Page 76 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

My heart tremors in muddled agony that comes from so many different angles. It overwhelms, sending a tear down my cheek. I’m scared to bring attention to myself by brushing it away, so it lingers until it dries on my skin.

“Harlow?”

My eyes fall shut, and I sigh in dread. They’re all looking at me now; I know it.

“Would you like to share what you’re thinking?”

Clenching my hands together, my strength collapses. So much of me wants to surrender and beg for help, beg for someone to save me and take away this never-ending hopelessness that clouds every inch of my existence.

But I’m scared, and I’m not entirely sure of what or why.

Sadness swims in my eyes, blurring my hands as sorrow detonates within, ricocheting off bones and tendons. It shakes me to the core, and I hold my breath and plead for the strength not to let it consume me, but the walls are closing in. Pressure mounts, sending a brilliant ache up my throat, strangling me. My chest heaves, and when I can’t hold it in any more, I cover my face with my hands as tears break free.

There’s a hand on my back, and then another one—Max and Sebastian. I want to shrug them off because that’s what I’m good at—pushing people away.

It isn’t until I feel a hand on my knee that I timidly look up to find Dr. Benson kneeling in front of me.

He cares, I know he does, but I can’t understand why when I’m so useless—shot full of holes.

Inhaling and exhaling pain through these gaping wounds of mine is insufferable, but these wounds no longer bleed because they’ve already drained the life out of me, yet they still remain—festering while they spread their decay throughout my soul.

I can’t live like this anymore.

I just can’t.

Whimpers grow as I begin crying, all the while staring desperately into Dr. Benson’s eyes as he watches me crumble into pieces.

Sebastian takes my hand in his as I succumb to resignation, and I grip him back as if he’s my life source.

Dr. Benson squeezes my knee and says, “Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

“Lost.”

“How can I help you?”

Staring into his eyes as tears pour down my face, I surrender. “Fix me.”

As soon as the words are out, I fold over and rest my head on his shoulder as he holds me, rubbing my back and assuring, “You aren’t broken, Harlow, but I will do everything I can to help you, okay?”

I nod against him, knowing it’s an impossible feat.

HARLOW

“How do you feel about today’s session?”

Wadding up the tear-soaked tissue in my hand, I look at Dr. Benson and release a cathartic breath before saying, “Good, actually.”

He’s satisfied by my response and how well our one-on-one session went. After breaking down in group the other day, I’ve found myself clinging to the hope that, perhaps, I might be able to dig myself out of this misery. So, when he suggested that we increase my individual therapy sessions, I agreed without any pushback.

I don’t want to go on living like this.

Dr. Benson looks down at his watch. “We ran over a bit today. Study hall has already begun,” he tells me.

“Great,” I complain as we stand. “Whoever thought school during the summer was a good idea should be fired.”

He chuckles when he pushes the door open. “It can’t bethatbad.”

“Seriously?” Throwing him a cynical look, I shake my head as he walks me to the classroom. “It borders on inhumane treatment.”

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