"be patient with yourself, nothing in nature blooms all year"

⋆✧⋆✧⋆

You know when you have one of those days where nothing seems to be going right? Like every little thing is off. You can't focus, you're not really hungry, you're tired yet can't sleep. When you have low grade anxiety just eating away at you, making it impossible to feel fine.

The feeling of being trapped inside your own body. When all you want is to somehow start the day over or quickly move on to the next one.

That's what I want.

To be done with today and hopefully feel better.

But this is real life, and I can't.

Every time I think I'm getting better; my anxiety is improved and I'm going out more, this happens.

Suddenly all that improvement I've made is gone and the happiness and motivation I once had, have suddenly disappeared.

It's a lonely feeling too. Because while in the first place not many people can quite understand, even if I do; find that person who truly gets it, I don't want to tell them.

I don't want to admit it. Partly because it's embarrassing and partly because I don't want to accept this is how I actually feel.

It's also lonely because I don't want to be around people. Like somehow I crave attention and someone to comfort me, yet I can't stand anyone. Just the thought of having to talk to someone makes me cringe.

And so all I can do is hate.

Hate the feeling and hate myself for feeling it.

That's where I'm at right now. I've spent the entire day locked in my room, not being able to eat, sleep, or talk. I've been lying on my bed, wrapped in the covers, just hoping for this day to end.

Now, as lame as it sounds, I'm standing in front of my mirror. Filled with utter self loathing and disgust. I can't stand who I am.

I need to get out of here.

I rip off my pyjamas—a gross old t-shirt and dirty sweat pants—and I change into a pair of leggings and a sports bra.

I walk downstairs, avoiding the girls' stares, and make a beeline for my car.

Jemma invited Aspen over last night after they had dinner and she spent the night. Harper and Beth joined them early this morning. They all, for the most part, know what's going on with me. They've seen me like this before; unreachable, distant, and essentially removed from reality. In the past all four of them have made the detrimental mistake of trying to talk to me when I get like this, and all four of them have learned their lesson.

Usually, It starts with me not speaking and ends with me yelling.

So they stay away from me when I get like this and I'm grateful for that.

They don't deserve to be put through the pain that is being my friend right now.

I go to the one place that helps when I'm like this.

An old gym that's basically abandoned and only open for certain people. My old coach owns the building but she moved to a nicer area and never sold this place. She told me I was always welcome and so I go every now and then, just when I need it.

It's pretty small with very little equipment, but it has the one thing I need.

A punching bag.

I learned how to fight when I was little; my parents enrolled me and Chase in karate, but I quit when I got serious about gymnastics. However, what people don't really know is that I kept practicing on my own time. I mean, nothing major, just some punches and kicks, but I enjoy it.

I set my phone down on the bench and pop my earbuds into my ears. Turning my music up incredibly loud, I walk up to the punching bag and begin.

My hand balls into a tight fist and flies into the black object in front of me, making contact at full force.

I'm a horrible person.

Punch.

I don't deserve the friends I have.

Punch.

I'm unlovable.

Punch.

It's only a few minutes in do I realize I'm not wearing any gloves and I haven't wrapped my hands. My knuckles are cracked and bloody but I welcome both the sight and the pain.

It feels good, almost.

Probably because I deserve it. I deserve the pain. I deserve to hurt, and frankly, I deserve worse than a few cuts and bruises on my hands.

So I keep punching.

With every sting and ache, my hatred for myself grows and yet my relief increases. At some point, I think I'm crying, but honestly, I don't know. I feel like I've completely left all sense of reality and detached from everything I once knew. I can't hear anything, despite the fact that my music is blasting dangerously loud. I can't see even though this room is brightly lit. And even though I feel the pain, it's not the way I normally do. No, this pain is satisfying, it's pleasurable, it's gratifying.

I come out of practice and check my phone. While I expected maybe a few notifications, I definitely did not expect 10 missed calls and 23 texts. My heart drops in my chest and I open the texts as fast as possible.

""

""

""

""

""

""

I read some texts Jemma sent, not even bothering to read about 17 more messages just like those. I put my phone down and drive to the girls' house as fast as I possibly can, probably a little too fast if I'm being honest.

I don't even bother knocking on the door and I walk down the hallway, into the living room where I assume the girls are.

"Sterling! Oh, thank god."

"What the fuck is going on? What happened to her? Is she hurt? Sick?"

"Well, if you would stop blabbing we could tell you," Harper points out.

"Right," I shut up and give room for Jemma to explain.

Jemma just shakes her head and mutters quietly, "Dell is probably going to kill me for this but you're the best option."

Aspen speaks up, recognizing that Jemma is a little too in her head at the moment. "Delaney is having a rough day... mentally."

"Right," Beth pitches in. "And as much as we'd love to help her, she doesn't want to speak to us and if we tried, it would probably make things worse."

"Yes, and you've never tried before. So we're hoping she'll respond better to you," Jemma is able to pick off where she started.

