Never Let Me Go

Chapter 14. Setback

The morning light filtered into the room, a gentle awakening, as it greeted Lucy's eyes, the curtains dancing with the breeze. The anticipation of the day ahead was palpable, and she could sense the echoes of the future she was about to step into.

As she opened her eyes, her first day as a detective, her anticipation was the calm before the storm. However, as she eased herself out of bed, the pain from the previous night seemed to make a vibrant cameo, immediately reminding her of their shared intensity.

Lucy, with her brow arched and the defiance in her eyes, ignored Tim's lighthearted greeting as she muttered a "good morning" in response, her attitude as sharp as her glare. She was not in the mood for the playfulness, her thoughts still caught in the transition between the new day and the fact it was her first day as detective.
Tim, unfazed by her demeanour, smirked, the corners of his eyes almost twinkling with mischief. His words, a rich amalgamation of teasing and a hint of seduction, were an invitation for Lucy to engage in a game that they both knew so well.

"Is my girl having an attitude with me? I can definitely give you another reason to roll those eyes."
The flush on her cheeks was a silent testimony to the effectiveness of his words. The way they effortlessly danced around each other, even in the midst of the morning's seriousness, was a song only they knew. And as Lucy's blush deepened, the atmosphere of the room was heated.

In her room, Lucy stepped into the closet, a sanctuary of her wardrobe, and began rummaging through her professional outfits. The world outside was waiting for her debut as a detective, but with each piece of clothing she tried on, her reflection seemed to mock her, the shadows of her past haunting the present. She felt fat.. So disgusting- her body didn't suit any of these outfits. The struggle to find an outfit that would not only fit the occasion but also her own perception of herself was a humbling dance of frustration. Her eyes scanned the mirror, and as they did, the reality of her eating disorder seemed to gnaw back at her.

Tim was in the kitchen, the sizzle of the pan and the aroma of a healthy breakfast enveloping the atmosphere around him. Unbeknownst to him, Lucy was grappling with her own demons, a battle that was silently unfolding in the other room.

The weight of her struggle bore down on her with an intensity that was almost tangible. The reflection in the mirror, a cruel reminder of her past, was too much for Lucy to bear. The silence in the room was shattered as her fist met the glass, a silent, desperate cry for help that splintered the mirror.

Time seemed to slow down, as if the world was watching her in that moment of shattered glass and shattered hope. The blood, a crimson testament of her pain, began its slow descent, a slow, steady river down her knuckles and onto her wrists. The silence in the house, a stark contrast to the chaos of the moment, made the gravity of this situation even more profound. She had been self-harm free for three weeks, a small triumph that was now shattered along with the mirror, also a stark reminder that the battle with her eating disorder was far from over.

Tim's footsteps pounded against the floor, the urgency of the situation amplifying the echoes of his steps. He entered the room, his eyes tracing the sight he found - Lucy, sitting on the floor, her tears a mirror to the pain that had just unfolded. The blood, now a vibrant testament to her struggle, clung to her hand, a stark reminder of the moment.

"Lucy..." Tim's voice, though filled with concern, was steady, a precious anchor in the storm.

She whispered back, the tremble in her voice a reflection of her despair. "I messed up..."

Tim's gaze bore into hers, the compassion in his eyes a quiet strength. He knelt beside her, holding her uninjured hand, and with a reassuring squeeze, he spoke, "It's okay, we'll get through this together."

In that moment, in the midst of her pain and tears, Lucy's body seemed to instinctively gravitate towards Tim. He was the rock, the safe harbour amidst the storm. Her head nestled against his shoulder, the quiet intimacy of this moment a testament to their bond, a silent dance of trust and comfort.

He spoke, his voice a hushed whisper of reassurance, "Let's get you patched up, okay?" His thumb, a gentle caress, brushed across her knuckles, a silent promise that she was no longer alone in her struggle.

The weight of the situation seemed to ease, if only slightly, and as they stayed there together, the world outside their little bubble, the healing began.

Lucy's hands, trembling with the residue of her breakdown, reached for the cloth, an attempt to clean the wound herself. Her fingers, mirroring her struggle, fumbled with the simple task, but it was a silent plea for control, a desperate grasp to reclaim a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos.

Tim, with a tender understanding, took the cloth from her hands, the warmth of his touch a silent promise to carry a part of her burden. He cleaned the wound, each movement precise, each action a testament to his care and concern, and with every swipe of the cloth, he was gentle, avoiding the pain that lingered under the crimson surface.

Tim, with a considerate smile, guided her towards the closet, helping her pick out a professional outfit, one that was not just functional, but also a splash of cute that gave a nod to her personality.

The glass, now an unspoken memory, lay in fragments as Tim took care of it, and in the midst of the cleanup, he couldn't help but kiss her forehead, a silent echo of his love and care. As he left for the kitchen to continue their healthy breakfast, he left her to ready herself, a new day, a new beginning waiting for her in that outfit.

In the quiet solitude of her room, Lucy donned the professional outfit, she sighed. The mirror, as always, stood silent witness, but her reflection today was nothing more than a passing glance, an acknowledgement of her physical presence, but not the essence of her struggle.

She stepped out of her room, the kitchen beckoning her with the promise of a fresh start. Tim was plating up the omelette. Healthy smoothies, in a vibrant array of colours, awaited them, the kitchen a testament to the calm after the storm.

Tim, with his plate in hand, began to eat his breakfast. The aroma of the omelette mingled with the tang of the smoothie, a savoury and refreshing dance that filled the kitchen with comfort.

Lucy, though, was lost in a world of numbers, her gaze transfixed on the food before her. Her mind was in a whirlpool of calculations, counting calories, a silent battle playing out in the silence of her thoughts. The aftershock of the morning's turmoil was a heavy reminder, a setback that she had not anticipated. A moment where the struggle was laid bare, a stark reminder of the fragility of her healing journey.

The silence in the kitchen was almost palpable, a subtle tension that had been simmering beneath the surface finally boiled over. Lucy pushed her chair back, her movements filled with a quiet determination that was almost like a silent plea to escape the weight of the moment.

Tim watched her, his sigh, an audible echo of his concern, a reminder of the compassion and understanding that he always carried. "You can't just neglect your needs, Lucy. You have an eating disorder," he stated, his voice a blend of frustration and care.

Lucy's gaze flickered towards Tim, a silent challenge in her eyes. She left for work, but in her heart, the struggle didn't end at the front door. She was leaving, a mass of frustration and determination swirling within her, a testament to her complexity.

She knew the weight of her eating disorder, the numbers, the mirror, the thoughts; they were her constant companions. The reminder of her disorder wasn't needed but it was there. She was tired of being reminded, tired of having to bear the responsibility of her corrupted mind. Her exit was a silent roar, a cry for freedom- why couldn't she accept her own body?

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