ʚɞ 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐬 - 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 ʚɞ

22 | flawless

The shift dragged on, the weight of the morning still hanging heavily between us. The silence in the car was oppressive, filled with all the things left unsaid. When we finally returned to the station, I felt an overwhelming urge to break the silence, to find some way to bridge the gap that had formed between us.

"Tim," I began hesitantly as we were heading out. He turned to look at me, his expression unreadable. "Do you want to grab a coffee or something? Just to talk?"

He seemed surprised but quickly nodded. "Sure. There's a coffee shop around the corner."

We walked in silence to the nearby café, the air between us charged with tension. Inside, the warmth and smell of freshly brewed coffee provided a slight comfort. We ordered our drinks and found a quiet corner to sit in. The silence stretched on, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

I took a sip of my coffee, the hot liquid doing little to soothe the ache inside me. My arm started to throb where I had cut myself the night before, the pain a constant reminder of my relapse. Absentmindedly, I began to scratch at the bandage, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming emotions.

Tim's eyes followed my movements, and his expression darkened with concern. "Lucy , did you... did you relapse?" he asked gently.

I couldn't bring myself to answer, but the look on my face must have said it all. Tim's shoulders slumped slightly, and he reached across the table to take my hand in his. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I wish I could have done something to prevent this."

"It's not your fault," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just... everything got to be too much."

Tim nodded, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. "I get it. More than you know."

For a moment, we just sat there, the silence between us now more understanding than uncomfortable. Finally, I broke the silence. "My apartment is still a mess. Chris broke a lot of things. There's glass everywhere."

Tim's grip on my hand tightened slightly. "I can help you clean it up, if you want."

I hesitated, then nodded. "I'd appreciate that."

We finished our coffee in silence, then headed out to the parking lot. Tim drove behind me as I led the way to my apartment, my heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and relief. I wasn't sure how this was going to go, but having Tim with me made it feel a little less daunting.

When we arrived, I opened the door to the chaos Chris had left behind. Broken glass littered the floor, and furniture was overturned. Tim took it all in with a grim expression.

"Let's get to work," he said, rolling up his sleeves.

We worked side by side, picking up the pieces of my shattered belongings. As we cleaned, we talked—really talked—for the first time in what felt like forever.

"I don't know how it got this bad," I admitted, sweeping up shards of glass. "One day, everything seemed fine, and the next, it was like I couldn't control anything anymore."

Tim nodded, his face serious. "It happens. Life can get out of control before you even realize it. The important thing is recognizing it and finding a way to take back control."

I glanced at him, grateful for his understanding. "Thank you for being here. I didn't think I could face this alone."

"You're not alone," he said firmly. "You never have to be alone."

As we continued to clean, the conversation turned to more painful topics. I found myself opening up to Tim in a way I hadn't before, sharing the depths of my pain and fear.

"It wasn't just the physical stuff," I began, my voice trembling slightly. "He... he threatened to kill me if I ever tried to leave. He raped me almost every night. If I did something he didn't like, he'd punch me. He constantly accused me of cheating on him with you. It didn't matter what I said or did; he always found a reason to hurt me."

Tim stopped what he was doing and came over to me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close. "Lucy , I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with anguish. "You didn't deserve any of that. No one deserves that."

I clung to him, my body shaking with sobs. "I feel so dirty, so broken."

"You're not dirty," Tim said fiercely. "And you're not broken. You're strong, Lucy . Stronger than you know."

His words offered a small comfort, but the pain was still so raw. We sank down onto the couch, Tim holding me as I cried. He didn't say anything, just held me, letting me release all the pain and fear I had been carrying.

"Every night," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Every night, I prayed he wouldn't come home drunk. Because when he did, I knew what was coming. The insults, the accusations, the violence. And the worst part was, I started to believe him. I started to believe that I deserved it."

"You didn't deserve it," Tim said, his voice steady and sure. "None of it. He was wrong, Lucy . So very wrong."

"But I let him do it," I said, my voice breaking. "I let him hurt me, over and over again."

"No," Tim said, his tone firm. "He manipulated you, broke you down. It's not your fault. You did what you had to do to survive."

I looked up at him, tears streaming down my face. "I just feel so lost. I don't know how to move forward from this."

Tim's expression softened, and he gently wiped away my tears. "One step at a time, Luce. One step at a time. And I'll be here, every step of the way."