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The sun had started its climb, streaking the sky with shades of crimson and gold.
As I sat in my little window nook, my heart seemed to echo the rhythm of the world waking up. My gaze shifted, transfixed by the glistening frost that clung to the glass. The sight was soothing, almost peaceful. I reached out as if I could touch it, but all I felt was the chill of the window pane. My fingers traced the icy patterns on the glass, mirroring the ones outside.
The sudden blare of my alarm jolted me from my reverie, its shrill tones echoing in the quiet room. I sighed, stretching and shaking off the remnants of my contemplative state. Slowly, I pulled myself away from the window to get dressed. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the sight of my blond hair that fell past my ears, my gray eyes, and the thin scar above my eyebrow - a painful reminder of my fall onstage. It was a mark of my past. A constant reminder that I survived and would continue to do so despite everything.
Dressed now, I hesitated at the top of the stairs, my hand resting on the banister. Each step would take me further away from my room--my safe space-- into a world that was still too loud, too bright, too much. But I descended, pulling strength from somewhere within me, one step at a time.
Today was just another day.
I am stronger than I think.
“Morning, darling. What would you like, pancakes or porridge?” my mum asked as soon as I walked into the kitchen. I wasn't feeling hungry. The thought of eating anything turned my stomach into knots. Say something, say anything at all. No, I’m not hungry. I’ll grab something on the way, maybe just tea. I don't know…
I shook my head, but Mum had already turned away, scooping oatmeal into a bowl. She set it down on the table across from my father, who was drinking coffee and reading the paper. I sank into the chair and stared at the porridge. It had apples and raisins in it, and I could smell cinnamon. My stomach churned, and my head ached. This used to be so easy for me. I watched as my mum placed the sugar and milk saucer down and sat beside me.
“First day back at school, you must be excited to see your friends again,” she said lightly as she spooned sugar and milk into her bowl.
I nodded but felt a buzz of anxiety in my chest. Hopefully, a two-week break and the holidays will make everyone forget what happened. Quite a few people had been at that show and had all seen me faint on stage. I knew Chris and Matt were trying to control the rumors about what happened over the summer, but it was hard to stop people from talking once they started. So many knew now- my parents, teachers, and the police. I should feel okay with it, but it still made me nervous.
“Your teachers are aware of your concussion. Anytime you need to take a break, just tell them. Or if you want to come home early, you can. Try to take it easy today,” Mum continued, looking up at me. Her eyes trailed on the scar above my eyebrow. “Does it hurt?”
I shrugged. These past few days, there had been a dull ache. Loud noises made it worse.
She pushed the milk and sugar toward me. I stared at them, momentarily transfixed by the goose pattern on the bowl. Each one was wearing a different colored bow and bonnet: blue, red, yellow, pink, purple…..why did they–
“Dom?”
I was startled, her voice bringing me back to the present. She was holding out a spoon. I took it and started stirring the oatmeal.
My father looked up at me from his newspaper. Our eyes met briefly before he looked away again. Things between us had gotten better since Christmas. I could tell he was at least trying to understand how to help me.
“Are you playing anywhere this weekend with your band?” he asked gently.
I nodded.
“Where?”
At The Den. We are playing at The Den with two other bands. We each have a twenty-minute set. Matt’s excited because there’s going to be a producer there listening. My mouth felt dry, and I wanted to answer. I really did, but it seemed almost impossible, with the anxiety building up in my chest. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. He was expecting an answer.
“It’s at The Den, isn't it?” my mum asked.
I nodded again.
My father smiled. “That’s wonderful. I’m glad to hear that the band is booking gigs.”
I looked down at my bowl, swirling the oats with my spoon.
“Dom,” my father said, and he waited until I looked at him to continue. “The detective from the station, the one on your case…the case…you know to find…. him—the person who hurt you. Do you remember from the hospital? They called to ask if you are comfortable writing a statement about what happened–what you saw the night you fell.”
I suddenly felt dizzy. I couldn't even think about it, let alone write anything—how could they expect me to….when…. I just can’t—
“ Bill–”
“What?”
“Is now really the best time for this conversation? He’s about to start school again, and you know how sensitive–”
“I know, but when else would be a good time?”
I sat there, caught in the middle of their words that darted back and forth like arrows, each hitting me and making me feel more and more invisible. Why do they always do this? I was right there, but it was like I was miles away. Their voices became distant echoes, the world around me growing fuzzy. Anxiety gnawed at my insides. I had to escape. I couldn't breathe.
