Page 40 of The Edge Of Us

My mind is too loud. I can’t hear anything over it. You weren’t enough. You’ll never be enough. Allen never loved you. He never cared. The words echo, louder and louder until they suffocate me.

You failed.

I slam my fists into the mattress, the tears falling freely now. I can't control it. I can't stop it. Every time I think I’m getting better, every time I think I can breathe, I fall back into this, this place of pain, this constant nightmare that doesn’t let me sleep.

My breathing becomes shallow, frantic, erratic. Calm down, Corinne. Please, calm down. But it’s not working. I can feel myself falling further, deeper into the chaos that has no end. I scream again, louder this time, my voice raw, desperate.

The door bursts open, and I jump, the sudden sound of the knob turning a shock to my senses. Dr. Bennett steps inside.

“Corinne?” Her voice is calm, steady, like she’s been here a thousand times, like she’s expecting this breakdown, as though it’s a part of the process. But I can’t focus. My vision blurs with tears, and I can barely keep my balance.

“Corinne, look at me,” she says gently, her voice strong. “You need to breathe, sweetheart. Focus on me. Breathe with me.”

I shake my head, trying to back away, but I can’t make my body cooperate. “I can’t... I can’t breathe,” I manage to choke out between sobs. My hands clutch my chest, desperate to stop the panic from suffocating me.

She’s close now, standing in front of me, her hand resting gently on my arm. “I know, Corinne, I know it’s hard. But you have to focus on me. You have to let go of the pain just for a moment. Let me help you.”

I feel her fingertips press lightly against my pulse point. My heartbeat is erratic, frantic, like it’s trying to escape from my chest. I can hear her voice again, soft and slow. “Breathe in with me... slow and steady. Deep breaths. In through your nose... out through your mouth.”

I try to listen to her. I try so hard, but the voices in my head are louder. You’ll never be enough. Never enough.

The dark thoughts rush in, louder and louder, until I’m suffocating in them. I scream again, louder this time, my voice breaking through the madness.

Dr. Bennett’s face softens with compassion, and she doesn’t pull away. She holds my arm tightly, grounding me. “Corinne, I’m here. We’re here. It’s okay. You’re not alone. You have to fight this.”

But I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want it to stop.

The air feels thick again, like it’s pressing in from all sides. Why am I not enough? The thought rips through me, and I can feel myself slipping again. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

Dr. Bennett steps closer, her presence a soft anchor in the storm swirling inside me. “Corinne, listen to me,” she says, her voice firm yet gentle. “You’ve been through hell. I know this. But you are not defined by what happened to you. You are not defined by Allen, or by your past. You are not the pain that you feel inside. You are strong, and I’m here with you, every step of the way.”

Her words cut through the chaos in my mind like a blade. I want to believe her, I do, but I don’t know how.

“I don’t know how to let go,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”

Dr. Bennett’s eyes soften with understanding. She doesn’t rush to fix me. She just stays with me, grounding me in the moment. “We’ll take it slow. One step at a time. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

I don’t know how long we stand there, but slowly, gradually, the storm inside me starts to quiet. My breaths become less frantic, slower, though my chest still feels tight.

“I... I don’t want to be this person anymore,” I whisper, the words barely a breath.

“You’re not that person,” Dr. Bennett says, her voice firm. “The pain, the shame—it’s not who you are. It’s just something you’re carrying, but you don’t have to carry it forever. We’re going to help you.”

I want to believe her.

“I’ll try,” I say, a shaky promise.

She nods, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. “That’s all I ask.”

The sound of the door creaks open again, and I look up to see Dr. Bennett stepping aside as a familiar face enters.

It’s Dr. Michaels. I feel a rush of relief flood through me. His presence, the calm, steady assurance he brings, feels like a lifeline.

“I heard the commotion,” he says, his voice calm and knowing. “How’s she doing, Bennett?”

“She’s struggling, but she’s trying,” Dr. Bennett replies, her eyes meeting his. “Corinne’s in the middle of a tough moment right now. We’re helping her breathe through it.”

Dr. Michaels nods and steps closer to me. “You’re doing okay, Corinne,” he says gently. “You’re doing okay.”

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