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It’s a question I ask all the time, I never got to ask him. I should have, and now it’s burnt into my brain. Out of all the girls in our school, in our city... why me? What did I do? Was it something I said? The way I acted? A routine he saw? What made him ruin so many lives to try and have me? I need to know, I have to know, so maybe I won’t do it again. So I can be safe again. Even knowing he’s locked up, it’s not enough. It doesn’t stop my nightmares, it doesn’t stop my triggers, and it doesn’t stop all the ruined relationships and friendships I leave in my wake. I struggle to trust, to love, and to open up, terrified I’ll lose those people again.
Tears form in my eyes, wetting my lashes, and I wipe them with the back of my hand. I’ve already shed enough, he doesn’t get anymore.
It’s just… one moment I’m fine, finally moving on and falling in love, and then suddenly I’m back there in the blood-soaked building, feeling his hands on my body.
I know logically it’s not something I will ever recover from. The trauma will always be with me, like a wound across my soul, but one day, I hope it finally heals enough so it’s not an open gaping wound, but I realise it’s starting to close, to heal. I have less nightmares, my anger is waning, and I’m trusting, laughing, letting people in instead of abandoning them before they can desert me.
Am I moving on?
Why does that thought fill me with joy but also so much pain I struggle to breathe?
If I move on, does that mean I’ll forget them? What if I can’t do that? What if I want to remember them, even if it hurts?
Knowing I’m spiralling and will do something stupid, I grab my phone, trying to fend off the darkness. I hesitate before I hit send and drop it to the bedding. They will have questions, but as I sit here with tears in my eyes, struggling to breathe, I realise it’s worth the weakness, worth trying.
Ten minutes later, I hear their footsteps, and it makes me cry harder as the door slams open. They find me wrapped around myself with tears spilling down my cheeks.
“Baby girl?” Cyrus murmurs.
“I need you,” I confess, spilling the only weakness I’ll allow before I choke back the sobs. Asher pulls me into his arms, replacing the cold, sticky feeling ofhishands. Bray wipes away my tears and strokes my hair, whispering to me, and Cyrus clutches my hand, standing in the dark with me and holding my demons at bay.
They are all willing to fight for me.
Because... because they care for me. And I care for them.
I’m finally ready.
I’m finally healing, and I know I can’t finish that without telling them everything, without knowing if it will affect how they feel about the true me and all the scars I carry.
Lifting my head from Bray’s shoulder, I run my watery eyes across them. “I-I have PTSD.”
“Darling, you don’t need to tell—” Asher starts softly.
I shake my head, cutting him off. “I do, I need to tell you. You have to know. You let me into your family, you look after me, you make me happy, and you would do anything to protect me. You’ve never lied to me, never held anything back... but I have. There’s a reason we move so often, there’s a reason I am the way I am. Why I’m so fucking angry and hate everything and refuse to trust anyone.” I take a deep breath, the darkness giving me courage instead of fear for once. “I’ve never told anyone the full story, I couldn’t, as if it were trapped in my head. As if saying it out loud would make it real. But it’s already real and speaking the words won’t give strength to his ghost, it will only give me a chance to finally move on. And I want to, I want to move on... with all of you. I want you to know, to know the real me.”
“Baby girl, we’re here now or whenever you need to talk about it. Don’t do this for us, but for yourself. Whatever you say, it won’t change how we feel.”
“We all have our pasts,” Bray offers sadly. “Things we wish we could forget... trauma we only think about in the dark.”
“You carry the same scars we do. Don’t be scared, Blair, take the jump, and I promise we’ll catch you.”
I search their eyes, which are open and sincere. These three men fill all those empty, broken pieces of me, making me whole.
Cyrus’s strength.
Bray’s laughter.
Asher’s hopes.
They have my back, my heart, but I want them to hold the broken pieces with their own. It’s time. I’m so tired of carrying this, of letting it ruin everything. I’m so scared of tarnishing this, so maybe if I can let go and tell them, they will understand and maybe stay.
As I look into their patient eyes, I know they will.
Nothing will turn them away. Once Crew, always Crew.
They will always be here in the dark with me, trusting me, loving me, and protecting me. That’s what family is. They help you hold the burden of your pain, even as they experience the light with you. It’s about trust, about give and take. You can’t always be happy, that’s not real life. Family is a dirty, bloody mess, and I fucking love it.
I love them, I realise, and that’s what makes my mouth open. The dread of losing them outweighs the terror of giving my past power through words. I’m finally understanding that although the fear is always there, it can’t stop me, not if I want to move on. I might always be terrified of him, but I refuse to let him control one more second of my life.
