Wretched Roses √

Chapter 32-healing

Freya's POV

*mentions of suicide and self-harm*

Fuck my life.

It's complete and utter bullshit.

Nothing ever goes my way anyway.

Now I'm lying here on a fucking bed in my uncle's spare room thinking about all the shitty things my mom has done to me. I despised her. She's the reason I'm so fucked up, it's all her fault. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream into a pillow until the pain went away. I wanted to hurt her like she hurt me.

But most importantly, I wanted to hurt myself. There was nothing I ever did right. I lost the baby, I lost my family, I lost everybody. They must all hate me. I was a burden. That was all I ever was, that was all I'd ever be.

Why do I keep going if there's no one that cares?

It was silly because deep down I knew people did. Leona cared. Wren cared. Micaela cared. Yet, in that moment, it didn't feel like it. At that moment it felt like all hope was lost. And maybe it was because it sure as hell felt like it.

Then again, on the outside, I appeared completely fine, except for the bruises covering me. On the inside, I was letting out every suppressed feeling that had bottled up most of my life. Crying was a weakness. My mom told me that. And I always listened to her, hoping someday she'd do the same. That day never came.

I was so out of it I didn't even hear Wren enter the room or the dip in the bed that signaled he sat down next to me. It was first when he put a hand on my arm that I noticed him sitting there with a concerned expression. He didn't say anything for a while and neither did I.

"This is totally up to you and I completely understand if you're not ready yet but I think it'd be a good idea for you to visit a therapist. I could help you find one. Jolene has had a deeper effect on you than you show. I know what it feels like."

"You don't know shit," I snapped. It was a cruel thing to say but I wasn't thinking clearly.

"I could never know how exactly she's affected you but I went through something similar with my mother," he explained calmly, seemingly not blaming me for the comment.

"Grandma?"

"Yes. She hated me, still does. Unlike your mother, she never laid a hand on me, instead, she used her words to belittle me. For a while, I believed them, I truly did. It left me in a dark place and I constantly sought her approval. She used me like a puppet, controlling my every move and convincing me it was only to make me better. Your grandma gaslighted, abused, and manipulated me." He took a deep breath and glanced down at his fidgeting fingers.

"When I was twenty, I tried committing suicide. I failed, thankfully. I went to a psych ward and went through years of therapy. Occasionally, I still go but I'm much better. It's been years since I last saw my mother. She tried controlling me by forcing me into relationships, I wouldn't let her," he paused for a few seconds. "You pretend it doesn't affect you, but you're in denial."

"Please, Freya. I don't want you to get to that point," he pleaded. I saw the genuine concern written over his features.

"I-" I choked on my words, never having confessed this before. "A couple of years ago I was at a low point in my life, a bit like now but I was seventeen and couldn't escape Mom cause I lived with her. It got to the point where I couldn't even bring myself to get out of bed. She yelled at me, told me to suck it up, crying was for the weak. After, she beat me, he just watched, Wren, he just watched." And right then, I broke into tears, sobbing and letting Wren pull me into a hug I desperately needed.