I dug my fingernails into my wrist, trying to anchor myself. The sharp sting was grounding, a reminder that I was still alive amidst the chaos. The room began to spin, my parents' voices fading into a muffled hum. I forced myself to focus on breathing, in and out, repeating the mantra in my head: I am stronger than I think . It was a struggle, but it was my fight, my recovery. I was not defeated.
“It’s alright, darling,” my mum’s voice brought me back. I let go of my wrist. “Let’s not think about that until this weekend. Try to focus on just getting back into the school routine. You’ve been given some extensions to finish assignments,” she said, turning to me. “I know you've pretty much stayed on top of everything, but you have them if needed. Do you have–” my mum started but was interrupted by the doorbell. “That must be Matt. Sit tight and finish eating. I’ll answer,” she said, standing up.
I ate a little bit, then added more milk and sugar. My father stood up, causing the chair to scrape loudly against the kitchen tiles and startle me. I dropped the spoon, wincing at the clatter it made when it landed on the plate. A spike of pain shot through my head.
“Easy. You’re fine,” he said. I watched as he folded the paper meticulously, avoiding my gaze. He was always so precise, so sure of every action. Now, he seemed no less anxious than I was, uncertainty tinging every movement. His voice, usually so full of confidence, held an unfamiliar tentative note as though he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of pushing me further away.
"Dom," he called, pausing to clear his throat. "I...uh...remember, we're here for you, okay?" It was a poor attempt at reassurance, but it was something.
He gestured to touch my shoulder but abruptly halted, his hand suspended in midair. “I hope today goes well. Mum will be home if anything happens,” he said. “Think about writing that statement, alright?” He put his coffee mug in the sink and then left the kitchen.
“Hey there, Dom!” Matt greeted me cheerfully as he walked into the kitchen carrying his backpack and guitar case. I waved hello and smiled, feeling the familiar zings in my chest that were always present when Matt was around. He grinned at me, then sat in the empty chair beside me. “Happy New Year! Can you believe it’s January already? I think it might snow later today. How are you doing? Is your head feeling better?”
I shrugged, then made a so-so motion with my hand.
Matt’s brow furrowed with worry. “I’m sorry it still hurts. If you need anything today…anything at all…please let me know. And Chris, too. We’ll be there to help you,” he said, leaning closer. His face lit up into a brilliant smile. “I’m excited that you’re coming back. School was so boring without you,” he continued, helping himself to a few apple slices sitting on a plate in the middle of the table. “Take your time, Dom. I’m early. Believe it or not, I'm excited about going back. Well, not about like maths class or anything, but you know, music and seeing you and Chris,” Matt said, bouncing up and down in his chair.
I took a few more bites, then put my bowl in the sink before my mum could see and comment about how little I had eaten in front of Matt.
“I was talking to Chris the other day, and he told me he got a bass and amp for Christmas. Isn't that great? Now we won't have to keep borrowing the school one when we do shows. He’s so excited to have one that will stay in tune finally. I don't know if he will bring it to school today, but definitely tonight for practice,” Matt said.
I smiled. “That’s—”
“Darling,” my mum called out as she returned to the kitchen, holding my school uniform on a hanger. “I ironed your blazer for you. It’s a bit chilly outside,” she told me as she held it out. As I put it on, I felt another wave of anxiety hit me as I stared at my blazer, suddenly feeling dizzy. I’m not ready to go back. How can I do this?
“It’s a bit big,” she said, touching my back. I felt myself flinch away from her hand.
“You can roll up your sleeves. Perhaps we can exchange it for a smaller size?” she continued as she straightened the jacket collar.
I nodded but didn't say anything. She reached for my sleeve, and I flinched again, stepping back. She sighed. I thought she looked a bit sad for a moment, but then she smiled. “It’ll be alright for today. You’ll be alright.”
***
A few moments later, we walked along the dirt trail between the shops downtown and the hills–a handy shortcut Matt had discovered. He chatted happily as we walked towards the campus, playing the small acoustic guitar he always brought everywhere. As we approached the school entrance, I felt a jolt of fear run through me. Shattered images of the last time I was here raced through my head–fighting with J.J., being suspended, and everything else that followed. I stopped short; I can’t do this. It’s too soon . I can’t—
Matt cast me a concerned glance. “Dom? Are you okay?”
