79 | You deserve to live, not just survive
The room in the Costa mansion feels like a foreign place.
It's a study room turned into a therapy place for today, with two armchairs facing each other by a window overlooking the backyard.
I sit in one, my hands twisting in my lap, the gold ring on my finger catching the light, grounding me with Luciano's promise.
Dr. Navarro sits across from me, her eyes steady and kind, like she's not here to judge but to listen.
It's my first therapy session, and my heart's pounding, a mix of fear and defiance, because this is new, baring my soul to a stranger, digging into the past I've spent years running from.
But Luciano's words echo, You deserve to live, not just survive.
Dr. Navarro takes the notepad in her hand, and leans forward slightly, her voice calm.
"Aurelia," she says, "we can start wherever you feel comfortable. Maybe with your past, your family, what it was like growing up. What do you think?"
I swallow, my throat tight, because the past is a minefield.
"I don't know where to start," I say, my voice quieter than I want, a tremor betraying me. "It's... messy."
She nods, her smile small but warm, like she's not scared of my mess.
"That's okay," she says. "Maybe start with one thing, one memory, one person. Who comes to mind first?"
My mother's face flashes, sharp cheekbones, cold eyes, lips curled in disdain, and I flinch, the memory sharp as a blade.
"My mom," I say, the words slipping out, heavy, like they've been waiting. "She hated me. Always did."
Dr. Navarro tilts her head, her eyes steady, encouraging. "Can you tell me more? What made you feel that way?"
I take a breath, my fingers digging into my palms, and it's like a dam breaking, the words spilling, raw and unfiltered.
"She never looked at me like I was her child," I say, my voice low, bitter.
"She only looked at me like I was a mistake she couldn't erase.
I'd come home with a drawing, a good grade, anything to make her see me and she'd just..
. compare me to Ciara. 'Why can't you be more like your sister?
' she'd say, every time, like Ciara was the sun and I was a shadow.
I was never enough, never right. She'd scream if I spilled something, lock me in my room if I cried, tell me I was too loud, too messy, too me. "
The memories flood, her voice cutting, You're nothing, Aurelia, her hand shoving me away when I reached for a hug and my chest tightens, tears burning behind my eyes.
I look at Dr. Navarro, expecting pity, but she's just listening, her face open, and it's strange, freeing, to say it out loud.
"I tried so hard," I continue, my voice cracking. "To be what she wanted, to make her love me, but it was like she couldn't. Like she wished I wasn't there."
She nods, her voice gentle.
"That sounds incredibly painful," she says. "To feel unseen, unloved by your mother, It's a deep wound. What about your father? How was he in all this?"
I laugh, a short, bitter sound, because he's another scar, just as raw.
"He was worse," I say, my hands clenching, the ring digging into my skin.
"He didn't just ignore me, he wanted me gone, dead.
I heard him once, when I was maybe ten, telling Mom he wished I'd never been born, that I was a burden, a problem.
He'd look at Ciara like she was his pride, his legacy, but me?
I was nothing. If I spoke at dinner, he'd cut me off, tell me to be quiet.
If I got in trouble, he'd say it was proof that I would never get anywhere in life. "
Dr. Navarro's eyes soften, but she doesn't interrupt, and I keep going, the pain pouring out, unstoppable now.
"Ciara was the only one who mattered to them," I say, my voice trembling, anger mixing with hurt.
"My sister, she was their golden girl, perfect, shining.
But with me, she was... cruel. She'd leave me behind, ditch me for her friends, laugh when I tried to tag along.
Worse, she'd ruin me, lie to Mom and Dad, say I broke things, said things just to watch me get punished.
She'd smile while I cried, like it fed her, like my pain made her bigger. "
I pause, my breath ragged, tears spilling now, and I wipe them angrily, hating how raw I feel, how exposed.
"I just wanted someone to love me when I was younger," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I was starving for love,and I would've given anything to feel even a flicker of warmth, even if it was just a cruel illusion."
Dr. Navarro leans forward, her voice steady, anchoring.
"You've carried so much, Aurelia," she says, her words gentle but firm.
"That kind of rejection, from your mother, your father, your sister, it's a heavy load, and it's shaped how you see yourself, how you navigate the world.
It's not your fault, none of it. You were a child, deserving love, and they failed you, not the other way around. "
I nod, tears streaming, because hearing it, someone saying it wasn't me, wasn't my flaw, it's like a crack in the walls I've built, letting light in, even if it hurts.
"Why does it still hurt?" I ask, my voice small, desperate. "They're gone, Ciara's gone, but it's like they're still here, in my head, telling me I'm nothing."
She smiles, sad but warm, like she sees me, really sees me.
