This had gone too far.

The thought hit me hard on Tuesday morning as I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the bracelet still fastened around my wrist. I hadn’t taken it off since Saturday night. I told myself it was because I hadn’t found the right moment. But that was a lie. I kept it on because it made me feel steadier. It calmed me. That scared me more than anything else.

I sat on the edge of my bed and opened the chat with the unknown number. My thumb hovered over the block button. This time I didn’t hesitate. I pressed it. The number disappeared from the chat. Relief washed over me, quick and sharp. I let out a long breath. It was done. I had taken one real step toward regaining control. But the relief only lasted a few minutes. The emptiness that replaced it felt strangely wrong. My thoughts felt too loud again. I kept opening the messaging app, checking the empty space where his number used to be, as if I expected it to magically reappear. And I hated myself for it.

The thought followed me through the rest of the day. During class, I played with the leather bracelet as the professor droned on about something. My fingers trembled as I reached for the clasp. It was cool against my skin. For a second, I felt a surge of determination. This was it. I only needed to unclip it, put it in my bag, and be done with it. But the moment I started to press the clasp open, something inside me recoiled violently.

My fingers froze and my breath caught. A wave of unease, almost panic, flooded my chest, like I was about to cut off something vital. My heart started racing. The bracelet suddenly felt like the only steady thing I had left. Removing it felt terrifyingly final, like stepping off solid ground into open air. I sat there, frozen, thumb still pressed against the clasp, unable to finish the motion. The lecture continued around me, but I heard none of it. All I could focus on was the small piece of leather against my wrist and how painfully wrong it felt to imagine it gone. In the end, I didn’t take it off. I pulled my hand away like I’d been burned, tucked it between my thighs, and spent the rest of the lecture trying to ignore the way my wrist already felt naked and wrong without even removing the bracelet.

I nearly ran out of the science building when the class ended. Outside, I took deep breaths trying to calm my racing thoughts. Sophia and Emily quickly caught up.

“Okay, seriously, spit it out. Did something happen? You can tell us,” Sophia said worriedly as Emily gently rubbed my back.

I shook my head, unable to meet her eyes. “Nothing happened. Stress. It’s only stress.”

Tears burned my eyes. I wanted to tell them. I wanted to unload everything, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’ll be better after the exams,” I whispered.

They exchanged a look but didn’t push further. Their concern only made the guilt heavier. I excused myself early and went to hide in the library instead of attending my last class.

**************************

Alone in my room, I sat on the floor with my back against the bed in the dark. Guilt was eating me alive. I couldn’t face my friends, dad or myself. So, I waited until almost 9 p.m. to go home. I couldn’t face my dad’s quiet disappointment today, not after everything.

My thoughts had finally quieted. The darkness helped. I was once again stroking the bracelet around my wrist. It was quiet. But it wasn’t enough anymore. I missed the way his words cut through the noise in my head. The way everything felt simpler when someone else was deciding. When I didn’t have to carry the weight of every choice, every expectation, every fear. When all I had to do was listen, obey, and breathe. The thought made my stomach twist painfully.

I was beginning to want that feeling even when he wasn’t there.

I picked up my phone with unsteady hands and went to the blocked contacts. His number sat there. In one tap, I unblocked him. The chat opened. The empty conversation stared back at me. My thumbs moved across the screen.

Me: Why do you make me feel like this?

I deleted it immediately, heart racing.

Me: I don’t want to need this.

Deleted.

Me: Tell me what to do.

My breath caught. I stared at those four words for a long time, shame burning across my face. My thumb hovered over the send button, trembling. In the end, I deleted it too.

I lowered the phone to my lap and closed my eyes, pressing the bracelet harder against my chest. The desire to reach out, to ask him what I should do, how I should feel, what I should want, was growing stronger every hour.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could fight it.