Various forms of answers, such as I’m fine, I’ll be alright, It’s okay, swarmed in my head, but I just couldn’t find my voice. I felt a twinge of frustration–mostly with myself–why couldn't I just speak? Why couldn’t I be normal for five seconds? Why was this—
“Hey.” Matt touched my sleeve gently. “It’s alright. You don’t have to speak until you’re ready to. Here–may I?” His hand hovered over mine, and he waited until I nodded to take it. “Two taps for yes, one for no.” He spoke and tapped the top of my hand at the same time. “How does that sound?”
I smiled and tapped his hand twice. He squeezed my hand gently before letting go.
“It’s a shame we don't have any morning classes together. Will you be alright? I’ll see you during the break and at lunchtime. Then we have art and music. You’ll be okay,” he said, his blue eyes full of concern.
I nodded. Be brave, be brave, be brave, be brave.
Then we entered the building and dove into the sea of students scrambling to get to class before the bell rang. I fought an overwhelming wave of panic as I followed Matt through the hallway, feeling a sudden moment of Déjà vu as I remembered the first day of school in September. Now everything was different, or at least I thought it was. I had made some progress, hadn't I? I caught sight of Chris’s curly hair for a moment before he darted into a classroom and couldn't help but smile. Things were better now. I had Matt, Chris, and the band. But I was still scared. Terrified of it happening. Of having a panic attack at school where no one could help me–no– where no one I trusted could help me. The door to my first class- history- was open, and my classmates were already inside. Matt waved at me. “I’ll see you during the break, alright?”
I nodded, and he smiled reassuringly before darting to his first class. I stepped into the room. History. This was history class. I could do history. History was easy. I put my bag down on an empty desk next to the window. I looked up at the blackboard and started to read the prompt-
The Wars of the Roses: A Conflict for the Throne or a Series of Family Feuds? Discuss the primary causes and significant outcomes.
I could do this. I was always good at history, I found—
“Dom! You're back? Good to see you, mate!”
An arm slung around me, causing me to startle. A moment passed with his arm around me—his casual cheeriness starkly contrasted with the anxiety coursing through me, a familiar yet foreign sensation. I could feel the gazes of my classmates, their hushed whispers filled with a curious blend of pity and unease.
“Still not talking much, I see. That’s…not weird…” J.J. smiled, but there was something off about how he looked at me. His arm felt heavy around my shoulder. “Look, no hard feelings, alright? What happened before the holidays was–I was–out of order. At the party… and everything else—I didn't know. Okay?”
There was an awkward pause.
“Next time just don't accept drinks from strangers, so….yeah,” he said, then squeezed my shoulder a little too tightly before letting go.
J.J. attempted a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You know, we all were a bit messed up at Martha's. Could've happened to anyone, really." His voice was low, a poor imitation of sincerity. "You just...you just caught a bad break, Dom." He gave a half-hearted shrug as if to shake off the gravity of what he was saying.
I opened my mouth to form words, but the sounds got trapped in my throat. My lips moved, but nothing came out, a futile effort against the anxiety that seized me. J.J. stared at me, a trace of unease flickering in his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably, an awkward silence enveloping us.
"Guess I'll...um...I'll catch you around, yeah?" His voice had a hint of uncertainty as if he wasn't sure how to navigate this new, silent version of me.
He peeled away from me and sauntered to his friends, their voices hushing as he rejoined them. They shot furtive glances in my direction, their whispers barely audible, but their expressions were enough to amplify my discomfort. I watched them. Each huddled in their clique, their eyes darting towards me occasionally, their whispers creating a symphony of unease.
I stared at him. Was this his attempt at apologizing after everything he did? I felt my eyes sting as flashes of the party erupted in my mind’s eye. I had only agreed to attend because J.J. had promised we would be playing music at some point during the night, but when we got there, J.J. left me. I was…I couldn't…. my breath hitched. It was my fault. All my fault.
No, no, no, no, no, not here. Not now . Please.
I tried to take a deep breath and tried to imagine myself someplace safe, but none of it helped the overwhelming pressure in my chest. I just wanted to run, but that always made everything worse. Words used by the doctors and therapists who had seen me in the hospital, selective nonverbal, touch aversive, trauma-induced anxiety, scattered through my head as I struggled to identify exactly what was happening. As comforting as it was to know that what I felt was real, it still terrified me to feel it. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't just snap my fingers and make it disappear. They said I was ready to come back to school. I was given the clear to go home, but how could I be prepared for this? I was not ready. I would never be ready. I needed to get out of here before the entire room collapsed.
"Dom?" A hand touched my shoulder, and I flinched away, stumbling back into the desk. Please stop. Please don't touch me. I can't– they were talking to me, but I couldn't hear what anyone was saying over the pounding of my own—wait–
Breathe. I needed to breathe . I tried again and inhaled.
