2 P.M.

It starts hurting in a different way. Deep in my gut like mice were finding their way out of me, nibbling away on the walls of my abdomen. I moan, and so does my stomach.

I’ve made my way down the steps, and found myself curled up on top of the mattress. It was soft against my broken skin, and offered a sliver of comfort in the strange room. My stomach tightens again, and I hold myself closer, for the pain and the lines of pebbles that have risen along my bare skin.

They’ll come back soon. I close my eyes. They’ll be back.

Pieces of me are coming apart but I try to think of the one person that holds me together, their gentle brown eyes, the slope of their jaw. They are blurry against the darkness of my eyelids. But I remember how they feel, ghostly whispers against my skin, cupping my palms, kissing my shoulders.

And then for the first time, I weep.

Please be safe.