(again, big tw: self harm, self-sabotaging thoughts)

“Lace?”

 “Yeah?”

 He pauses. “...Nothing.”

 The train stops and we get out. “Where do you live?” I ask, looking around the town.

 “It's not far. Only a few minutes away from school.”

 “Also,” starts Eef while we go up in the elevator, “I have a thirteen year old punk sister. Gotta warn you about her.”

 “She sounds cool.”

 “She is, but don't tell her I said that. We have to keep her ego down. Why I'm warning is…She's brutally honest. Most of the time she shares her opinions and…they're not that good.”

 The elevator door opens. “Hmm, I like her already.”

 He shakes his head in disbelief and opens the door to his apartment. “Mom? Dad?”

 A soft voice sounds from the kitchen. “Hi, love, where have you been?”

 Eef closes the door behind me. I start taking off my shoes. “Oh, you don't have to.”

 I frown. “What?”

 “You don't have to take off your shoes.”

 “Oh…Okay.”

 I put the half-took off shoe on again.

 “Love?”

 “I was just outside with a friend.” He walks inside the kitchen and turns to me. “Mom, this is Lucien.”

 She looks up from cooking and smiles warmly. “Oh, hi Luce. It's nice to meet one of Eefs’ friends.”

 I return the smile. “It's nice to meet you too.”

 “I was wondering if he could sleep over?”

 She shrugs. “Yeah, for however long you want to, sweetie. Are your parents okay with it?”

 I pause before nodding. “Yeah.”

 “Okay, then, have fun. But don't forget to learn.”

 “Thanks, Mom.”

 “By the way, we're going to go buy a Christmas tree in a few minutes. Are you coming too?”

 He glimpsed at me before replying. “No, I'm going to stay at home.”

 “Okay, love. Can you take care of the rice then?”

 “Of course, Mom. It smells delicious,” he leans over her and sniffs the air. “What is it?”

 “Red beans with rice and paprika.”

 “Yum.”

 She laughs and caresses his cheek. “Aren't you sweet? So, Lucien, it's not an American name, is it?”

 “No, it's French. My dad is French and I spent most of my childhood there, but then he got a job offer here so we moved.”

 “Oh, that's nice. Does it mean anything?”

 I step from foot to foot. “I think it means something like light? I'm not sure though.”

 She smiles. “That's sweet. Okay, boys, I won't bother you any more. Tell your sister we're going in a few minutes.”

 Eef kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.” 

 We walk out of the kitchen and Eefs mom yells after him: “Also tell her to clean her room!”

 “Okay!”

 We walk down the hallway. I look around it. There are many family pictures, most of them taken outside, all of them smiling widely at the camera. You can see they're all taken in America.

 Before going to his room, Eef opens the door opposite of his. I can't see a lot, but I see a lot of black. “Mom says you have to clean your room. Also you're going to go buy the tree in a minute, so get ready.”

 “Okay, now go away.”

 He starts to close the door, but the girl sees my face through the creek. “Wait, who's that? Finally got yourself a pretty friend?”

 He peeks in with shock. “You have never called a boy pretty. Ever. You always call them skunks.”

 She shrugs. “I'm honest.”

 “Wow.” He turns to me. “Don't worry, she's not flirting, she's gay as shit. But she has never called anyone pretty before.”

 “I like your hair,” she smiles.

 I laugh amusingly. “Thank you. I like your piercings.”

 Eef closes her door with a scoff and finally walks into his room. 

 I look around. The walls are plain white, but a lot of posters hang on them, pictures, drawings and paintings. A violin lays in the corner next to the balcony door, a light green soft rug takes up most of the room and the bed is full of dark colored blankets and pillows.

 “She's nice.”

 “She's not most of the time.”

 I laugh. “You got it cozy in here.” I nod my head to the violin. “You know how to play?”

 He sits on his bed. “Yeah, nine years of torture.”

 I walk up to one of the paintings on the wall. There's a beautiful woman with butterfly wings kneeling, crying, hugging herself and looking into a green lake surrounded by a dark forest.

 “Psyche,” says Eef and stands up next to me.

