Pažiūrėk Pažiūrėk į savo kūną Ar džiaugies?

Ar bijai, kad pamatys tave nuogą? Ką pasakys?

Alanas was used to her sunny, laughing side from their years of friendship at music school, where they took piano lessons together. Her lightness matched his cheerful nature. He saw the world through rose-colored glasses, noticing her hoodies in warmth and thinness but dismissing it as fragility.

After becoming a couple, doubt crept in. He felt anxious, eyeing her sharp collarbones and under-eye bruises she called fatigue. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of his torment. Then peculiarities started. She insisted on intimacy only in the dark—an ultimatum. He thought it normal shyness, perhaps body issues. He didn’t push, assuming her thinness natural, not seeing the self-st@rvation.

In darkness, his touch made her relax fully, trusting him. But brushing her wrist, he felt sc@rs—old ridges and fresh sc@bs. Shocked, he stammered, “What is this? Oh, God…” His voice broke like shattering glass. He reached for the lamp to see, but she panicked like a trapped animal, dressed hastily, and fled, slamming the door.

He texted in pain and confusion: “What the hell is going on?!” Her reply: “I’m not ready to talk. No one knows. I don’t need help.” Weeks of silence followed. Alanas was on edge, flinching at every sound. He quizzed friends Emilia, Lukas, and Jokubas on “girl stuff,” but they offered only sympathy, no advice. — Three months of icy quiet cut deep. He stopped contacting her, living with phantom pain like an amputee.

One rainy autumn evening, a knock. She stood there, ghostly thin, bruised eyes like purple stains. Behind her, stormy night; she its broken core.

They stared eternally. Her eyes held scorched emptiness with a faint spark of her old self. “I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered hoarsely—not sorry, not ready to talk, just at the edge. He let her in silently. She left wet footprints, stopping in the living room, trembling like an aspen leaf.