Healing together

RYAN

I leaned back, the weight of my memories pressing me into the couch like a physical force. My hand raked through my hair, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to break. The words felt jagged as they left my mouth, as if speaking them aloud would make them more real.

“That’s why I am the way I am,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why I became a… playboy.”

I swallowed hard, the bitterness of it all clawing at my throat. “It was never about the women. It was about trying to drown out the unrelenting hunger she left in me. This… need to fill something, someone. It’s been clawing at me since I was a kid. She planted it there, and no matter how much I hate it, it’s always there.”

Violet didn’t recoil, didn’t look at me like I was something broken and beyond repair. She didn’t even blink. Instead, she moved closer, her quiet presence steady and warm in the chilled room, as if her proximity alone could soften the jagged edges of my confession.

“It’s like I’ve been running my whole damn life,” I continued, my voice cracking under the weight of the truth. “Trying to outrun her ghost, but she’s everywhere. In the shadows, in my thoughts, in… me. I thought maybe if I buried myself in enough distractions, if I drowned myself in noise, it’d stop. But it never does.”

Her hand reached out, her fingers curling around mine. The touch was so simple, so deliberate, yet it grounded me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

“Ryan, she didn’t take you,” Violet said, her gaze locked on mine. “She didn’t break you, no matter how much she tried. You’re still here. You’re still fighting. That says more about you than anything she ever did.”

Her words hit me like a punch, piercing through the layers of armor I’d built over the years. “You don’t understand,” I whispered
“She… made me this way. Everything I do, everything I am, it’s because of her.”

But Violet shook her head, her grip on my hand tightening as if she could physically hold me together. “No,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re more than what she did to you. You’re more than the pain she caused. She might have left scars, Ryan, but those scars don’t define you. You define you.”

I stared at her. There was no pity in her eyes, no false reassurances. Just… belief. Belief in me, even when I couldn’t muster it for myself.

Her other hand lifted, brushing lightly against my cheek. It wasn’t until her thumb swept under my eye that I realized I’d started crying. “You don’t have to keep running,” she said softly. “You don’t have to fight this alone.”

Something cracked inside me then. Not in a way that broke, but in a way that released. Anger, shame, guilt—they all simmered down, leaving space for something quieter, something almost… hopeful.

“You’re not scared of me?” I asked, my voice small.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, her eyes never leaving mine. “Of you? No. Of what you’ve been through? Yes. But not because I think you’re broken. Because I want to help you carry it. If you’ll let me.”

Her words wrapped around me like a balm, soothing wounds I hadn’t realized were still bleeding. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t. I just held onto her hand, letting her steady presence remind me of something I’d forgotten how to feel: safety.

For the first time in years, the ghost of Ms. Margaret didn’t feel so suffocating. And for the first time in years, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was a way to be more than the sum of the pain she’d left behind.

Violet stayed quiet for a moment, letting the silence settle between us. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer. “You’re not the only one haunted by ghosts, Ryan. But the thing about ghosts is… they’re only as strong as the power we give them.”

I tilted my head, her words sinking in. She was right—she always seemed to be. But breaking free from the chains of my past felt like trying to escape a shadow that clung to me no matter how far I ran.

“And what if I don’t know how to stop giving them power?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

Violet’s gaze softened. “Then we’ll figure it out together,” she said simply. And somehow, in that moment, I believed her.

“Want to flip through the paintings?” Violet asked catching me off guard

I hesitated, my hand hovering over the edge of the table. Letting someone into my world of art wasn’t something I did lightly. Each stroke, each color, every chaotic mess on the canvas—it was a piece of me I usually kept hidden. But the way she looked at me, her soft gaze full of understanding and something else I couldn’t quite place, made it impossible to say no.

“Sure,” I said finally

She walked over to the shelf where I stored the completed canvases. “Mind if I?”

“Go ahead,” I murmured, watching as she carefully pulled out one painting after another.

Violet flipped through the first few silently, her fingers grazing the edges of the frames. They were the usual fare: dark, raw, and chaotic.
Then she stopped, her hand resting on one particular painting.

“Ryan, you painted this?” she asked, tilting her head as she studied it. Heat crept to her cheeks

I glanced over and froze.

The painting was vivid, almost glowing. It captured her standing in the middle of her room, her hands caught mid-motion as she pulled her hair up. Her oversized top hung off one shoulder, the hem riding slightly above her thighs. The sunlight spilling through the window bathed her in a golden glow, highlighting the curve of her neck and the soft angles of her face.

It was the day I walked into her room unannounced, catching her off guard. The image had burned itself into my mind, and I’d poured every detail onto that canvas, unable to forget.

She stared at it, her lips parting slightly.

“That’s…” I trailed off, rubbing the back of my neck. I should have hidden it but I couldn't get rid of the image of her fresh thighs with a sneak peek at her pussy

Her gaze shifted back to the painting, her fingers grazing the edge of the canvas. “It’s… beautiful,” she said softly.

“You’re beautiful,” I said

Her head snapped toward me, her eyes wide. For a second, neither of us said anything. The air between us felt heavy, charged with something I couldn’t name.

A soft laugh escaped her lips, lightening the atmosphere. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or scared. You’ve been painting me in secret?”

I smirked, relieved by her teasing tone. “Just the one. Don’t let it go to your head, Mouse.”

She laughed then, a sound so genuine it made my chest ache. “I’m honored. Truly.”

The mood had shifted, the heaviness replaced by something lighter, something I couldn’t quite name. For the first time in a long time, the shadows didn’t feel so overwhelming.

“Ryan,” she said, her voice more serious now as she looked me in the eye. “You’re more than your past. You’re more than the pain. And if you ever doubt that… just remember this painting, okay? Remember what you see in me, because it’s in you too.”

Her words settled over me like a balm, and for the first time, I allowed myself to believe—just a little—that she might be right.