The past hits

I'll try

Meredith stood in the kitchen, her back to Derek as she reached up to grab a mug from the top shelf. As she did, her sleeve slipped down, exposing fresh, angry cuts on her wrist. Derek's breath caught, his stomach dropping like a stone.

"Meredith," he said softly, his voice laced with concern.

She froze, her hand gripping the mug tightly. Slowly, she lowered her arm, tugging her sleeve back down without turning around.

"I'm fine," she muttered, her voice brittle.

"No, you're not," Derek said, stepping closer. "I saw."

Meredith's shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, it seemed like she might pretend it hadn't happened, that he hadn't seen the truth. But then her composure cracked, and she set the mug down with a shaky hand.

"It's nothing," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... how I deal."

Derek moved cautiously, not wanting to overwhelm her. "Meredith," he said gently, "this isn't nothing. You're hurting, and this... it's a sign that things are too much."

She finally turned to face him, her eyes red and glassy. "You think I don't know that?" she snapped, though her voice was more tired than angry. "Every time I do it, I tell myself it's the last time. But then something happens, and I can't breathe, and it feels like it's the only way to make it stop."

Derek's heart broke at the raw pain in her words. "You don't have to do this alone," he said. "Please, let me help."

Meredith shook her head, her arms wrapping around herself as if to keep him—and the world—at bay. "You can't fix this, Derek. You being here doesn't make it go away."

"I'm not trying to fix it," he said. "I just want to be here for you. But more than that, I think you need someone who can really help. Someone who knows how to help you deal with this in a way that doesn't hurt you more."

Her eyes flickered with a mix of fear and resistance. "You're talking about therapy again."

"Yes," Derek said firmly. "I know it's scary. I know it feels like too much. But Meredith, you deserve to heal. You deserve to find a way to cope that doesn't leave more scars."

She looked away, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I don't know if I can do it."

"You can," Derek said, stepping closer but keeping his voice soft. "You've already been so strong. Stronger than you should have had to be. This isn't about being weak, Meredith—it's about giving yourself a chance."

Meredith wiped her face with the sleeve that had hidden her wounds. "And what if I fail? What if I can't do it?"

"Then we try again," Derek said. "And again. Until it starts to get easier."

She looked at him for a long moment, the weight of her pain and fear visible in every line of her face. Finally, she nodded, a small, hesitant movement.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll try."

Derek reached out, carefully taking her hand in his. "That's all I'm asking."