Page 276 of Tell Me I'm Enough

I want to fully break and cry, but I can’t. And I don’t even know why.

They lower my legs from the stirrups and then cover me like this is no big deal. It’s not like they just removed the remains of a baby who had their own DNA, their own unique features, their own genetic traits that equally came from me and a boy I secretly love.

Later that night, back in our dorm, I stay curled up in bed while Lani hovers and Lydia constantly checks on me and brings me food and snacks because she thinks I’m sick, and I also started my period, so I’m just having a really rough day with the pain.

I hate lying to her. But the shame of it all feels too loud. Having it stay between me and Lani feels safer.

I end up silently crying myself to sleep, not just from the pain but from this confusing grief that won’t let go of me.

55

Mason

“When was the last time you felt in control?”

I can’t help but smirk as I lean back in my chair. I feel like an asshole, but I can’t bring myself to care. I want to see what buttons I can push here, honestly.

“Define…control.”

He doesn’t give me a reaction; he just looks blankly at me. “That’s deflection.”

I sigh dramatically, putting on a little show and being sarcastic. “Wow. We’re jumping straight into labeling behaviors?”

He tilts his head, looking at me and trying not to roll his eyes. “You try to avoid being vulnerable by making jokes and being stubborn.”

I glare at him.

“Let’s try this again,” he says calmly. “When did you first realize that drinking helped quiet the thoughts and feelings for you?”

I study him for a moment, trying to figure out how to rile him up—trying to deflect. He’s got that annoying posture—all upright and perfected but not stiff. He has that thing about him that convinces you he’s not judging you…but how can you not judge someone like me?

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” I say evenly. “Alcohol doesn’t make things quieter. It just makes things louder in a different direction.”

He nods like that might actually be some useful information for him. “Okay. Louder in what way?”

I shrug. “It makes everything…more fun, I guess.”

He tilts his head. “Fun how?”

I sigh. “You’re really going to do this?”

“Yes.”

I glance toward the door, imagining just getting up and walking out of here before this gets too deep.

“It normally makes my brain shut up, and I can pretend to be someone else,” I admit finally. “Is that the answer you’re looking for?”

“No. I’m not really looking for any specific answer here,” he says. “I’m just asking what it does for you.”

“It slows things down,” I mutter.

“Slows things like what down?”

“Thoughts.”

“What thoughts?”

I look at him flatly. “You know, all the fun ones that keep me up at night.”