a way, like he actually cares, he doesn’t hate me, he didn’t mean to hurt me, he wants to fix this, but it also feels suffocating, too.
I just want some time and space to process what happened without him in my face, apologizing every chance he gets.
It makes me feel so guilty when he begs for forgiveness, yet I don’t want him to stop.
I keep taking the flowers he brings like the empty apologies they are, and I accept the food he brings me as a peace offering. He’s trying to take care of me when he knows I’m not taking care of myself, mostly because he knows I’m not taking care of myself because of him, because of what he did.
I cling to every sweet gesture like it can fix us; it can erase what he did to me.
I want it to be able to convince my brain that he didn’t mean to and he would never do something like that again.
Yet the logical part of my brain that I keep yelling at to shut up tells me this could be the start of bad patterns.
I keep trying not to listen to that part.
It’s just lies screaming at me because that part of me is scared of being hurt again.
But if he really loves me, he’ll make this right; he’ll make it up to me and fix all of this…
right? He’ll love me gently enough that I’ll finally stop recoiling at his touch.
I don’t want to be on edge like I am now constantly. I want to feel safe with him again.
My heart is a war zone, battling between love and fear, trust and betrayal.
I’m so…tired.
Curled up in bed, my mind is swirling with thoughts that won’t stop, no matter what I do.
There’s this insistent voice telling me I just need to end things, end it before it gets worse.
That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?
That’s what I need to do, no matter how much I don’t want to.
But every time I think about actually saying the words out loud to him, panic grips my throat tight enough to choke me.
Eli is the first boy I’ve ever loved—deeply and wildly.
I just don’t know how I can stay with someone who now makes my stomach drop in fear every time his voice rises, even slightly.
I know I have to say something, though. I have to find the courage to put myself first, no matter how much it might hurt me or break my own heart.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door, and I already know it’s Eli, but he walks in more hesitantly than normal, his shoulders sagging and his face filled with so many emotions that I’m not used to seeing on him.
He almost looks unrecognizable with the heaviness in his face.
The way he’s carrying himself instantly worries me, like something’s seriously wrong.
“Hey,” he says softly as he lingers by the door.
I sit up, all earlier thoughts gone, replaced with pure concern for him now. “Hey…are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer at first, just walks over and sits down on the bed in front of me. He keeps twisting his fingers nervously like he has a lot on his mind, then he finally exhales and speaks.
“My parents…they’re getting a divorce.”
My heart instantly hurts for him. “Oh my gosh, Eli. When…?”
“Last night.” His voice breaks with the emotions he’s trying to hold in. “They told me at dinner. It—it’s been coming, I guess, but I didn’t wanna believe it.”
I reach out, placing my hand gently on his arm, feeling guilty for what I wanted to do, how I wanted to add to his pain.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
I can see the hurt written all over his face as he talks about it.
“They’ve been fighting my entire life, but it’s been nonstop and worse for months now,” he says, his voice getting rougher.
“I kept telling myself they’d fix it, you know?
But last night…I overheard my dad yelling.
He found out my mom cheated on him. I never thought—” He has to stop himself as the tears start rolling down his face.
The sadness in his eyes and in his words hits me right in the gut. I hate seeing him in so much pain; I hate that I want to fix it for him; I hate that no matter what he did to me, I’m more focused on taking care of him right now.
I gesture for him with my arms open, and he scoots closer, laying his head on my chest. “I’m here,” I whisper softly, letting his tears soak into my shirt. “It’s gonna be okay.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his eyes are all puffy and pitiful now when he looks at me. “I’m so sorry, Lydia. I never meant to hurt you. Ever. I don’t want to be like them, angry and bitter, hurting the person I love most. I swear, I want to be good for you. Please, don’t hate me.”
His words tear at me, all the walls I’ve spent days carefully building suddenly crumbling. I want to protect myself, but the need in his voice is overwhelming and pulls at all of my heartstrings.
“I don’t hate you,” I say quietly. “But Eli, maybe—maybe do you think therapy could help you? With everything you’re going through…to process everything—”
He quickly shakes his head at that idea, almost scared of it. “I don’t want to talk to some stranger about my problems, Lyd. I don’t need anyone else. I have you. You’re the only one who’s ever made things better, who understands me.”
He touches my face gently, and despite everything, my heart still leans toward him, wanting him. I hate myself a little for how badly I want this—his tenderness, the hope he offers that things could still change.
“I love you,” he whispers. “You won’t leave me, will you? Promise me you won’t leave.”
My heart is splitting open…for him…for myself. I know what I should say, but I can’t say any of those words I had planned earlier. I just want everything he’s promising now. And if his words are a lie….then I’ll let mine be a lie too.
“I won’t leave.”
He leans in closer, gently kissing me. It’s soft at first, then becomes deeper, more urgent, needing me to reassure him with my body the way words never fully can. And I let him, holding tight to the possibility that this might somehow erase the bad, somehow repair the brokenness between us.
We end up naked, under the sheets together. His body pressed close against mine, comforting and painful and everything in between as he whispers apologies and promises into my skin.
I feel something shift after, like maybe, just maybe, we can find our way back to normal if we really try. He’s not treating me like he hates me. He’s hurting, yes, but he still loves me. I can feel it in his kisses, in the way he touches me with a gentle caution, as if he’s afraid to break me.
Once we’re lying next to each other, his soft breathing against my skin, I close my eyes and pretend, just for this moment, that we haven’t broken anything beyond repair.
That the bruises, inside and out, will fade.
That the Eli I fell in love with, the gentle, sweet boy who made me feel safe, is still in there.