Irene

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Suicidal themes ahead. You've been warned.

You were sitting on your couch, head in your hands. You didn't know what to do, you didn't know why you were feeling this way. Out of nowhere, you were feeling like shit.

You called your best friend over so you could ask her for advice. If anyone knew how to help, it would be her. She's been there for you countless times and this wouldn't be the last.

As you waited for your best friend, you decided to just sit back and think about the possible reasons why you were feeling so low.

.

.

.

There weren't any.

You were just sad for no reason again. At least that's how you thought it was.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and you got up to answer the door. Sure enough, it was Irene. Your best friend for four years and counting. The two of you did virtually everything together. From grabbing coffee together, to making stupid TikToks, to just talking. There was almost nothing that could separate the two of you. As she walked in, she turned to you and immediately knew something was up. With the tear marks on your cheek being just one of the many indicators. Wordlessly, both of you walked back to your couch and sat down. Neither of you knew how to begin the conversation.

Irene decided to make the first move.

"You ok? Tell me what's wrong."

You didn't know what it was, by just her presence as a whole made you more comfortable. However, you were hesitant to open up to her. You thought it was a stupid reason anyway.

"It's nothing. I'm just thinking about stupid stuff."

"Whatever it is, it's clearly bringing you down. You know I'm here for you matter what."

This wasn't the first time she had said this. She would constantly give you words of encouragement to lift your spirits.

"I just...don't know how to fix this. I feel like I'm broken to a point beyond repair."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"No, it's just..." You were extremely reluctant to tell her why now. You weren't sure if you could handle it.

"Have you been having thoughts again?"

That was part of it.

"Yes...and I've been hiding something from you."

"What's there to hide? Haven't you told me everything?"

"
Almost."

Breathing in deeply, you roll up your sleeves, displaying the scars accumulated over time. Most of them old, but a couple were fresh.

"This...is what I've been hiding."

For a couple seconds, Irene sat there in a stunned silence. Never in her life would she have expected something like this to happen.

Worried, you quickly cover up the scars and ask, "Was that too much? I'm sorry I didn't mean t-"

"How long?"

There it was. The question you were dreading. Again, you didn't want to burden her with your problems.

But keeping it in was just as bad, maybe worse.

With a heavy heart, you replied, "Six, maybe seven weeks now."

"Are you fucking serious?!"

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