Chapter 11 You Are In Love
You Are In Love
Ali
She felt it before he even said anything.
Something in the air had changed. Dylan was still being Dylan— sweet, attentive, soft-spoken— but there was a weight in his eyes she couldn’t name. Something heavy and too quiet.
They were curled up on his bed again. Sunday night had faded into early Monday morning, and she should’ve already gone back to her dorm to sleep before class. But she hadn’t wanted to leave. Not after the kind of weekend they’d had. Not after she gave him everything.
So when he asked, his voice gentle but serious, her whole world tilted.
“Ali,” he said, brushing her hair from her cheek, “can I ask you something?”
She sat up slightly, her stomach turning. “Okay…”
He paused. Looked down. And then, with aching tenderness, took her hand in his and pushed her sleeve back just an inch.
“I saw it,” he whispered. “Last night. The scars.”
Her blood went cold.
Dylan’s thumb hovered just over the faint lines across her wrist. He didn’t press. Didn’t push. Just looked at her with those heartbreakingly kind eyes.
“Is someone hurting you?” he asked. Then even more gently, “Ali… are you hurting yourself?”
Her breath caught in her throat.
And then everything shattered.
She turned her face, but he cupped her cheek and made her look at him. That was the worst part— he didn’t look angry. Or disgusted. He looked wrecked.
Tears flooded her eyes before she could stop them. “I— I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking like broken glass. “I didn’t think— I didn’t want you to know.”
His arms were around her before the next sob could leave her throat.
She collapsed into him. Every part of her broke open.
It all spilled out— Daisy’s words, the screaming, the names. The slamming doors. The cruel games her roommates played. The isolation. The quiet digs. The way it never stopped, not even when she hid.
She told him about the nights she’d lock herself in the bathroom just to feel like she could breathe. About how the blade had only come a few times. About how terrified she’d been, how lost. Every time it happened. She didn’t know how else to make the pain inside to go away.
“I didn’t want to die,” she choked, “I just didn’t know how to make it stop.”
Dylan didn’t speak.
He just held her tighter.
She felt something wet hit her temple— and realized he was crying too.
His chest heaved with the weight of her pain. His arms around her didn’t loosen, not even for a second.
They stayed like that for hours. Curled into each other in the darkness.
He didn’t let her go.
Not once.
Not even when the sun rose and her alarm buzzed for her 8am class.
Not even when she tried to apologize for everything again.
He just pulled her sweatshirt over her head, handed her her sneakers, and quietly said, “You’re not going to class today.”
She looked at him, confused. “Then where are we going?”
He looked her dead in the eye. Calm. Certain.
“To health services,” he said. “You’re gonna talk to someone. I’ll be with you the whole time.”
She didn’t speak. Didn’t argue.
For the first time in weeks— maybe months— Ali didn’t feel afraid of what came next.
Because he wasn’t walking away.
He was walking her toward healing.
The waiting room smelled like hand sanitizer and stale coffee.
Ali sat stiffly in the oversized chair, her palms damp, fingers twisting the hem of her sweatshirt sleeves.
Dylan hadn’t let go of her hand since they walked in.
Not when he signed her in. Not when she sat down.
Not even now, as her knee bounced involuntarily and her throat tightened with every passing second.
She felt like everyone could see straight through her.
The girl who couldn’t handle life. The girl who needed help. The girl who sliced her wrist open and then pretended like everything was fine.
Dylan leaned over and whispered, “You’re doing so good, Al. I’m so proud of you.”
Her chest ached at the sound of his voice— so warm, so solid, like he meant every word.
The nurse called her name and everything in her wanted to bolt. Her feet felt nailed to the floor, her breath coming too fast. But Dylan stood, gently tugging her up with him, steady and unflinching.
“I’ll be right here when you come out,” he promised, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Every step. Okay?”
She nodded. Or maybe she just blinked. It was hard to tell.
The psychiatrist's office was smaller than she expected, cozy even. A worn blue couch sat across from a desk with too many sticky notes. There was a tissue box in every corner. A soft lamp in place of harsh fluorescent lights.
“Hi, Alison,” the woman said kindly. “I’m Dr. Stephenson. Come on in and make yourself comfortable, wherever feels safest for you.”
Ali hesitated, then lowered herself onto the edge of the couch. She kept her arms crossed tightly over her middle, unsure of what to do with the weight of her own body in this space.
“Um, it’s just Ali.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ali.’
Dr. Stephenson didn’t rush her.
She didn’t pry.
She just asked questions gently—“How have you been coping lately?” and “What brings you in today?”
At first, Ali didn’t say much. A shrug. A few mumbled phrases.
But the silence in the room didn’t feel like judgment. It felt like an invitation.
And slowly, something cracked open.
She talked about the fighting with Daisy. About how she felt like she was constantly in the way. How she tiptoed around her own dorm room, afraid of doing anything wrong. How her world had become so small she couldn’t remember what it felt like to feel okay.
She admitted she’d hurt herself.
And then, barely a whisper: “I didn’t want to die. I just… didn’t know how to make everything stop hurting.”
