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"After that, we moved away, and my dad kind of shut down. It caused strain on my parents' marriage. My dad finally managed to rebuild his business, but he became obsessed with portraying this perfect family to the world. Nothing me or my mother did was good enough. In fact, the only time he ever really spoke to me was to criticize me. Other than that, he barely looked at me. Part of me thinks he's resented me every day since," I admit, feeling the pain in my chest my confession brings.
"I'm sure that's not true, baby," Nate tries to soothe me, but I know in my heart that what I'm saying is the truth.
"It's the whole reason I began spending all my time with my grandparents because neither of my parents could bear to look at me. My dad resented me, and I think my mom felt guilty for not protecting me. I'd often hear her crying at night, but instead of pulling me closer, they both pushed me away." I feel the tears run down my cheek and drip onto my chest, but I don't stop. Knowing if I don't continue now, I'll never be brave enough to finish this conversation.
Nate leans his hand up and wipes away my tears, but doesn't speak.
"We all thought the move to New York would be the new start our family desperately needed, but it made things worse.
My mom got a great job in an art gallery, and at first, she would take me with her. That was until I got to be friendly with one of the other guys who worked there. Nothing bad was happening, but I think it triggered her. After that, she refused to allow me to go with her. Instead, I was basically forced to stay home alone. She didn't allow me to have any friends over or to go to anyone's house. So making friends at school was hard.
Her and my dad would go to fancy meals and business trips and leave me either alone or with our neighbor, who was an older lady in her seventies. The only time I was allowed out with my family was to show dad’s investor how perfect we were. Even then, I had to just smile and look pretty. If I so much as spoke or asked to do anything, my father would shout at me or ground me. It was like being locked in a tower most of my life." The words seem to be flowing out of me now at full speed.
"I repeatedly begged them to let me come home to Nana and Pops’, but they refused, caring more about their image than their daughter. I heard my mom try a few times to persuade my dad, but my dad's a stubborn bastard. Anyway, because of all that, I was beyond miserable. I was so desperate for any form of attention that I started acting out at school, causing trouble, or skipping classes, so my parents were forced to take notice. But still, all they did was ground me and isolate me more.
One day, I threw a glass in anger, and when I bent down to clean it up, I cut my leg. The release and escape I felt were like a wave of peace. After that, whenever life got too much, I would cut myself. It started out small and got worse. Each time I did it on my legs so no one else would know."
I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest as I say the words. All these years I've held on to this pain, and now, it's out in the open, it's as if I'm finally free from it.
"Wait, so those marks on your thighs aren't stretch marks?" Nate asks, running his hands over my thighs, where he knows the marks are. He'd asked me about them the first time we’d stayed together, back when we met. But I wasn't brave enough to admit the truth, so I lied.
"No, I went through a bad stage of cutting myself. Sometimes the physical pain of the cuts was the only thing that took my mind off the emotional pain I was in. For me, seeing the blood flow used to be like a physical release from the turmoil in my brain.
Looking back now, I can see how stupid my actions were, and I'm glad to admit I've not felt the need to hurt myself like that in years. But at the time, it was my only release. It came to a head one night after a particularly bad fight with my parents when I swallowed some pills, just wanting to escape.
Thankfully, my mother found me in time and took me to the hospital, where I was made to stay for a while. I was then given anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds, as well as months of therapy. It helped."
"Oh baby, I would be lost without you," Nate admits, moving down so that he can kiss both thighs through my trousers before kissing my lips.
"Do you still do it now?" he asks, his tone full of sadness. He reaches up and grips my face, so he can look me dead in the eyes.
"No," I admit triumphantly. "That night shocked me. I never intended to kill myself. I just wanted to quieten my mind for a bit. I've not even thought about cutting myself once since moving back. I don't need to. I have you, my family, and our friends. My life's full of love now," I admit proudly.
"Don't get me wrong. Some days are still a little hard and I still take my meds. And sometimes they make me feel a little numb, but overall, I feel good."
"Will you help me? Stay with me if I get help?" Nate asks as he pulls me into his arms.
"Of course, together we can overcome anything," I reply, hopefully reassuring him.
"Thank you,"
We curl up beside each other in his bed.
"I'm so glad I found you that day in the woods." Nate says through a yawn. "You changed my life," he says softly, before I feel his body lighten and he drifts off to sleep.
***
I must have fallen asleep too, as the next thing I know, Nate is whispering my name and waking me.
"Bella, it's almost five; you should be getting home. Your grandparents will be worried,"' Nate says, and I can't help but smile at the fact that even now, when he's at rock bottom, he’s still worrying about me.
"It's fine. I called them after you went to sleep and explained where I am and that I wouldn't be home until much later."
"Oh, okay, well, would you like to try and rustle up some food? Your growling tummy woke me up." He laughs.
"Yes, please. I barely even had time for breakfast," I admit, sitting up and stretching.
Nate takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen. "Erm, we've got some noodles? Or I could make us an omelet?" Nate suggests as he roots around in an empty looking fridge.
