therapy / e.d

5

I prop myself up against my pillows on my unmade bed, listening to Coldplay's Parachutes album. My drawing pad lies in my lap as I slowly turn to a clean page.

I decided to take Dr Evans' advice on the drawing coping mechanism to try and stop these intrusive memories.

I purposely played this record to test the theory. I'm going to draw the memory I get and hope to god that I don't become too invested in the memory to turn into a flashback.

The first time he came to my house, I played this record for him. He liked the song Sparks the best which also happened to be my favourite.

"Wait. What's this song called? I like it." Ethan interrupts the silence and I turn my head from the ceiling to look at him.

We lay side by side on my bed just listening to the record and it's the most at peace I have felt in a while. I don't even know how we ended up lying down, staring up at the ceiling.

I watch as his eyes widen and his mouth hangs agape as he listens intently to the song. Watching him makes me realise that I may have a tiny crush on Ethan. He's just...beautiful. I've never seen a guy look so beautiful by doing absolutely nothing.

I can't help but smile.

"It's called Sparks." I tell him and he turns to look at me before peering down at our hands that lie dangerously close to one another.

I look down and see his left hand travel underneath my right hand. His delicate touch gives me goosebumps. Our fingers slide past each other and interlock slowly.

The skin on his palm is slightly rough but I like the feeling of his skin on mine. I know it's crazy but holding his hand makes me feel safe. I squeeze his hand nervously before locking my eyes on his.

"Is this okay?" He stammers.

I nod timidly.

"Yes." I whisper and I notice how much closer I've gotten to him.

I hurriedly pull back slightly, creating a little more space between us. Ethan smiles with his teeth and I quickly admire it, knowing he'll hide his smile once I comment on it.

I purse my lips together as I sketch our hands interlocked on the paper, Sparks playing softly. Then I stop, tearing my gaze from the paper to stare out the window.

I sigh in relief. I wasn't absorbed in the memory. It's working. The mechanism is working. For the first time, in a long time, I feel a little better.

I quickly finish my sketch, scrawling the question underneath our hands. I drop the pencil, pressing my fingers against the paper, wishing to hold his hand again.

(A/N sorry the drawing is shitty plz forgive me hahahaha i made it really rough on purpose)

Then I remember how cold his skin was-
No. I can't ruin this chance at recovery. I breathe out, loudly, focusing on the drawing again.