I need to get through this . I closed my eyes. I exhaled as a blurry image of Matt with a vacuum cleaner appeared, like a film with no sound, waving his arms victoriously at several retreating spiders as he shrieked. Matt hated spiders. He even wrote—
“....do you need a break?” a voice asked gently. I opened my eyes and nodded. My teacher smiled kindly at me, and I tried to interpret her look as sympathy–not pity– as I took another shaky breath. My classmates were not, as I had imagined, staring at me but engrossed in their textbooks. I heard the birds chirping merrily outside the classroom, flitting in and out of the trees near the window. My world was not caving in.
“You may go to the music room if you like?” she offered, and I nodded again, not trusting myself to speak just yet. Quietly, she wrote a hall pass and handed it to me.
I barely made it to the music room before having a panic attack. Ms. Bird seemed to have been expecting me. She didn't ask me many questions or seem too confused about why I was there instead of in history class. I knew she knew what had happened; I had overheard my mum discussing it. She let me sit on the old, faded black couch in the back of the classroom. I fought to control the shaking, hyperventilating that always seemed to accompany me whenever I had a panic attack, but the more I fought it, the more my chest shook, and all I could think about was the fact that I couldn't breathe. The more I thought about it, the more panicked I felt—
The door to the classroom opened, and Matt walked in carrying his guitar and backpack. “Hello, Ms. Bird, I was wondering if I could keep my guitar–oh hey, Dom.” Matt waved. “Are you alright?”
I stared at him as J.J.’s voice circled in my head... Next time just don't accept drinks from strangers…next time just don't accept drinks from strangers. Is that really what they thought? That it was my fault? Is that what Matt thought? What Chris and my parents and everyone … it was my fault. If I hadn't taken the drink, if I hadn't gone to the party…
It was my fault.
I felt my hands shake again as a new wave of panic hit me.
It was all my fault.
My eyes stung as I wiped them frantically, feeling my face flush red. I dug my fingernails into the soft part of my wrist. Please stop. Please, please stop. Pull yourself together.
“Dom?” I heard Matt ask again, but I couldn't answer. “Did something happen?”
Ms. Bird replied for me, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. They spoke back and forth, words blending in with the harsh beating of my heart. I couldn't pull myself out of the spiral. I knew I needed to breathe and think about something besides what J.J. said, but his words wouldn't stop. Next time just don't accept drinks from strangers…it was my fault… next time…just —.
Their voices cut in and out as if through a static radio. I fought through icy memories until finally finally I could catch my breath, and the pounding in my ears faded just a bit. I let go of my wrist. I inhaled, one, two, three, four, and— wait… what was next? Did I exhale? Or hold my breath? I tried to remember what they had shown me, but it seemed to all jumble together. I felt my breath hitch as I exhaled sharply. This wasn't working. Why wasn't it–
“That was good, Dom. Let’s try again; inhale for four…” Matt said encouragingly, and I counted the seconds as he tapped his leg. One, two, three, four.
“Hold for seven,” he continued, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. “ And exhale for eight.”
I exhaled slowly.
We sat silently for a moment. I then held out the hall pass–which had gotten entirely crumbled– to Ms. Bird. She smiled and accepted it.
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need,” she said quietly. “ I understand how overwhelming the first day back can be.”
Matt was sitting in a chair across from me. “Do you want me to stay with you for a bit?”
I nodded, then reached for his hand. He took mine, our fingers intertwining together.
Matt turned to Ms. Bird. “Is it alright? I have maths, but….”
Ms. Bird nodded, “I’ll let them know. Who do you have maths with?”
I closed my eyes as Matt answered her and tried to focus on taking deep, steady breaths. I felt him squeeze my hand gently. I heard Ms. Bird’s heels clicking as she walked to her desk, her fingernails tapping lightly as she picked up the phone.
“Oh…your wrist…” Matt’s soft voice brought me back to the present, and I opened my eyes. Matt wasn't looking at me but down at our joined hands. The sleeve of my jumper had been pulled up a bit, revealing blood and several scratches–more scars to add to my already ruined skin.
“Sorry…I didn't mean to…I wasn't…,” I stuttered, looking away from him, feeling my face burn again. I let go of his hand. Why did I always do that? Why couldn't I just stop? I really needed to find a better way—.
“ It’s alright, love. I know you didn't….it was an accident….”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated because I didn't know what else to say. Matt nodded but didn't say anything else. He tucked a strand of wispy black hair behind his ear, eyes glancing around the room.
