𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎 & 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

22. Quiet Space, Loud Mind

I struggled to stifle my sobs as my head lay in my best friend's lap, acutely aware of the library's strict silence policy. But when you're engulfed in a sea of tears, it's nearly impossible to suppress those gut-wrenching, guttural sounds. I gasped for air, my breathing erratic, while Emma's gentle hand traced soothing circles on my back.

"You'll be okay," she whispered, her voice filled with unwavering reassurance. "You always find a way through."

With great effort, I sat up, my tear-streaked hair clinging to my damp cheeks. My face was undoubtedly flushed, and my once-pristine mascara now smudged in dark trails around my eyes. I sniffled, locking eyes with Emma.

"This isn't going to be okay. It never is," I whimpered, my voice trembling with a mixture of sadness and frustration. My hands shook in my lap, betraying my inner turmoil. Leaning back, I took a deep but shaky breath, attempting to calm myself. Closing my eyes, I felt my mind race, conjuring vivid and distressing images that only intensified my panic. The mere thought of seeing my own family filled me with an overwhelming dread and hatred, for there was nothing worse than feeling such aversion towards those who should provide solace and support.

Emma fell silent, her hand on my knee faltering amidst the weight of my emotions. Through the haze of my tears, I heard muffled murmurs, and then another hand on my shoulder startled me.

Looking up, I saw Brian standing behind the sofa in the library, clutching a stack of book, his face etched with concern. In my teary, upside-down vision, I took in his familiar attire—a tight, white shirt beneath a black blazer, a scarf casually draped around his neck. My gaze settled on his signature black flares, a comforting sight that reassured me of his presence and safety. As he hurriedly moved to sit beside me, I inched closer, tears streaming once more. I sought solace in his proximity, leaning into him as his arms enveloped me, providing a much-needed embrace.

"What's wrong, love?" Brian's voice was soft and filled with genuine concern, his hand gently caressing the back of my hand, soothing my tangled emotions.

"Let her calm down first, Brian. She can hardly speak," Emma interjected, with Roger seated beside her. But I lacked the energy to dwell on their situation as I struggled to regain control over my own mounting panic.

"I can speak for myself, th-thank you, Emma!" I practically screamed into Brian's chest, my words failing to form coherently.

"This is a quiet public space!" The librarian's whisper-shout cut through the tension, her judgemental gaze fixed upon me. I rolled my eyes in response.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, shut up," I retorted a bit too loudly. Despite the librarian's furious glare, Brian hushed me, his hand pressing harder against the back of my head, his arms enveloping me tighter. He began to rock me gently, his chin resting atop my head. Tears continued to stain his shirt, and a pang of guilt washed over me for spoiling his impeccable outfit—he looked so effortlessly good. Consequently, I pulled away slightly, lifting my head so that only my forehead remained in contact with him.

Trembling, I raised one of my shaky hands, guiding his wrist down to intertwine our fingers, his rough callouses against mine providing a grounding sensation. Once I managed to regain my breath enough to articulate a coherent sentence, I looked up at him, his hazel eyes brimming with concern.

"My mum wants me to spend Christmas up North," I repeated, the words carrying a weight that pained me even more than when they were first uttered by my mother.

I couldn't ignore the confusion etched on Brian's face, so I clarified, "I don't like going back home. It's always so painfully miserable, far from what Christmas is supposed to be. And I love Christmas." My voice took on a whining tone, punctuated by a defeated sigh as I cast my gaze downward. "My family doesn't even celebrate it properly. They spend so much money on fancy decorations and food that makes everything feel so clinical. Like, you can't even move without my mum snapping at you and thinking you're going to break everything—not even that, but it's just a constant reminder that my family have all this money and will never see past that. Like, they know I'm struggling down here, yet I never see any of that money. Only when it's convenient for them!" My sadness transformed into bitter anger, and I squeezed Brian's hand tightly, channelling my emotions through the gesture.