Page 75 of Unclench Me Softly

The weighted robe pulls tighter around me like it’s trying to brace me for what I’m witnessing.

They are peaceful.

Jax has a serene look on his face that would be illegal in most states.

Miles is sitting so straight and still I’m afraid if I blink he’ll vanish.

Seb’s hands are pressed to his thighs, fingers slightly curled, like he’s ready to punch God if necessary but only after he finishes this breath cycle.

Asher is smiling, soft, present, totally high on his own spiritual success.

And Jonah? Jonah opens his eyes and looks directly at me. Doesn’t smile. Just tips his head the slightest bit, like yes, Bliss. We’re doing stillness. Without you.

I nearly faint.

What is happening?

This was my retreat. My chaos. My fake program of healing rituals invented between yogurt breaks and existential dread.

And now they’re doing it?

Together?

Without needing me?

I back away like I’ve just walked in on an emotional cult summoning a higher self. I trip slightly on a root. My granola bar wrapper crinkles. My dignity crumbles like poorly mixed oat flour.

Miles opens his eyes. “Morning,” he says calmly, like he didn’t just co-lead a silent masculine alignment summit.

Asher beams. “We didn’t want to interrupt your reflection time. So we created a shared grounding container. It was Seb’s idea.”

Seb shrugs like it wasn’t a big deal, like he didn’t just cause me to short-circuit with affection and panic.

“I.” I start, but I don’t know what I’m trying to say. You can’t walk into a spiritual mutiny and form coherent sentences.

Jonah raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to join us?”

I blink. “Join? No. No, I have to go journal. Or scream. Or bake.”

Jax opens one eye, and smirks. “She’s gonna spiral.”

“I’m not spiraling,” I lie.

“Bring snacks,” Asher calls helpfully. “Something crunchy for the container.”

I spin and walk back toward the dome at a pace that’s definitely not panic-fast.

They’re unionizing. They’re self-regulating. They’re becoming a collective of shirtless emotional integrity and I don’t know how to stop it.

Or if I even want to.

I pace the dome, robe dragging like a train of velvet shame, mumbling to myself and chewing the corner of a protein bar I don’t remember opening.

They meditated.

Without me. With coordination. Breathwork. Matching spiritual auras. Possibly group clairvoyance.

Seb suggested something. Seb. Who grunts at clouds. Who once stared at a sage bundle like it had insulted his mother.

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