I made progress. – Liana
Liana
It’s been four weeks since it happened.
Dr. Kim doesn’t say “You’re doing great” or “You’re so strong.”
She just asks, “How’s today?” every time I sit down.
Today, I said: “I opened the front door without checking the lock three times. And I didn’t flinch when the mailman slammed the box shut.”
She smiled. A small, real one.
“That’s a lot more than you think.”
We didn’t talk about what happened in the room. Not yet.
We talked about how silence can sound like danger, how the dark now feels like a trap. How sometimes I still freeze when a man walks too close behind me at the store.
And she lets me feel all of that without trying to fix it.
She just listens. And it helps.
A little.
Elias
Every night, she curls into my arms like I’m the only place she can sleep.
And every night, I lie there with every muscle locked and every instinct screaming at me to pull her closer, to kiss her neck, to run my hand up the soft skin of her thigh.
But I don’t. I won’t.
I just hold her.
Sometimes I kiss her hair.
Sometimes she makes this little sigh in her sleep that sounds like my name.
And I press my face into her shoulder and breathe through it.
I want her. God, I want her. But I won’t risk breaking her again. Not because I’m impatient.
You’re a fucking grown man, Wolfe. You’re not a goddamn animal.
So I hold her tighter.
And keep waiting.
Liana
I woke up today in his arms. Like always.
And like always, I waited until he got up and went downstairs before I moved.
I stretched, sore, but not in pain.
and stared at the ceiling, thinking about how we hadn’t got intimate since… before.
Not once. Not even close.
Not even when I thought I might be ready.
And now—now I’m starting to wonder if maybe…
Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore.
I looked at myself in the mirror today. I’m thinner. Paler.
I’ve got a faint scar on my shoulder and another on my wrist.
I don’t look like the girl he first kissed.
Maybe I don’t look like someone worth wanting.
Or maybe I’m just not ready. But what if I never will be?
And the worst part?
What if he waits too long and gives up?
Elias
She leaned into me on the couch tonight. Her head on my chest, her hand tracing little shapes on my stomach.
Her touch was feather-light, innocent.
But my body responded like it always does.
I stiffened. Tried to shift slightly so she wouldn’t notice.
But she did.
She went still.
Then pulled her hand away like she’d touched fire.
And I wanted to scream.
Not because she touched me—
But because she stopped.
I wanted to tell her how she still makes my whole body ache. That I’m just scared of rushing her. That I’m trying so goddamn hard to be patient and gentle and good.
But I didn’t say any of it.
I just kissed her forehead and said, “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”
And she curled in a little tighter.