Dr. Stephenson nodded, not startled, not alarmed— just grounded.
“I hear you, Ali. I’m really glad you came in today.”
They talked for almost an hour. By the end of it, her chest didn’t feel quite so tight. She wasn’t okay, but she wasn’t buried anymore either. There was a flicker of something else.
Hope, maybe.
When she came back out, Dylan stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the fake plant beside him.
She didn’t even get a word out before he wrapped her up in his arms.
And just like that, the crushing shame loosened a little.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispered again, kissing the top of her head. “You did the hard part. We’ll figure out the rest together.”
Ali clung to him, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe that maybe— just maybe— she didn’t have to do this alone.
After finals ended the next week, she went home to Honeyshore for Winter Break. She drove herself. Dylan helped her load up her Malibu and kissed her with a fierceness she would never get used to. They would be in their hometown together, yet a world apart because of Daisy.
Ali spent the drive back home blaring Taylor Swift, singing about boys, mean girls, and feeling 22.
And when she crossed over into Bellamy County, she felt a sigh leave her body as the stress from MBU faded away.
Ali talked to Dylan every single night before falling asleep. And they texted all day.
The week of Christmas, she had a sleepover at her cousin’s house. Ashley was the youngest of 4 kids with 3 older brothers. Since Ali was an only child, and being they were only 6 months apart, they were more like sisters growing up.
The fireplace crackled low in Ashley’s room, casting flickers of gold over the floral duvet they were sprawled across. A mostly empty bottle of Moscato leaned sideways on the nightstand, and half a bowl of kettle corn sat between them, the sweet-salty kernels now slightly stale.
Ali finally felt normal again.
Ashley lay on her stomach, twisting a ring around her finger, her dark blonde hair pulled into a lazy bun. “Okay, I’ve been waiting all night,” she said, eyes dancing with curiosity. “You’ve got that I’m holding a secret that might explode out of me face. Spill. Everything.”
Ali let out a breath, biting back a grin.
Then she told Ashley everything.
About Dylan.
About the looks that made her stomach flip.
The coffee outside her dorm. The kisses at Cup & Chaucer.
The night he kissed her on the field in front of thousands.
The night she gave him her virginity. Her voice wavered a little on that part, but Ashley just smiled softly and reached over to squeeze her hand.
Then she dished. Everything. Their first night together, the rushed sex in the shower before class some days, the slow love-making on Sunday afternoons, all of it.
She finally had someone she could girl-talk with.
“I knew he’d fall for you,” Ashley whispered, eyes gleaming. “He’d have to be brain-dead not to.”
Ali laughed— really laughed— for the first time in what felt like weeks. But then the laughter faded, and her chest tightened.
She looked down at the wine glass in her lap. “Ash… it hasn’t all been good.”
Ashley sat up straighter, instinctively on alert. “What do you mean?”
Ali hesitated. Her fingers found the sleeve of her sweatshirt, twisting it nervously. “Daisy. When I told her… she just completely lost it.”
Ashley’s jaw tensed. “Define lost it.”
Ali didn’t sugarcoat it.
She told her about the screaming. The slurs.
The cruel words that rang in her ears for days.
The icy silence. The way Daisy had turned her entire sorority against her.
She described what it was like to walk around campus feeling invisible and yet exposed all at once.
Avoiding the parties. Pretending everything was okay when inside, it was anything but.
“I started hurting myself,” she said quietly, voice barely audible.
Ashley’s breath caught.
Ali swallowed hard, forcing the words to keep coming.
“But I— I got help. Dylan found out. He didn’t run away.
He took me to Health Services the next morning.
My doctor, she doesn’t make me feel dumb or crazy.
She got me in within a campus therapist and put me on a mood stabilizer & anxiety meds.
I actually think… it’s all helping. Dylan doesn’t coddle me or anything. His strength is incomparable.”
Ashley’s eyes glistened, but she didn’t let a single tear fall.
Instead, she cupped Ali’s cheeks, thumbs brushing gently along her jaw. “You are the strongest person I know.”
Ali shook her head. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Ashley said firmly. “You’ve been drowning and still managed to crawl toward the surface. That’s strength.”
Ali’s eyes filled with unshed tears, a soft sob catching in her throat. She wasn’t used to kindness landing so solidly. She hadn’t had any girls to talk to.
Ashley wrapped her in a hug so fierce it knocked her wine glass over.
“You ever feel that low again,” she whispered fiercely, “I swear to God, I will drive three hours in my pajamas from Georgia U and sit on your bathroom floor with you all night if I have to. Screaming, bitching, tears, whatever— I’ll be there. You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”
Ali cried then— not from pain, but from relief.
And for the first time in a long time, she believed her cousin meant it.
They fell asleep under the blankets, mascara smudged, legs tangled, the empty popcorn bowl on the floor and soft music playing from Ashley’s phone. And when Ali woke up the next morning, tucked into Ashley’s queen bed with the sun warming her cheeks, she felt something she hadn’t in months.
Safe. Whole. Content.