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part 2:

Anne stood there for a moment, her chest tightening as her words reverberated in the silence. Her face flushed with both anger and regret—regret that her frustration had spilled out so fiercely, regret that she’d been so absorbed in her own fear that she didn’t see the depth of what Marcy was actually going through. But as she looked at Marcy—her Marcy, the girl who had always been so strong in front of everyone, the girl who somehow wore her vulnerability like a shield—she felt her resolve weaken.

“I—” Anne’s voice cracked slightly, and she bit her lip, shaking her head as she took a step back, trying to collect her thoughts. She couldn’t believe she had let things get this far without truly understanding, without truly asking. Instead, she had assumed. Always assuming.

What do you want from me, Anne? The words rang through her mind—those words Marcy had whispered just days ago, hiding behind her constant smiles and quiet, self-deprecating humor.

Marcy looked so fragile in this moment, standing across from her with tear-filled eyes, hands tightly gripped together. There was a quiet sadness in her eyes that Anne had never seen, never noticed until now. The sight of it tugged at Anne’s heart, making the guilt almost unbearable.

“How long, Marcy?” Anne asked softly, her eyes full of concern as she stepped closer, trying not to overwhelm her. “How long have you been going through this... alone? Without telling me? Without letting me help?”

Marcy exhaled shakily, as if the weight of the question was too much for her to bear. “I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to be a burden.” The words came out like a confession, each syllable wrapped in shame, as if she was apologizing for her own struggles. Anne felt her own frustration ebb away when she saw how small Marcy seemed—like the burden of everything she was hiding had compressed her, made her shrink into something that wasn’t herself.

“I need to help, Marcy. Don’t you know that?” Anne’s voice was still soft but full of a quiet desperation. “You can’t keep carrying this on your own. It’s too much, and I’m scared... I don’t want you to hurt yourself, I don’t want you to feel like you’re not enough.”

There was a brief silence before Marcy finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m not enough. I never feel like I am. Not for myself. And not for you. I see how hard you try to hold everything together, Anne, but I can’t be what you need me to be, not when I can’t even fix myself. Not when I don’t even know how to fix this, to stop myself from doing... this.” Her voice trembled as she glanced briefly at her wrists, which still bore the scars, the evidence of her silent battle.

Anne’s heart cracked at the sight of them, at the pain that wasn’t supposed to be there. She reached out for Marcy gently, pulling her into a tight hug. Marcy stiffened at first, but Anne held her tighter, determined to make her understand, to make her feel loved despite everything.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Marcy.” Anne murmured into her hair, the remorse in her words thick with emotion. “I don’t want you to think that you’re broken. I need you. I need both of you... but I can’t pretend like everything is okay when you’re struggling. I can’t fix this all on my own. I know I’m not perfect, but I’m here. And if we can’t do this together, then I don’t know what we have left, Marcy. But please—just... don’t do this to yourself again.”

Marcy’s arms were still stiff at her sides, her head buried in Anne’s shoulder, her face wet with tears. But there was a tremor in her body, a vulnerability that she only showed when she truly let her walls down. Anne could feel the fragile trust in Marcy’s touch, the way her hands hesitated before they slid around Anne’s waist, holding her back, pulling herself in.

“You don’t have to fix me,” Marcy whispered, her voice still fragile. “I don’t expect you to. I just... I just need you to stay.”

Anne pulled back slightly to look her in the eyes, to find something—anything—that told her that everything would be okay. Her gaze was raw, but filled with something soft. “I’ll stay. I will always stay,” she promised.

For a long moment, they simply held each other, the weight of the words lingering in the room. The silence no longer felt suffocating. There was no need for words right now, not when they both knew what it meant. They had to face the broken pieces, face the pain. But at least, for now, they could face it together.

Sasha had been silently watching from the doorway, her heart heavy with the understanding that they were all falling apart in some way. She leaned against the frame, letting them have their moment, but knowing her turn would come soon enough. After all, the love they shared would be the glue to help piece them back together, no matter how many cracks had formed.