Beyond the paper walls

Breaking the silence

Hi, readers! This chapter delves into some intense emotions and experiences, including self-harm, substance use, and struggles with mental health. These scenes are meant to reflect a character’s inner conflict and journey, but they might be challenging or triggering for some.

If you're currently going through something similar or if these themes affect you deeply, please take care of yourself. Feel free to skip this chapter or revisit it when you’re in a safe and supportive space. Remember, you're not alone, and reaching out for help is always okay.

Thank you for joining me on this story—I hope it resonates, but most of all, I hope you take care of yourself.

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I stayed there, feeling numb after he left. Regret instantly filled me-everything I'd said to Zane felt like a mistake. But I couldn't take my words back; the damage was done. Part of me tried to rationalize it, thinking maybe this distance would help us both. The farther apart we stayed, the better things might get. Yet, another part of me just wanted to apologize, to tell him his care mattered more to me than I'd ever wanted to admit. But I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to do it, as if saying it aloud would be a crime.

I forced myself to walk around my apartment, my energy nearly depleted. The place felt different now, brighter. Fairy lights draped over the shelves, a new pastel rug soft underfoot-it all felt lighter somehow. And with each step, shame weighed down on me for how I'd treated Zane. I had sabotaged any chance of a friendship.

In the kitchen, a meal awaited me with a "get well soon" card from Alaana. I'm never the emotional type, but her heartfelt message almost brought me to tears.

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I entered my office, slipping back into my routine, my staff bombarding me with questions I barely dodged. How on earth had I ended up with this big project and a mountain of work? And as someone who'd always loved to work, I suddenly couldn't bring myself to care about any of it.

My doctor had called two days prior. He told me I needed an MRI to make sure my concussion wouldn't cause further issues. How on earth could a concussion cause issues when bullets haven't? He also mentioned regular checkups and that, if Zane hadn't called 911 on time, things could have been much worse. I should really apologize. But would I? Absolutely not. Even if I tried, I knew I couldn't.

After taking my meds and attempting to focus on my work, I realized it had been more than two weeks since I'd last seen Zane. I'd tried to "accidentally" run into him, but no luck. Today marks the 19th day since our last interaction.

Maya came by my office in the afternoon. My assistant had spilled everything to her about my health, so she was soon by my side, lecturing me about recovery. She apologized for our past, which I forgave, but the hurt lingered beneath the surface. As always, she looked stunning in her designer suit, and I commented on it.

"Did you do the MRI?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Was anything wrong?"

"No."

"Are you taking your meds?"

"Yes."

"What about the pills your therapist recommended?"

"Yes."

"The hell are you doing with those yes-and-no answers, Aria?"

"Huh? What else am I supposed to say?"

"Are you going to your therapist this Thursday?"

"Yes."

"Oh my god! Really?"