Page 89 of Fault Line

I’m worried that it will get just as bad as it used to be. And then, I won’t be able to hide it anymore. That’s why I chopped all my hair off after freshman year. With less hair, there’s less to pick, and pull, and fidget with.

Inevitably, I feel self-conscious whenever I see it in the mirror. Even though I try to hide it as best as I can, I know the missing patch is there, serving as a constant reminder of my struggles.

It’s something I’ve tried to keep hidden from Holden, but it’s getting harder and harder to do so. I’m sure he’s noticed despite my efforts, anyway.

I truly wish I could stop, but it’s like an itch I can’t resist scratching—a cruel affliction, taking away not only my hair but also my confidence and sense of self-control.

I want to be able to share this part of myself with him, to let him know what’s really going on inside my head, but I’m scared of what he might think. Will he see me as damaged, as weak?

When all I want to do is project strength.

Now, with so little sleep all week and all the underlying stress, I’ve completely lost my focus. I’m sitting at my desk, staring blankly at my laptop, but my mind keeps drifting back to Holden.

I imagine him at the rink, the determination in his eyes as he skates, the sound of the puck as it slides across the ice. I think of how proud he must feel when he scores a goal and how much I wish I could be there to share that moment with him.

I close my laptop, doomed by the realization that I’m not getting anything done, and lean back in my chair. A heavy sigh escapes me. I know I need to find a way to strike a balance between my academics, my relationship, and my nagging compulsions, but I’m struggling to figure out how.

I push myself up and walk over to the window, looking down at the dark empty parking lot. Holden’s on campus, playing his heart out, and I’m not there to see it. The thought of him looking up into the stands—wishing I was there—only to find an empty seat where I should be, eats me up inside.

I wish I could just be a normal fucking girlfriend for once.

I wrap my arms around myself, the weight of my exhaustion and guilt washing over me. I know I can’t keep going like this, but I’m at a loss for how to change my situation.

All I can do now is hope that I’ll find a way to make things right eventually—later on, when I’m done with all this shit.

* * *

Hours later,in the middle of the night, I’m still plagued by the same horrible feeling inside. My mind’s racing, and I’m losing it.

I’m struggling with old, long-forgotten thoughts ... like maybe I could take something—just this one time—to help me focus and get through my work. I know I could probably head to the nearest campus library and find a couple of students who could supply me.

But I’m also terrified about falling back into old habits.

I remember the person I used to be, the person I fought so hard to leave behind, and I don’t want to go back to that dark place. My hands are shaking as I battle with the decision, bearing the weight of my exhaustion and the temptation of the quick fix that Adderall could provide.

In a moment of desperation, I pick up the phone and dial Elio’s number. I need support, and I know he’ll understand what I’m going through. The phone rings a couple of times before he answers, his voice groggy but concerned.

“Kai, what’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I’m really struggling right now.” I swallow a shaky breath, fighting back even more tears. “I’ve been thinking about taking something, just to help me get through this work. And I’m scared.”

There’s a brief pause, and then Elio’s voice comes through the line, steady and reassuring. “I’ll be there soon. I’m gonna help you get through the night, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”

My heart swells with gratitude, and there’s a small flicker of hope amidst the chaos in my mind. “Thank you, El. I really appreciate it.”

Within half an hour, Elio’s knocking at my door. He looks tired but determined, and he pulls me into a tight hug as soon as I let him in. We sit down on my couch, and he starts talking to me, asking about my week, distracting me.

As we chat, some of the tension in my body eases, little by little.

Elio makes us both some coffee, black and extra hot, and then we spend the rest of the night working through my personal statement together. He offers a fresh perspective and helps me with some of the more difficult parts, and I make quick progress.

As we finish up the last bit, I shut down my laptop and tuck everything away into color-coordinated files. We head back to my bedroom, settling onto the edge of my mattress, and Elio breaks the silence.

“So, how are things going with the golden boy?” he asks, eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

I know he’s still wary about my newfound relationship, but it’s nice that he’s taking an interest regardless. His concern wraps around me like a cozy sweater, relieving some of the burden I’ve been shouldering.

“It’s been . . . complicated lately.” I blow out a breath, looking down at my hands. “I’ve been so wrapped up in all this shit that I’ve been pulling away. But when we do get time together, it’s really great. He’s been so supportive and patient with me.”

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