This is a story about love, trauma, and healing.
TW: There are conversations about rejection, drug use, abuse and self-harm in this story. If you feel these themes might trigger you, please read some of my other stories instead.
If you struggle with mental health issues or have thoughts of self-harm, please remember that you are never alone, and that help is just a phone call away at your local help line. Be safe and seek help.
If you like the story, please consider giving it a star rating at the end, and please post a comment with your thoughts. I love your feedback, and it inspires me try to write better stories.
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It wasn't the arguments or the screaming. It wasn't the angry words or the spiteful statements. It wasn't the pleading and the crying, the begging.
It was the sound of the door slamming in my face. That explosive sound of absolute finality. The sound of a two month long constant cacophony of all those other things ending abruptly.
A deafening bang, which carried with it the stabbing realization that the front door to my childhood home had become an unscalable wall of hate.
That sound hit me with a force I will never, ever forget. The pain deeper than anything I thought was possible.
A sound shouldn't be able to leave a scar.
---
I loved the parks during the day.
Watching the squirrels in Union Square Park, running in the Hudson River Park. Reading a book in Bryant Park. Spending a sunny day on a blanket with a picnic in Central Park.
The open spaces. All the green. It made me feel free. Took my mind off... other things.
I still saw the darkness of the city in all of them. The dealers, the homeless, the hookers, the street kids.
They were easy to spot when you knew the signs. When you used to be one of them.
Some things don't ever leave you.
I got off the subway at 50
th
Street, after watching the chess hustlers at Washington Square, and walked the rest of the way home. I locked the door behind me and threw my clothes on my chair in the empty apartment.
As I brushed my teeth, my eyes drifted over the scars on my arms and thighs in the mirror, silent reminders of a time when having an apartment door to lock and my own safe bed to sleep in was a faraway dream. When a razorblade cut seemed like the only way to feel. Something. Anything.
Crawling under the covers, I set my phone alarm for 8 am. My shift started at 9, but the small café was just a short walk away, so I would have time for a quick shower and breakfast with Liz.
I was warm. The door was locked. I was safe.
---
My eyes caught hers as she walked through the door. She was too far away for me to see them, but I knew exactly how blue they were, how the light brown rings on the inside circled her irises. I quickly looked away and turned my attention to the couple in front of me.
"Will that be all then? Thank you, y'all have a nice day now."
She was next in line. Well, she was the line really, the lunch traffic was finishing.
"Hey."
Her smile was a little crooked, and as cute as always. She had a deep dimple on her left cheek but none on the right. I smiled back nervously.
"Hey, the usual?"
"Yes please." She gave a small laugh.
"Is it good or bad that I come here often enough that you always remember my order?"
I felt myself blushing.
"I like how often you come here." I regretted it instantly, now knowing why, burying myself in making the double latté with three extra pumps of caramel that she always ordered.
Every other day, at the end of the lunch hour. Just the coffee, sometimes a blueberry muffin.
When I looked up, she was looking at me curiously.
"I'm lucky today, no big line."
"Yeah, it's usually a little slower near the end of the month." I mumbled.
"Yeah, that figures."
I finished her order and handed it over.
"No muffin today?"
She smiled.
"No not today. I usually have lunch with some friends on Wednesdays, no room."
"Ah, ok."
There was a small awkward silence.
"Well, ok, thanks then, see you Friday." She grinned and walked out.
I couldn't help stealing a look at her sexy tanned legs as she left.
They were very nice legs.
---
Sometimes, when I woke up alone, the first thing that pushed into my mind was the suitcase. On the ground, thrown out in anger, containing a haphazard collection of my clothes and a few other possessions.
Packed by my mom, thrown out by my dad.
I never knew which one of them slammed the door.
For a long time, I hoped it was him. Then, maybe there might be a small chance that my mom didn't really mean it. That it was some kind of test. A desperate act to force me to deny my feelings. To go back to being their daughter, not... this.
A small chance that she still loved me.
I still had the suitcase.
But I lost hope long ago.
---
I buried my head in my hands, groaning loudly in defeat.
I didn't know what the fuck I was doing.
I would never be able to finish this.
It had been a stupid idea, and I was too stupid to do it.
The book lay in the corner where I had thrown it. Papers with my calculus homework strewn about the floor. I gave it the side eye between my fingers.
I sighed.
I picked up the papers, did the short walk of shame to get the book and put it back on the table, open at the right page.
"You got this!" Liz's voice came from the kitchen
"Shut up!" I snapped at her. I would regret it later. I always did.
She always forgave me my outbursts.
I had no idea why. I would have kicked me out months ago.
I sighed again, louder, and buried myself in a world of calculus hurt.
---
I kept it together most days. Kept my temper. Kept showing up for work. Kept going to meetings. Kept myself clean.
Two years of one day at a time.
I tried not to complicate my life. Simple was easier.
I didn't date. I avoided bars and clubs, and I didn't like the idea of meeting a stranger from an app. I'd had enough of sex with strangers for a lifetime.
Limiting myself to quiet self-love in my room was my choice.
