I sat in my room, the quiet of the facility settling around me like a heavy blanket. I didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel. But I couldn’t help it. Corinne’s words echoed in my mind: You don’t have to yet. You just have to stay.
I wondered if I could stay. If I could keep pretending that I wasn’t scared, that I didn’t feel like I was falling apart piece by piece. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be broken. But maybe... maybe it wasn’t about fixing myself. Maybe it was just about surviving. About staying, even when everything in me wanted to run.
I thought about Corinne again—her calm demeanor, the way she didn’t seem afraid to show her scars. She was broken too, but somehow, she made it seem like it was okay to be that way. Maybe I could learn from her. Maybe I could stay long enough to figure it out.
But first, I had to let go of the fear that had been chaining me for so long. The fear of being seen. The fear of being vulnerable.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s what I had to do here.
Stay.
Chapter 21
Brittany
The Past (Age 22)
The moment the nurses told me Corinne was moving into my room, something inside me trembled.
They were so gentle when they told me, like always. I can hear their smiles before I even look at their faces. Anna touched my hand like it was made of spun sugar and said softly, “Brittany, Corinne’s room had a leak, and she’ll be staying here for a few days, okay?”
I gave them my good-girl smile. That’s what they wanted. That’s what kept them from hovering too close. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice as light as a paper flower.
But inside?
Inside, I was screaming.
My room was my world. My kingdom. My fortress. The only place where I could be small and safe. Here, the walls were lined with stuffed bears, rabbits, and unicorns, lined up in perfect rows. Here, the curtains were lavender, and the light hit the carpet just right, so I could sit cross-legged and trace sunbeams with my fingers.
I had my stickers on the dresser. My coloring books under the bed. My pink socks folded perfectly in the drawer.
Now someone was coming.
I squeezed my eyes shut, rocking slightly. Breathe in. Breathe out. Remember the counting game. One, two, three, four.
But it didn’t help today.
I spent the afternoon curled up on my bed, knees hugged to my chest, tracing circles on my wrist with my finger. My stomach clenched, sharp and hollow, but I ignored it. That was normal.The hunger was always there—a quiet companion I’d learned to live with.
I heard the footsteps before I saw her.
Soft shoes on the tile. The shuffle of a bag. The quiet murmur of nurses outside the door.
And then—the door opened.
I peeked over the edge of my blanket.
She stood there, awkward and hesitant. Corinne. Pale, dark-haired, thin in the way that said something was slowly pulling her under. She clutched a small duffel bag to her chest, her shoulders hunched like a frightened animal. Her eyes darted around the room, pausing on the dresser, the stickers, the rows of plush animals, the childish drawings tacked to the walls.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then I sat up, hugging my stuffed bunny close. “Hi.”
Her eyes flicked to me, wide and uncertain. “Hey.”
I pointed to the empty bed. “That’s yours.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, stepping inside like she was afraid the floor might swallow her.
