Breaking The Silence

Chapter 2: Scars Beneath the Surface

The warmth of the coffee shop had long faded, and the quiet companionship of their gathering felt like a distant memory as Vivienne stood in front of her bathroom mirror. The glow of the single lightbulb above the sink flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to close in on her. She stared at her reflection, her eyes hollow, her breath shallow. Anxiety coursed through her veins, tightening her chest and speeding her heartbeat to a frantic pace.

She reached into the drawer and pulled out the small, familiar blade, her hand trembling as it hovered just above her wrist. The world around her felt like it was caving in. Every interaction, every moment of holding herself together for her friends and pretending she was okay, had drained her to the point of breaking.

Her mind raced with thoughts she couldn't control—thoughts of not being enough, of being a burden, of a pain so overwhelming that she would do anything to make it stop, even if just for a moment.

Vivienne pressed the blade against her skin, the sharpness biting into her. For a fleeting second, the chaos in her mind quieted, the anxiety dulled by the sting. It wasn't something she wanted to do, not really. But it was the only way she knew how to feel something other than the overwhelming nothingness that consumed her.

She hadn't told her friends about this part of her struggle. They knew about her anxiety, her panic attacks, but not this. She didn't want them to see her like this—weak, broken.

There was a knock at the door, startling her. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she dropped the blade onto the sink.

"Vivienne? You okay in there?" It was Althea's voice, muffled by the door but filled with concern.

Vivienne's throat tightened. She wiped the small beads of blood from her wrist, quickly pulling down her sleeve. She glanced at herself in the mirror again, shame and guilt washing over her. She didn't want anyone to see this part of her, but in that moment, she felt more trapped than ever.

"I'll be out in a second," Vivienne called back, trying to keep her voice steady.

Althea lingered outside the door for a moment longer before moving away. Vivienne took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together, but the weight of what she had done felt suffocating. She couldn't go on like this, pretending everything was fine. But how could she show them the truth?

Outside, Althea sat on the couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She had seen the faint red marks on Vivienne's wrists before, hidden beneath long sleeves, but she hadn't said anything. She knew what it was like to carry a burden that felt too heavy to share. She had her own scars, though they were hidden in different ways.

The world had taught her to keep her pain inside, to mask it behind a smile, but there were moments when she saw herself in Vivienne's silence, in the way her hands shook just a little too much when she thought no one was watching.

When Vivienne emerged from the bathroom, her face pale and her eyes downcast, Althea didn't say anything right away. Instead, she just moved over, making space on the couch.

"You don't have to hide," Althea whispered, her voice soft but firm. "Not from us."

Vivienne's breath hitched, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't know how to stop," she admitted, her voice breaking. "It's like... it's the only thing that makes it quiet."

Althea nodded slowly. She understood more than she could put into words. "It's not your fault," she said, her voice shaking with the weight of her own emotions. "But we need to talk about it. We can't keep pretending."

Vivienne wiped her eyes, feeling a strange mixture of relief and fear. She had never let anyone see this side of her, and now that she had, she didn't know what to do with the vulnerability that followed.

The front door creaked open, and William and Dylan entered the small apartment, laughing about something that had happened on the walk over. Their laughter died down as they saw the tension in the room.

"What's going on?" Dylan asked, his brow furrowed.

Vivienne looked at her friends, the people who had been by her side through so much, and for the first time, she let the silence break. "I... I've been hurting myself."

The words hung in the air, sharp and painful, but they were the truth. She couldn't take them back now.

William's face grew dark with worry, while Dylan's usually animated expression softened into something more serious. They didn't say anything, but the look of understanding on their faces made it clear: they wouldn't judge her. They wouldn't abandon her.

"I'm sorry," Vivienne whispered, the tears spilling over again.

"No," William said firmly. "Don't be sorry. We're here for you. We'll figure this out together."

Dylan moved closer, putting a hand on Vivienne's shoulder, his voice steady despite the worry in his eyes. "We all have our ways of coping, Viv. But we'll find better ones, okay? You don't have to do this alone."

The room was quiet again, but this time, the silence wasn't suffocating. It was filled with understanding, with a shared promise that none of them would have to bear their pain alone anymore.

Vivienne looked around at her friends, and for the first time in a long time, she felt the faint flicker of hope. It wouldn't be easy, and she knew the road ahead would be long and hard, but she wasn't alone. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to help her heal.

Together, they would find a way to keep going, to break the silence that had weighed on each of them for so long. And in breaking it, they would begin to heal—not perfectly, not all at once, but step by painful step.