"Because trauma lingers," she says. "It's not just memories, it's how they rewired you, made you question your worth. But we can work on that, Aurelia. We can untangle it, help you find peace, help you see the woman Luciano loves, the woman you are."
I glance at the ring, thinking of him and my heart steadies, just a little.
"I want that," I say, my voice raw but sure, a spark of fight rising. "I don't want to keep running."
"Then we'll start there," she says, her eyes bright with something like pride. "You're already strong by showing up today, talking like this. We'll go slow, okay?"
I nod, wiping my face, the tears slowing.
Dr. Navarro shifts, her voice gentle but direct, cutting through my haze.
"Aurelia," she says, her eyes meeting mine. "I want to ask something, and you can answer as much or as little as you feel ready for. Have you ever harmed yourself physically? When the pain gets overwhelming?"
My breath catches, a jolt of panic spiking, because she's reached into a corner I've kept locked, a secret I've carried alone, hidden under clothes, under smiles.
But her face is calm, open, and Luciano's love burns in my memory, his tears for me last night, his promise to stay, and I want to be honest, want to be free, even if it hurts.
"Yeah," I whisper, my voice barely audible, trembling. "I... I've cut myself."
She nods, no shock, no pity, just a quiet encouragement to keep going, and I swallow, my throat tight, forcing the words out.
"My inner thighs," I say, my voice cracking, my hands clenching to stop their shaking. "When the pain gets bad, really bad, like it's too much to hold. It's... it's like I need to feel something else, something real, to make it stop screaming inside me."
Dr. Navarro leans forward slightly, her voice soft but steady. "Can you tell me about a time it happened? What brought it on?"
"It was a month ago," I say, my voice low, unsteady.
"Before... before I knew how Luciano felt, when I thought he didn't love me, couldn't love me.
I had a dream, a sexual dream about him.
Us, together, close, like I wanted him so bad it hurt.
But when I woke up, It felt... wrong, like I shouldn't feel that way, like I was betraying myself, stealing something that wasn't mine. "
My cheeks burn, and I look away, out at the vineyard, because saying it aloud makes it real, makes me feel exposed, naked in a way that's worse than any scar.
"He was still tied to Ciara then, or I thought he was," I continue, my voice shaking.
"Everyone said he loved her, that I was just the sister, the obligation.
In the dream, he wanted me, looked at me like I was everything, but when I woke up, it was like a lie, like I was fooling myself.
I felt so guilty, so stupid, for wanting him, for thinking he could ever want me back.
The pain was too much, like I was drowning in it, in how much I loved him and how little I thought I deserved it. "
Tears spill, hot and fast, and I wipe them angrily, hating how weak I feel, but Dr. Navarro's voice pulls me back, gentle, grounding.
"So you cut yourself," she says, not a question, just a bridge to keep me talking. "To cope with that pain?"
I nod, my breath hitching.
"Yeah," I whisper. "I went to the bathroom, locked the door, and used something sharp.
Just... small cuts, on my thighs, where no one would see.
It hurt, but it was... quiet, you know? Like the pain inside had somewhere to go, like I could control it for once.
After, I felt empty, but calmer, like I could breathe again.
But then I'd see Luciano and it'd start all over, the wanting, the fear, the feeling like I was nothing. "
She writes something, her pen scratching softly, and I brace for judgment, but when she looks up, her eyes are warm, understanding.
"That sounds incredibly hard," she says, her voice steady, like she's holding my pain with care.
"What you're describing, using cutting to manage overwhelming emotions, it's a way to survive when the world feels too big, too cruel.
It's not about weakness, Aurelia, it's about trying to find relief.
But there are other ways, safer ways, and we can explore those together, so you don't have to carry that alone. "
I nod, tears still falling.
"I didn't want him to know," I say, my voice small, glancing at the ring, thinking of his face, his love.
"Luciano, he'd blame himself, think he caused it, but it wasn't him.
It was me, my head, my past. I love him so much, and now I know he loves me, but back then.
.. I thought I was alone, always alone."
"You're not alone anymore," she says, her smile soft, encouraging.
"You're here, talking, fighting, and that's strength, Aurelia.
You're choosing to face this, and it's a start.
Would you be open to trying something like journaling, or a breathing exercise when the pain gets that bad again? Just to see if it helps?"
I hesitate, my fingers tracing the ring, Luciano's vow in every curve.
"Yeah," I say, my voice steadier, a spark of hope flickering. "I'll try."
She nods, her eyes bright with something like pride.
"That's all I ask," she says. "We'll take it one step at a time."
My thighs ache, a ghost of old cuts, but the ring's warm, his love real, and I'm not running, not hiding anymore.