The Gift

Chapter 11

Lena isn't sure how long she slept for, only having a vague memory of being helped into bed by Eliza. It's dark outside, she notices, and Lena sighs as she realizes she's slept the whole day. She blinks heavily, blindly reaching out to the lamp and wincing when it brightly lights up her bedroom. Miss Pizzly remains tucked up to her side, and Lena is torn between feeling comforted and mortified at the same time.

She's a grown woman for God's sake, she shouldn't need a stuffed animal. Yet, Lena can't quite bring herself to shove it off the bed. She stares at it, the memory of buying it so vivid in her mind. Lena can remember how it felt in her little hands, how she gripped it so tightly out of fear that someone may take it away from her. She remembers the fear dissipating around the people who were strangers at the time, replaced by the warmth of acceptance.

They wanted her to be happy. They'd bought the bear purely because Lena had wanted it, there was no bargaining, no arguments, just a happy moment that's now embedded in the muddled memories of her childhood.

Lena strokes the soft fur, staring down at the gift with watery eyes. She'd been so easy to please, a little love and attention was all that was required, and Lena can't understand why she needed a re-do to receive that. She'd been right there in front of Lillian, so eager to please, so desperate to be loved. A simple hug every now and then would have changed her whole childhood, and yet even that had been too much to ask for.

She tucks Miss Pizzly into her arms as she slides her legs over the edge of the bed, still groggy as she makes her way out to the living room. Lena smiles softly when she finds Eliza on the couch, quietly reading in the lamplight and seemingly waiting for her. The smile is returned, warm and tender, gentle blue eyes almost relieved to see the dishevelled young woman.

"You must have been exhausted," Eliza murmurs, setting the book aside as she stands from the couch. There's no judgement, no sarcastic comments about sleeping the whole day away. "There's some takeout in the microwave if you're hungry," she adds. Lena glances towards the kitchen, but doesn't move, her throat jerking with a nervous swallow.

"Maybe once I'm more awake," Lena states, her voice wavering. Eliza smiles at her, gentle and sad, and she stands to take Lena into her arms, Miss Pizzly squashed between them. Lena doesn't even realize she's crying until the hiccups take over, mortified by the way her body jolts with each one. Eliza holds her until the hiccups stop, her thumbs wiping away each stray tear that leaks from Lena's eyes.

"I think, perhaps, we should find you someone to talk to," Eliza murmurs. "A professional," she clarifies. "You've been holding on to so much pain, honey. I think it still eats away at you." Eliza pulls back, attempting to smooth Lena's bed head. "If it's something you'd like to try, Kelly can recommend someone, but there's no pressure. The decision is yours, and yours alone and I'll fully support whatever you decide.

Eliza holds her at arms length, gently rubbing her shoulders. Lena sucks her lips inwards, squeezing her eyes closed as she wills away fresh tears. She nods, reluctantly agreeing to seek the help she's needed for so long.

"I think — I think that's a good idea," Lena whispers. "It's just... a lot. This last week feels like years ago, and it feels like it doesn't belong there, but I want it to. I want that to be my past because the alternative makes it hard to breathe. It always has." Lena drops her head, brows deeply furrowed. "Thank you for everything you did for me. I won't ever forget that."

"Honey," Eliza gently tips Lena's chin upwards with one finger, "that's what families do. I've got your back, Lena. We all do."

"You're gonna make me cry again," Lena grumbles, swiping at her cheeks. Eliza chuckles, drawing Lena inwards for another hug. The arms around her are fierce, tight, yet so gentle, as though Lena is made of glass and may shatter at any moment. But Lena is strong, though, the bulletproof kind of glass. Lena may splinter, she may falter, but she will never break.