Elena's POV
Naomi sat across from me, her legs folded beneath her, her hands resting lightly on mine. Her eyes, the same warm brown eyes that had seen me through high school crushes, college heartbreaks, late-night cries over exams and family arguments, were steady now, waiting.
It was almost unbearable, the weight of her gaze. Because she wasn't just asking me to talk.
She was asking me to hand her my brokenness.
And for a long time, I couldn't breathe. My throat worked, my chest ached, my palms sweated as if even speaking would make the memories crawl out of my skin and wrap around me again. But Naomi didn't rush me but I had overcome the fear but it was still a disgusting incident to me
She just waited, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over the back of my hand. And that simple motion, it undid me.
The words came out like cracks splitting through ice. "He broke me, Naomi," I whispered. Her grip tightened, but she didn't speak.