“Did something happen in particular this morning?” Matt asked after a few more moments of silence.
I paused, suddenly anxious about saying anything about J.J. because I knew Matt had complicated feelings (mostly anger) towards him, and I didn't want to make him worry any more than he had to. I let out a gentle sigh. What did J.J. do? He touched me–no, that wasn’t it. Unexpected contact still made me nervous, but I felt I was becoming slightly more comfortable. I wasn't as–what did they call it? Touch aversive as I was in September. I didn't know if I could say it out loud, say anything out loud at all. Still shaky, I reached into my bag and took out a pen and The Hobbit journal Matt had given me for Christmas. He smiled slightly as I flipped to a new page. I thought for a moment, then wrote,
J.J. spoke to me about what happened. Said I should have been more careful.
Matt’s brow furrowed as he read what I wrote. I felt another buzz of anxiety. We hadn't really talked about what had happened since we were at the cabin. I knew he knew, and we had spoken about other things, about my family and the water tower, and he always listened. I shouldn't have felt nervous about telling him what J.J. had said, but somehow, I was.
“More careful?” Matt finally asked. “About what?”
I shouldn’t have taken the drink. I shouldn’t have gone to the party at all. It was my fault. It was all my fault.
My breath caught in my throat as I inhaled sharply.
He said I wrote, but then I paused again, trying to steady my hand before I continued, next time, don’t accept drinks from strangers.
I watched Matt’s face as he read it. He bit his lip, looking agitated. He exhaled slowly before he spoke.
“J.J. is an idiot. An insensitive wanker . It’s not true. Don’t believe…” he turned away from me and put his head in his hands, mumbling something I couldn’t quite understand. After a few moments, he looked back up at me. “It wasn’t your fault, Dom. Please don’t believe that for a second. None of it was your fault.”
I could feel my hands start to shake again. I let go of the pen and clutched them together, trying to regain control. My eyes burned, and my vision blurred. Why was this so hard for me? Why couldn't everything just stop? I wish things could just go back to normal. I wish–
Meow.
I looked up, startled. Did Matt just meow like a cat? It wasn't something totally out of the ordinary for Matt, but—
Meow, meow, meow.
The sound was coming from Ms. Bird’s desk. Did she just meow? Now that was just—.
“Did you hear that? Is there a cat outside?” Matt asked, looking around.
Ms. Bird smiled and then motioned for us to come to her desk. "I have a few visitors," she said, then pulled open her lower desk drawer, revealing a large collection of fuzzy blankets, Tootles, and three kittens- who looked more to me like fuzzy woolen socks than actual kittens. Tootles looked up at us and yawned, then brushed her whiskers out of her face.
"Wait a minute... Tootles is a girl? How did you find her?" Matt asked after a few seconds of silence. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet and peered into the drawer. "They are so tiny. Aren’t they tiny, Dom? Look at the itsy paws. I remember when my cat was this tiny...she would get into these Tasmanian devil moods and zoom around the house. That's how I bwoke....broke....my leg that summer. Remember Dom? I told you?"
I nodded.
Ms. Bird smiled. “I caught her trying to sneak off with my breakfast croissant a few weeks ago. She and her kittens have a safe place to stay now. I have a big favor to ask since both of you are here. Would you mind watching them while I run to the copy room?”
“That won't be a problem. They are kittens, and they are sleeping. What's the worst that could happen?” Matt answered happily. He put his bag down on the desk and then grinned at me.
Ms. Bird stood up, gathering a few folders in her arms. She left, heading towards the copy room.
Matt sat on a rolly chair and spun a few times before inching over to Tootles, who blinked up at him sleepily. The ginger kitten stirred and yawned, showing off mighty kitten teeth.
The morning break bell rang, causing me to startle and wince as my head pounded sharply.
“You alright?”
I nodded, then watched as the ginger kitten sat up sleepily, blinking slowly. She let out a tentative mew and then jumped onto the floor with extraordinary grace for a kitten of her size. Her siblings soon followed her lead. Matt watched them and grinned at me. “They look like little puff balls, don't they? Or, like….what were they called on Star Trek…Tribbles.”
I nodded, returning his smile, and sat down on the floor. The black kitten bravely adventured towards me and sniffed my knee. Then, using her teeny feet, she clawed up my arm and sniffed my ear. I giggled as she continued to poke her nose through my hair.
“I think she likes you, Dom,” Matt commented, then sat beside me. He turned around and counted quietly to himself. “Were there three kittens?”
