Where the Wounds Bloom

Chapter Ten: Too Far.

Skye stood in front of the bathroom mirror, steam curling up from the hot shower she’d just taken, leaving her skin flushed and her hair damp. She wiped a hand across the glass, clearing a small circle where her face appeared, tired and drawn. The usual nighttime routine with Kari—journaling side by side, unpacking their thoughts, finding the threads of progress—felt too heavy tonight. Something inside her was tangled, knotted tight, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

She slipped into a loose T-shirt, the soft fabric brushing against her freshly cleaned skin, and padded down the hallway. Normally, she would have gone straight to bed, letting the warmth of the shower lull her into a haze. But tonight, her feet carried her toward the meditation room—an unspoken need drawing her there.

The room was quiet, dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the small window. Skye sank down onto the floor, the cool surface grounding her. She wrapped her arms around her knees, leaning her forehead against them, and for a moment, she just sat in the silence, letting it settle over her like a blanket.

She tried to focus on her breath like Kari had taught her, feeling it move through her chest, slow and steady. But something twisted inside her, like a pressure building beneath the surface, and before she knew it, the tears came. Hot, uncontrollable, spilling down her cheeks in waves that she couldn’t stop even if she’d wanted to.

She choked out a sob, her body shaking with the release. It wasn’t like her to cry like this, to break down so completely without understanding why. But she stayed with the feeling, trying to do what Kari had always told her—trying to sit with the discomfort instead of pushing it away. She placed a hand on her chest, feeling the rapid thudding of her heart beneath her palm.

"What’s here? What are you trying to tell me?" she whispered to herself, echoing Kari’s words. She closed her eyes, letting herself fall deeper into the sensations, allowing the memories to come if they needed to.

And then, like a wave crashing over her, a memory from years ago surged forward, pulling her under.

---

She was fourteen, standing in the middle of a grocery store aisle, the shelves towering over her like a canyon. Her vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges of her sight. She tried to focus on the boxes of cereal in front of her, but the colors melted together, swimming in her mind. She reached out for the shelf, her fingers barely brushing the edge before her knees buckled, and the world went dark.

When she came to, she was on the cold tile floor, bright fluorescent lights glaring down at her. A woman she didn’t recognize was kneeling beside her, pressing a cool, damp cloth to her forehead, her voice a distant murmur. The edges of reality were still fuzzy, slipping in and out like a radio station that couldn’t quite find its signal.

Then she heard Kari’s voice, frantic, high-pitched with fear. "Skye! Skye, oh my God, what happened? Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Skye tried to speak, but her mouth felt dry, her tongue heavy. Her eyelids fluttered, catching glimpses of Kari’s pale, tear-streaked face hovering above her, a desperate look in her eyes that Skye had never seen before.

A paramedic knelt beside them, gently pushing Kari back. "Give her some space, sweetheart. She needs air."

Kari’s hand found Skye’s, gripping it tightly, as if she was afraid that letting go might mean losing her. "Please... she hasn’t been eating much. I don’t know how long it’s been since she had a real meal," she confessed, her voice breaking. "I didn’t know it was this bad. I should have seen it—I should have done something."

Skye squeezed Kari’s hand back weakly, wanting to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but all she could manage was a faint, shaky breath.

The next thing she knew, they were in the back of an ambulance, the siren blaring, Kari’s face swimming in and out of focus beside her. Kari kept talking, trying to keep Skye conscious, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"Skye, please. You can’t leave me. You’re all I have—please, you have to be okay. I can’t do this without you."

Skye remembered feeling something shift inside her then, a crack forming in the wall she’d built up around herself. She saw the fear in Kari’s eyes, the raw, unfiltered love. It was the first time in a long time that she’d realized she wasn’t alone—not truly. That someone cared enough to be terrified of losing her. And it scared her too, but in a different way. It made her want to try, to reach out even when everything inside her was screaming to withdraw.

Kari had stayed with her in the hospital that night, sitting in the stiff chair beside her bed, refusing to leave even when the nurses told her she should get some rest. She’d held Skye’s hand through it all, her thumb brushing back and forth over Skye’s knuckles like a promise. And in those quiet hours, Skye had felt something break open inside her—something that she hadn’t known she’d needed until it was right there.

---

Back in the meditation room, Skye let out a shuddering breath, the memory fading but the emotion lingering, raw and tender in her chest. She pressed her hands against her face, feeling the heat of her tears, and took a few more deep breaths, letting herself settle back into the present.

She knew, deep down, that she’d come a long way since that night. But the scars were still there, the old habits still whispering in the back of her mind, tempting her with the promise of easy escape. She felt the pull of it sometimes, the urge to slip back into the patterns that had once felt like control.

But she wasn’t the same girl who had fainted in the grocery store. She had faced that darkness, and she had come out on the other side, even if it still lingered in her shadow. And Kari was still with her, just like she’d always been—guiding her, reminding her that she didn’t have to do this alone.

Skye wiped her eyes, taking one last, steadying breath before standing up. She felt lighter, somehow, even though the ache was still there, buried deep. Maybe she’d never fully let go of that part of herself, but she could make peace with it, little by little. And tonight, that was enough.