Adrian x Belvina book.
Adrian Parker has always been the rock-steady, reliable, the friend who would drop everything to help others, even when his own world was crumbling. Beneath the smiles and jokes, however, lies a man haunted by the weight of pa...
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Listen to I Don't Wanna Live Forever by Zayn and Taylor Swift.
The first week of therapy was spent in silence—mostly mine. I sat across from her, unsure how to let words spill from my chest. My therapist, a woman with warm eyes and a calming presence, had long, curly dreads twisted into a thick bun atop her head. She exuded patience, like a steady river carving through stone, waiting for me to open up. But I wasn't ready. My mind was a maze of jagged thoughts, and every time I tried to find a way out, the walls of my mind felt like they were closing in tighter.
In the following two weeks, she did her best to create a space for me—a space where I could breathe, even if only for a moment. She'd surprise me with my favorite doughnuts, the sugary sweetness a comforting gesture. Her playlist, soft and familiar, always included that one song I couldn't resist. It was as though she was trying to build a bridge, using small gestures to chip away at the walls I had created. She'd ask me questions, jot down notes in her ever-present notebook, while the background hum of music filled the empty spaces between us.
Some days, we'd talk about life—casual, almost normal conversations. The way we both shared an almost obsessive love for the same reality TV show was one of the few things that felt effortless, like two strangers discovering an unexpected common ground. But then, in the quiet moments, I'd feel the weight of everything I hadn't said yet. It wasn't easy. It never was.
The first time I spoke about that night, the air in the room thickened, choking me. The words felt like they were lodged in my throat, heavy and suffocating. My chest tightened as the memory came rushing back. I had to leave—needed to escape the confines of that small room. Stepping outside for a breath of air, I felt the coolness of the breeze like a slap to my face, a stark contrast to the heat building inside me.
It didn't get easier right away. In the weeks that followed, we spent more time talking—sometimes too much, sometimes not enough. She assigned me simple tasks, small acts to prove to myself that I was stronger than I believed. That I had some control over the chaos. Some days, I could breathe easier, but others, the memories returned with relentless force, like a nightmare playing on loop. The sound of the world outside still startled me, my nerves fraying at the slightest disturbance. But there was Adrian—always there, steady and grounding. His arms around me in the dead of night when I felt lost, his presence the tether I needed to keep from spiraling away.
Waking up next to him, feeling his warmth, was the one constant in the storm of my mind. It was enough to make it through another day.
When I finally returned to work, I expected a cold reception. A reminder that I wasn't strong enough to keep up. But instead, I was greeted with balloons, gifts, and a cake that nearly made me tear up. My co-workers smiled at me like I hadn't been gone for months. My boss, ever gentle, only asked if I felt ready to come back. It was an unexpected kindness.
It was a quiet Saturday night, the kind where time seemed to slow down, letting everything melt into a soft, cozy haze. I sat curled up on the bed, a fantasy novel in my lap, the rain tapping lightly against the windows, a soothing rhythm that should have helped me lose myself in the pages. But tonight, the book felt distant, its words a blur, as Adrian's hand wandered lazily across my stomach, tracing soft circles. His touch was light, almost playful, his calloused fingers skimming my skin like a child exploring the unknown.