I nodded.
“I’m only counting two. Where is the spotted one?”
I quickly glanced around the classroom, looking for the tiny black and white kitten, but I couldn't see her.
“I—” Matt broke off, letting a little laugh as the ginger kitten performed a majestic leap from the floor onto Matt’s shoulder. She batted his hair with her paws and then jumped onto the desk. “Where is she going? Come back here!” Matt exclaimed, then stood up.
Tootles gazed at me, then fluttered her eyes drowsily, seemingly unperturbed by the chaos her litter was causing. She stretched, then curled back into a ball. The kitten on my shoulder let out a long meeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww in my ear. Gently, I picked her up, petting her head for a moment before setting her down on the floor.
Having deemed herself a seasoned explorer, the black kitten decided that my shoe was her next Everest. With a defiant mew , she launched herself at the laces. I watched, stifling a chuckle, as she wrestled with the stubborn knot, her tiny paws flying in all directions.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the missing spotted kitten. She had scaled the bookshelf next to the window and was now perched precariously on the top shelf next to the globe. Her tiny tail was whisking to and fro as she took in the view from her newfound vantage point. She then took a mighty leap and landed on the curtains, tiny claws sinking into the grey fabric.
“Dom! Look! One is climbing up the window! Dom! Dom! What do we do? Dom? Ahh—”
I gazed at Matt, who was staring with wide eyes at the spotted kitten who had just lept from the curtains onto his arm with such a look of fear that one would have thought it was a demon instant of a small fluff bucket, and smiled. Dear lord, I love him so much.
Wait….what?
I love him.
I love Matt.
The thought surprised me momentarily, but then I felt a warmth spread across my chest. I love Matt. It was like I had finally found the missing piece. Then I froze. I couldn't possibly love anyone after what happened. Everything had been taken away from me that night. How was I supposed to love him when I couldn't even let him touch me? It wouldn't be fair to him….
“Dom?” Matt’s voice broke through my fractured thoughts, “You alright? You spaced out for a moment.” He reached his hand towards mine, and I took it, grasping his warm fingers tightly. This felt right. I loved holding his hand. I loved being with him. At that moment, I knew I had a choice—I could continue to be scared and run away, or this time grab hold of the possibility of love.
I wanted to tell him he was my safe haven, my refuge from the storm. I felt my lips part, breath hitching as I tried to mold my thoughts into words. Hesitation twisted my tongue, thickened my throat, and turned my words into stuttering syllables that made no sense. I could see the concern clouding Matt’s eyes, but there was also endless patience.
“Hey, it’s okay, Dom,” he said softly, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my hand. “You don't have to speak. You can show me, write it, whatever works for you...”
Looking at Matt, I remembered what he had shown me earlier—two taps for yes, one for no. I tapped my finger on him once, twice, again, and again.
“Take your time, love,” Matt said, calming my anxiety. I took a few deep breaths. I’m okay . I didn't have to rush or force words that were too tangled in my throat.
I wanted to show Matt what I felt, so I leaned in, my heart pounding with fear and anticipation, and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. The surprise in his eyes made my heart flutter. Pulling back, I tapped his hand once- a single tap. A pause. Another tap, love. Wait. And a final tap, you. Each tap was a silent confession. For him. For us. Even without words, I could tell him I loved him; for now, that was enough. I held his gaze, vulnerable yet certain. His eyes widened subtly, a flicker of surprise, understanding, and a warmth that could only be love.
I locked my eyes with Matt’s. His hand gave mine a comforting squeeze. Leaning closer, he murmured, “May I….?” His question hung in the air, unfinished, but I understood. Before our lips could meet, the ginger kitten jumped into Matt’s lap, mewing loudly for attention. It was enough to bring me back to reality. I was in the music room at school, not in some secluded little world with just Matt. Anxiety started to creep back in, wrapping around me like a vice. But then I looked at Matt and the little kitten, their surprised faces mirroring each other, and couldn't help but chuckle. The anxiety loosened its grip just a little. Maybe, just maybe, things could turn out alright.
Matt wasn't the entire solution, and I still had more healing to do, but I also felt he was an important part of it. He and I could take this next step together, and I would be okay with him by my side. As I navigated through this, I wanted to hold his hand, kiss him, and tell him everything I thought and felt . I never thought I would be able to even feel like this again for anybody ever. And yet, as I stared at my raven–haired Matt, I realized that I could.
And I did.
And suddenly, the world seemed just a bit brighter.
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