"Here's the deal, Dell gets into these moods sometimes. She gets really anxious and quiet. I'm not really sure what goes through her mind when this happens so I'm not the best explanation, but this is all I can offer."

"Usually when this happens she stays in her room and in a day or two she's back to normal."

I shoot her a look of concern. That is not fucking healthy.

"I know it's not healthy, but don't judge. We've tried helping her, but she doesn't take well to it. Same with professional help and medication, she's against it all."

I nod my head, telling her to carry on.

"But today, she left the house. Before you freak out, I know where she is."

"Alright, where?" I take my keys out of my pocket and prepare myself to leave.

"It's an old gym that she goes to, I guess to blow off some steam."

She tells me the address and I punch it into my phone.

Just as I'm walking out to my car, Beth runs out of the house and over to me.

"When you find her, she won't be her normal self. She's going to be mad—mostly at me and the girls—because she doesn't like people seeing her like this. She's going to be quiet and hard to talk to. Now, it'll freak you out. Trust me, it will. But she's going to be fine. I'm hoping she'll let you in but if she doesn't, call me and we'll come over."

"Okay, thanks, Beth. I'll let you know." I get into my car and pull out of the driveway.

I follow the annoying voice coming from my GPS and within 10 minutes, I've arrived.

My heart sinks lower down my chest than it previously was, which is a difficult feat considering it's been practically in my stomach the moment I saw those texts, and my palms grow sweaty.

Honestly, I'm scared. I'm scared for Laney and for what I'll do when I see her like this. The girls were stingy and brief when it came to explaining what exactly is going on and so I don't know what I'm about to walk into.

When I open the door I notice how calm and empty this place is. Most of the equipment is gone and the things left are clearly pretty old. It smells dusty and the faint smell of sweat has remained within the room. I walk deeper into the gym and start to hear what I assume to be Laney. Suddenly that calm feeling is gone and replaced by a sense of overwhelming anger and anxiety. Turning the corner, I find her and my chest constricts when I take in her appearance.

My body freezes and I don't think Laney notices I came in. She's in a pair of black leggings and a same-coloured sports bra. I watch as she punches the hanging bag with so much force, I wince for the inanimate object. The muscles in her arms flex and constrict as she swings with no rests or breaks in between her contact with the bag. If I wasn't completely worried and freaked out right now, I might even admire and applaud her form.

My line of sight falls to her hands which are both bare and bloody.

"Laney!" I call her, hoping she'll turn around and stop hitting, but she doesn't

I walk up closer to her, but out of fear of spooking her, I keep a small distance. "Laney!" I call out.

No response.

"Delaney, stop! You're hurting yourself." I plead as I grow desperate, needing to stop her before her hand practically falls off. I grab her arm as it swings backward before it attempts to follow its familiar path to the punching bag ahead.

She flinches in my arms and I take her brief pause to seize her arms in my grasp.

"That's the point, Sterling!" she yells, venom laced in her words. She tries to escape my hold but I just tighten my hands around her forearms.

"Let go of me!"

"No, not unless I know you won't go back to punching."

She laughs humourlessly, "Always the knight in shining armour, huh? You shouldn't be here."

I look down at her hands and my mouth goes dry. She's no doubt broken a bone or two. Her hands are puffy from the swelling and covered with blood, some of it already dry which tells me she's been here for a while.

"What the fuck did you do to yourself?" I know I shouldn't be approaching this the way I am. I should be calm all things considered. But I can't. I'm almost mad at her which makes no sense. But I can't help but be angry with the person hurting her, it's just, in this case, that person is herself.

"What do you think? God, I'm going to kill the girls for telling you to come here. That's how you know, isn't it? Of course it is, how else would you," Laney answers her own questions in a rambling manner.

She looks almost unrecognizable right now. Her hair—usually pretty neat—is in a low ponytail but about half of her hair is messily escaping the elastic. Her eyes are dark and make her exhaustion clear. Her cheeks are tear stained are red from her physical exertion.

"What are you doing?" My voice is desperate and I can't help it.

She shrugs her shoulders casually. "I'm blowing off steam."

"This is not blowing off steam. Blowing off steam is going for a jog around the block, or working out for half an hour. You are breaking half the bones in your hand."

"Well, Sterling, I guess that's how I blow off steam."

"I need to take you to the hospital."

"Oh no you don't. You need to leave. I promise i'll stop, you broke my focus anyway."

"Laney, please," I plead with her. "Tell me what's going on."

She opens up her mouth, presumably to snap at me, but decides against it. "I don't know, okay."

I lightly tug on her arm and pull her down to sit on the floor with me.

"Can you walk me through your thoughts at least?"

She avoids all eye contact with me, her view glued to the floor. Just when I'm about to give up any hope of her answering me, she takes a deep but unsteady breath.

"I was feeling anxious and frustrated."

"Frustrated about what? With who?"

"With myself."

I nod my head.

