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I shake my head, not wanting to burden him with my thoughts. "Nothing."
He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at me. His face is lined with starlight, like he's glowing.
He's so much brighter than me.
So muchbetter.
"Piper," he whispers. "Talk to me."
I roll to face him, my body still aching from the surgery. I haven't been able to take as many pain meds because I'm too worried about abusing them, and it's hard to sleep.
"I'm going to ruin her life," I say quietly.
Jesse's brow furrows and he reaches out to touch my face. "Piper...no. Where is this coming from?"
I let out a shaky breath and close my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts. "I don't know...I just feel...like I'm not enough. That I'm not ready for this. What if I mess up? What if I can't handle it?"
Jesse's hand travels down to my shoulder and he pulls me into his embrace. "Hey, hey," he whispers. "You're not alone in this, Piper. I'm here with you every step of the way. And my family, they love you. They're here to support you."
I bury my face in his chest, tears starting to flow. "I know...I just...I feel so lost."
"It's okay," Jesse murmurs, rubbing circles on my back. "We'll figure it out together. And with time, things will get easier."
I nod, trying to calm myself down. "I hope so."
Jesse kisses the top of my head. "You're doing great," he says. "So well."
But I can tell he doesn't believe it.
And neither do I.
Weeks pass like that...and as expected, I don't get better. My body heals, sure, helped along by plenty of hikes and hauling my paints and canvas around. I create a lot of art--it feels good--always with Hope by my side.
But something is still wrong.
Horribly wrong.
I get a moment to myself one night as snow starts to fall and I head up to the attic to paint. It's quiet here, the family talking downstairs, Teresa keeping an eye on Hope. I've been in Fern Hollow for almost six months now, and I'm starting to settle in...
...but my brain isn't working with me.
Something is still wrong.
And I'm starting to think the thing that's wrong isme.
As I dip my brush into a mixture of blues and whites, I try to focus on the canvas in front of me. But my mind keeps drifting, spiraling into dark places. I can't shake the feeling that I don't belong here, that I'm not cut out for this life.
Maybe it's the constant reminder of Hope. The way she looks at me with those big blue eyes, like she's searching for something in me. Something I don't have.
My mom was missing an important piece too...and she almost destroyed my life.
My trauma almost killed me.
Or maybe it's the way Jesse looks at me sometimes. Like he's worried, like he's trying to find a way to fix me. I know he loves me, but sometimes it feels like too much pressure.
I let out a frustrated sigh, trying to push the thoughts away. But they're like a relentless tide, crashing against me over and over again.
I stare at the blank canvas in front of me, my mind racing with thoughts I can't seem to put into words. Despite the peaceful surroundings, I feel restless and anxious, like something inside of me is about to snap.
