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“You get what you get, and you try to help them as much as you can. They take the help or they don’t.”
gasping and sobbing into the receiver like it was her best friend’s shoulder.
She knew all too well that no matter how fresh the day was, the rot of the grief permeated through it. No day was safe, no hour, no minute; grief came and went as it pleased.
They didn’t want anything to do with the actual therapy; there was a strong aversion to the truth.
A child no one knew existed had simply ceased to exist.
held a hand over her own mouth to suffocate any sound that might betray her.
That was survival, disappearing when you needed to.
Her voice sounded like it was grating over gravel; she didn’t know how much of it she had left to use.
Out on parole but in a different type of prison.
Men always called names when they were scared.