 “The Greek goddess of the soul.”

 “Yes, you know her story?”

 “Only that she fell in love with Eros, but Aphrodite was envious of her beauty and sent her on three tasks where she almost died, but Eros saved her.”

 He laughs. “Yeah, basically. This is her cursing her own beauty.”

 “You're really good.” I smile and take a look at all the other paintings.

 “Thank you.” I can hear a bit of proudness in his voice.

 I walk to the balcony. I'm about to comment on the view when my reflection ruins it. 

 A pair of two cold eyes stare back at me and under them are two big eyebags. Messy black hair falls in every direction possible. Slim cheekbones where a fresh scar was added. 

My breathing gets heavier.

 “Where is the bathroom?”

 “First door to the left.”

 “Thanks.”

 I basically run out of the room.

 I lock the door behind me and lean over the sink. My whole body starts to itch. I roll up my sleeves and start scratching my arms rapidly, as if ivy has wrapped up around them and wasn't coming off.

 I can't breathe. 

 I can't believe that Eef saw…everything.

 Well, it certainly wasn't everything.

 I can't breathe.

 What does he think of me now? What does he think of me now? Will he stop? Will it worsen? 

 I have to be seen as so weak. So, so weak. I can't even handle my reflection. I can't even handle my motherfucking reflection.

 I can't breathe.

 I can't even handle breathing.

 I don't scratch my arms anymore, because they're shaking. Uncontrollably. 

 I hear people talking behind the door and then the talking stops.

 I. Can't. Breathe.

 I turn to the sink and turn the water on. Everything's getting blurrier and blurrier, until I can't see anything. Thick fog surrounds me from everywhere, my head spinning around the bathroom.

 “Lace?”

 Eefs voice is like a sword, cutting through the uncuttable, breaking the unbreakable, healing the unhealable.

 “Lace? Are you okay?”

 I know I stopped the water. I know I sat down. I know air is finally coming to my lungs. Slowly, but it is. 

 I don't know how I know. My mind is blank, like a fresh piece of paper. But then there's Eefs voice. Eefs voice, that draws colorful lines and shapes, paints the most astonishing paintings, brings the paper to life.

 “Lace? Please answer me.”

 He's panicking.

 I know I said something. 

 “Could you please open the door?”

 I know I moved my hand.

 The door quickly opens and Eef appears. He crouches down in front of me, taking a brief look at my rolled up sleeves before turning back to me.

 His hands cup my face and he stares deeply into my eyes. “Are you okay?”

 Fear is wrapped around his beautiful brown eyes. 

 “Yes,” I say to calm him down.

 He shakes his head. “Please don't lie. What happened?”

 I blink, tears burning their way out. “I just…I don't know…” Tears start rolling down my cheeks, but he doesn't stop them. He doesn't brush them away with his fingers, just lets them roll down to my neck. He's letting me cry.

 He brushes my hair out of the way and smiles at me. His smile is warm, comforting, making me feel things I have never felt before. Calmness. Comfort. Trust.

 And something else.

 “It's going to be okay. It's going to be better. We're gonna make it better, okay?”

 I laugh softly. “And how?”

 He takes both of my hands into his. “We'll figure it out.”

 And then I get my second hug of the day.

 I hide my face in his sweater and breathe in. “Thank you,” I whisper.

 He doesn't reply, he just runs his thumb across my back and caresses my hair. “Do you want some tea?”

 I sniff and nod. “Do you have earl gray?”

 He laughs. “I love earl gray.”

 He stands up and helps me stand up too. I sit on the counter while he prepares the tea, wrapped up in a soft blanket he gave me, feeling so much better.

 I know he saw. He saw the cuts, the scars, the scratches. But he didn't…leave. He wasn't disgusted, didn't yell…He actually hugged me.

 We spent the rest of the day playing video games, sipping English tea and when his family came back, I helped them decorate the tree.

 I almost always end up being hurt when decorating the tree with Father. Always beaten up for not placing the decorations correctly, for making a mess, for not being perfect.

 But instead of fear I felt…normally. Or at least the normal normal. The normal everyone else experiences.