48
MADISON
My lungs burn, my ponytail sticking to the back of my neck as I slow to a stop outside our apartment. My hands brace against my knees, my heart hammering in my chest.
It’s been weeks since I started running again. At first, it was just something to do, a way to get out of my own head, to channel all the restless energy with nowhere to go. But now?
Now, it’s something more.
It’s control.
A way to remind myself I’m still here. I’m still trying.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead, my breathing still uneven as I unlock the door and step inside. The apartment is quiet—too quiet.
“Lyla?” I call, kicking off my sneakers near the door.
No answer.
I frown slightly, checking my phone to see if she left a message, but there’s nothing. Weird. She almost always texts if she’s going somewhere.
Shrugging it off, I grab a water from the fridge and take a long sip before heading toward the bathroom. The moment I step underthe warm spray of the shower, my muscles loosen, the tension in my shoulders easing.
This is another thing Dr. Martha and I have been working on—recognizing when I need something. Slowing down. Letting myself feel instead of burying everything so deep, I can’t reach it again.
It’s…helping.
Baby steps.
At first, talking to her again was hard. Every session felt like peeling back layers of my skin, exposing wounds I’d left untreated for too long. But, little by little, I’ve been learning how to sit with the discomfort. How to take what I feel and let it exist instead of running from it.
I’ve started journaling again—nothing big, just small entries when my thoughts get too heavy. I’ve been eating better, actually putting effort into taking care of myself instead of just going through the motions. I’ve even let Lyla drag me out for the occasional coffee date, something that felt impossible a few weeks ago.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m suffocating in my own skin.
I rinse off quickly, wringing the water from my hair before shutting off the shower.
I step out, wrapping myself in a towel and wiping the steam from the mirror.
The scars on my shoulder are still there, faint reminders of a past I can’t change, but I don’t flinch at them anymore.
They’re part of me, but they aren’t all of me.
I exhale, grabbing a t-shirt and shorts from my dresser before pulling them on. My hair is still damp, dripping slightly onto my shoulders as I step back into the living room—just in time to hear the front door open.
Lyla steps inside, her keys jingling as she tosses them onto the counter.
I cross my arms, raising a brow. “Where have you been?”
She hesitates for half a second, though she’s not quick enough to cover it.
Her eyes flick to me, then away. “Nowhere.”
I narrow my gaze. “Lyla.”
Lyla hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, before she sighs and rubs the back of her neck. “I was, uh…saying goodbye to the guys.”
My stomach drops.
