CLOVE

eleven

☘︎ clover ☘︎

It's been a week since I've been released from the hospital, and I'm still feeling the effects of the whole ordeal. My body is sore and bruised, and every movement seems to send a new wave of pain through me. I'm grateful to be back at Brennan's, surrounded comfortable environment, but I can't shake the feeling of anxiety and unease that's settled in my chest.

The first few days back at Brennan's, I spent most of my time sleeping. The medications and the exhaustion from the injury have taken their toll, and I find myself falling asleep at odd hours of the day. But even when I'm awake, I can't shake the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability that's settled over me.

Even though I'm safe at Brennan's, I can't shake the nightmares that plague my sleep. Every night, I relive the horror of my brother's and fathers death. And every time, Brennan comes into my room and gently wakes me, his presence a soothing balm against the terror that consumes me. He sits with me, holding me and whispering words of comfort until the nightmare fades and I'm able to fall back asleep.

Despite my gratitude for his presence, I find myself feeling frustrated and embarrassed. I'm supposed to be strong and independent, but here I am, relying on Brennan to come and rescue me like some scared little child. It's humiliating and frustrating, and I can't help but feel like a burden.

But Brennan never makes me feel that way. He holds me and reassures me with a firm, gentle strength that I can't help but lean into. He never makes fun of me or teases me for being weak.

I'm sitting at the dining table, staring down at the plate in front of me. There's a variety of foods on it - eggs, bacon, toast, fruit - but I can't bring myself to eat any of it. My stomach feels tight and queasy, and the thought of putting food in my mouth makes me want to retch. It's the effects of the eating disorder that the doctor warned us about.

Brennan stood in the kitchen doorway, watching me as I pushed the eggs around on my plate. His expression was a mix of concern and disappointment, and I knew without even looking up that he was worried about me.

"You've barely touched your breakfast, Clover," he said finally, breaking the silence. "You need to eat something."

I sighed, feeling the familiar twisting in my stomach that came every time I even thought about eating. "I know," I mumbled, still avoiding his gaze. "But I just can't. My stomach feels all twisted up, and even looking at the food makes me feel sick

Brennan stepped closer to the table, his footsteps gentle on the wooden floor. He took a seat across from me, his eyes never leaving me.

"I know it's tough," he said carefully. "But you have to try. You don't have to eat it all, but you do need to keep your strength up."

I didn't respond, just continued pushing the eggs around on my plate, trying to fight the nausea that was rising in my throat. My stomach clenched tightly, as if in protest at the mere thought of eating.

Brennan studies me for a moment, his concern written all over his face. "I think it might do you some good to get out of the house for a bit," he says gently. "How about a walk on the beach, or maybe going to see a movie at the theater?"

I flinch at his suggestions, instinctively rejecting the idea of leaving the safety of the house. But Brennan seems determined, and I can tell that he's not going to let me shut myself away forever.

He gives me a gentle nudge, encouraging me to respond. "It might help you to get some fresh air," he says. "And maybe a change of scenery will do you good."

I'm hesitant, my anxiety rising at the thought of leaving the familiarity of the house. But I can tell that Brennan's not going to accept a no, and I know that he's just trying to help me.