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“You’re feeling too much at once. Let it out,” Dr. Singh instructs. “Expel the pain from your soul. I want you to scream, Eva. Grab a pillow and scream.”

“I can’t,” I shout, desperate to rake my nails down my arms until the pungent smell of iron hits my nose.

Why doesn’t she get it?

“Yes, you can. Get mad. So much has happened in such a short amount of time, and it’s overwhelming.”

Fighting to breathe, I let her words sink in.She’s right.There isn’t a day that passes that something isn’t thrown at me. There are so few moments of peace. The noise is so fucking loud.

“Let. It. Out,” she demands, and the dam finally breaks.

I yell, swinging my arm out and knocking over the books sitting on the edge of my desk. Pain rips from my chest in waves, freeing me from the chains that fastened me to my suffering.

“That’s it, Eva. You’re so strong. Free yourself.”

How can someone be strong yet broken?

I am in the battle for my life, and the enemy is me.

My screams turn into wails. The keening sound emitting from me is a shock to my ears. It’s a hurt from so deep that not even I recognized its presence.

Guilt…

Betrayal…

Fear…

Hopelessness…

Curling into myself, I just let it bleed from me with each tear that drops, and Dr. Singh continues to encourage me, helping to see me through the storm like a beacon of light. She never once pushes me further than I’m ready to go.

I’m uncertain how long it takes me before I whisper, “I’m ready.”

Yesterday afternoon was a shitstorm of epic proportions. Having my most private moments played for all to hear snapped something inside of me. I immediately set up a call with my therapist. I had to speak to someone because all my attempts at coping have been unsuccessful.

Once I finally calmed down, I confessed most of what was happening. I still didn’t tell her anything about the voices or my cutting. Any time I felt that’s where things were going, I refocused on something—anything else.

My phone vibrates on my nightstand. I grab it and answer without looking. “Hello.”

“Evie.”

I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of my brother’s voice. He is someone I discussed with Dr. Singh.

“Cals,” I reply with a small smile.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t think you’d pick up,” Callum sighs.

He’s right. I usually wouldn’t have, not after everything. But Dr. Singh raised a valuable point,“How will you get any answers if you keep ignoring him?”

“I… I figured it was long past time we spoke,” I state.

“Thank you,” he says, and I can hear the relief in my brother’s tone, like all the muscles tightening in his chest are loosening. “I’ll be at your game next week with Mom and Dad. Do you want to grab a bite afterward?”

My eyes light up. I haven’t seen Callum in months. Guilt hits me in my gut.

Nope, not today, Satan.

Pushing the feeling back down, I stuff it into the proverbial box in the back of my mind and padlock it before covering it in cement and burying it more than six feet deep.