"And I wanted to leave my room. I couldn't stand being in there. So I came here."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I– I used to come here when I was in high school and I felt like this. I haven't in a while," she holds up her hands, "I'm sure you can see why."

"And you didn't think to stop after the first draw of blood?"

"I wanted to keep going."

"You wanted to hurt yourself?" I ask, but I think I already know the answer.

A look of regret falls upon her face. "Oh my god, you think I'm a freak, don't you? God, I shouldn't have said anything." She moves to get up off the floor.

I place my hand on her knee, signalling for her to stay seated. "Delaney, stop it. You are not a freak. I get it."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do. Why do you think I used to get into fights so often?"

Her eyes widen.

"Same reason, just arguably less healthy considering your victim is a punching bag looking relatively unharmed and mine were people."

A small smile appears on her lips and I thank god that I'm getting through to her.

"Is there a bathroom in here?" I ask.

"Yeah," she doesn't say anything else. She just gets up and starts walking away from me. I take this action as an invitation to follow her, hoping she's taking me to the bathroom and this isn't her trying to get away from me.

We walk through an old wood door that squeaks as it opens.

"Bathroom," she states obviously.

"Yeah, I gathered as much," I respond. "Ok, sit down." I point to the toilet seat and she does as I ask.

Wetting a paper towel under the tap, I start cleaning off her cuts. She winces and I throw out the now pink paper, needing another to clean off all the blood.

"The girls are beyond worried about you, you know." I break the silence.

"I know, I should probably call them soon."

"Yes, you should. For now can I at least text Beth and let her know you're okay?"

She nods her head and I send Beth a quick message, hopefully relieving some of the girls' worry.

I put my phone back in my pocket and face her once more. She's back in deep thought, biting the corner of her lip anxiously and she's completely zoned out.

"Laney–" I try to get out but she interrupts me.

"You should leave," she concludes, allowing her eyes to go back into focus and she actually looks up at me.

I just shake my head. "I'm not gonna do that."

"And why not?" There's a bite to her words—probably her attempt of getting me to leave—but there's also deep desperation hidden in her question.

So, I answer her honestly. Short and sweet. Straight to the point.

"Because I care about you."

"You care about me?"

"Yes," I confirm.

She looks content with that fact. "Ok."

"Ok?" A small smile rises to my lips.

"Ok." She says as if to let me know she'll allow it.

"Can you walk me through more of what happened today?"

"Well, as I was saying before, I remembered I used to come here. It was a moment of weakness. I knew I shouldn't, but I wanted to. I couldn't think straight, I just wanted to get my anger out somehow."

I don't say anything, instead, I continue wiping her hands, leaving room for her to go on if she wants.

"The first punch I knew it would be bad. It felt good, you know? To channel everything I was feeling into something. And when I started bleeding, well it was kinda rewarding. Does anything I'm saying make sense right now?" I can see it in her eyes; a need for validation and acceptance.

"You're making sense," I confirm and she visibly relaxes. "Alright, I think the blood is gone."

"Thanks." She gives me a weak smile.

"But you need to go to a hospital. You've no doubt fractured a bone."

"I don't think I need to go to a hospit–" Laney pears down at her swollen and bruised hands. "Ok, maybe I do."

"You can't drive so I'll take you and I'll get one of the girls to drive your car back to your house," I say as I motion for her to follow me.

⋆✧⋆✧⋆

We arrive at the hospital and wait for a while until she can be seen by a doctor. It takes a few hours for her to get the X-rays done but now we're sitting in a room waiting for the doctor to join us.

"So," Laney starts.

"So?" I ask, not knowing where she's going to go with this.

"I'm sorry." She avoids all eye contact with me and kicks her feet as they dangle off the chair she's sitting in.

"Laney, look at me," I plead. I can't have this conversation with her if she's not going to look at me. But instead of doing as I ask, she shakes her head and I can see her eyes beginning to water.

I delicately take her chin in between my thumb and pointer finger and move her head an inch up so she can look me in the eyes. "There we go. That's better. Now, what are you sorry for? You have nothing to be sorry about."

"I'm sorry for being snappy at you when all you wanted to do was help. I'm sorry for no doubt scaring you. I'm sorry for wasting your evening in a gross hospital."

"Laney. Stop. You were snappy because you didn't want to talk, you were frustrated, I get that. I intruded on you, you owed me no chivalry. You didn't scare me, I will be honest and say I'm worried about you, but I'm not scared of you. And you did not waste my evening. Being with you is not what I would call wasting my time."

Her purple and puffy finger moves to wipe a tear running down her cheek so I take the liberty to do it myself, not wanting her to hurt herself further.

The two of us return to comfortable silence until she begins to talk again. "You know, I care about you too." It's clear the conversation we had earlier has been playing in her head for the last few minutes.

"You care about me?" I just want to hear her say it again. To confirm it.

"Yes," She verifies.

"Ok," I show my satisfaction with her comment.

Now it's her turn to question it. "Ok?"

But I make sure she knows this is all more than fine with me. "Ok."