Isabela Part 2
"I'll have to hold myself back from opening my legs and telling him to fuck me while he tries to ruin me with his outbursts, just like I fought to avoid doing just now. Because the heavens and hell know I would give him everything inside me in that bed; it was just up to Nate.
Because I loved this man! I clung to all the feelings I created for him in that cursed school. Nate became everything to me, the center of my life for the few months we were together. I adored him and would have given him my soul if he wanted. And when I was just fifteen, I almost gave myself entirely—my whole body—because I loved him so much. I loved him more than I was capable of loving myself. So it's impossible to pretend that his presence doesn't bring feelings to the surface.
It sucks to fight against everything I feel for him, against the memories that whisper like ghosts in my mind, against the absurd urge to kiss him and corrupt myself, even when he opens his mouth to hurt me.
There are days when that bastard comes back into my life, and I already feel intoxicated down to the last strand of hair because the blood running through my veins seems to scream his name. My damn subconscious has been bringing him up from the moment I wake up until I go to sleep.
I'm going crazy... more! I'm losing my mind because of him, damn it!!!!
And after making it clear how much I'm weakening because of him, to the point where he himself tells me not to lower my defenses, Nate just rubbed in my face how stupid I can be for tearing down the walls, relinquishing control, and allowing myself to be touched by the damn ruthless wolf. He just threw it back in my face that I'm fucked, digging up horrible memories in my head and sneering at the things I told him.
So I regained my composure, armed myself completely, and showed how strong I can be while trying to push him out of my room. I tried to shove him away violently, with intimidation, but Nate disarmed me too easily, breaking my shields as if they were made of straw and could be knocked down with a puff, as if he had control over the right strings to eliminate my potential to explode.
And everything just goes even more wrong because Nate also discovered my cuts. The ones I inflicted on myself when I was suffering. He found the traces that the razor I always carried with me used to leave on my wrists. He uncovered the relief I sought when things spiraled out of control and reminded me of the fucked-up girl who lives under the armor.
It's been a long time since I've sought that relief, even though the razor is right there in the drawer of my bathroom, always at the ready. But I learned to ignore its whispers a few years ago when I fought with my best friend, and it was almost like a breakup. I understood that I needed help when I planned to cut myself vertically after Ana left my life. I felt completely alone, and loneliness is often a key ingredient in the recipe for my ruin.
And I've always heard from Ana herself that I needed to do therapy because my traumas were deep and blah blah blah. I used to ignore that advice, and then our friendship crumbled, and I finally sought treatment before I lost my mind completely. I refused to see a doctor. I thought only a psychologist could help. I spent an entire year consulting a Cognitive Behavioral Therapy professional. I learned to dodge my emotions in moments of rage, the feelings that ceasing to exist might be some kind of escape. So now I don't think about the word with an “S” anymore; I also avoid cutting myself. And I've never had any major outbursts since. Not even with Bernardo's death, and believe me, I suffered a lot from that...
To top off this catastrophe, Nate just told me that he is one of the owners of the perfect college that came up as a glove to restart, to try to heal from the loss of my friend, from my traumas... In other words, damn it, I enrolled in the college owned by the guy who gave me the worst kick in the ass of my life. So there's no option for him to leave because I’m the one who barged into his space. And not the other way around, as I had been thinking.
Because that's what he came here to do, shout that he comes and goes wherever he pleases in this place, mark his territory, and make it clear that he's going to fuck me, dominate me, and make me cry if I don’t leave.
And how do I do that? If I give up this degree, the wrecking ball that is the feeling of failure will ruin me, bringing down the walls of sanity in my head. Then I could give in to the whispers of the razor. Because I’ll feel much worse than this man who wraps my body in an embrace is capable of causing.
This embrace is a tragedy waiting to happen. A momentary truce. The last breath before drowning. And when it ends, everything returns to being a war. So I close my eyes, inhale his scent deeply. I lay my head back further and pull him tighter in my arms. And I say goodbye...
These are choices, Isabela!
And I don't want to give up on studying here.
But damn it!"
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