The Rehab Triangle

Chapter 11: Splinters

Valerie was gone.

Not gone like missing. Gone like absent. Like her body was still sitting there, legs crossed, hoodie pulled over her head, but her mind had left the room. I noticed it halfway through Mr. Haller’s group session. Her eyes were locked on something far away — not a person, not a spot on the wall. Just… nowhere.

She’d been like this all morning. Quieter than usual. Her comebacks, normally sharp as broken glass, were dull or missing entirely. I knew why. Last night, she let herself get vulnerable. She told me about Caleb — not everything, but enough. Enough to see the cracks she spent so much time hiding.

This was the fallout. The pullback after you show too much. I knew that move too well.

“Valerie,” Mr. Haller’s voice sliced through the air, sharp but steady. It wasn’t a yell. He never yelled. Didn’t have to. His voice had this weight that forced you to listen. “Care to share your thoughts on what we’ve been discussing?”

All heads turned to her. Mine included.

Her eyes blinked slowly, like she’d been yanked out of sleep. For a second, she looked confused. Not lost, just… disoriented. Her fingers found the strings of her hoodie, twisting them tight.

“Pass,” she muttered, her voice flat as concrete. She leaned back, sinking into the chair like she could disappear if she sat low enough.

Mr. Haller didn’t flinch. “That’s not how this works,” he said, folding his hands in front of him like a chess player about to make his next move. “We’re talking about control today. Letting go of what we can’t control and focusing on what we can. Ring any bells?”

Valerie huffed a short, hollow laugh. “Yeah. Sounds like a bad fortune cookie.”

A few people snickered. Not me. I saw it — the storm brewing behind her eyes, the one she was trying so hard to keep in check. Her fingers pulled at the hem of her hoodie sleeve, back and forth, back and forth, like she was unraveling herself one thread at a time.

“You’ve been quiet all week, Valerie,” Mr. Haller said, his eyes steady on hers. “That’s not like you.”

Her fingers kept moving, back and forth, back and forth. Her face didn’t move at all.

“People change,” she said, her voice brittle but sharp.

“Not overnight,” Mr. Haller shot back, his gaze as firm as his tone. “What’s really going on?”

Silence. Thick and sticky. The kind that fills every space it touches. People shifted in their seats, tapping their shoes, scratching their arms — anything to break the weight of it. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, watching her like she was a puzzle I could solve if I just looked hard enough.

Come on, Val. I said to myself

Her jaw tightened, her eyes still on the floor. When she spoke, her voice wasn’t sharp anymore. Just quiet. Raw.

“I’m just tired, Haller,” she muttered, and I swear I felt those words in my chest. “Can’t I be tired?”

“Yeah, you can be tired,” Mr. Haller said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees like he was trying to meet her at eye level. “But don’t lie to yourself about what’s making you that way.”

Her jaw stayed tight. No comeback. No snark. Just silence.

“Alright,” Mr. Haller said, clapping his hands once, loud and sharp. “Five-minute break. Get water. Stretch. Move.”

Chairs scraped back. People shuffled toward the door. Valerie didn’t move. Neither did I.

I watched her from across the circle, jaw tight. She just sat there, eyes on the same spot on the floor. Her fingers moved slowly, twisting the hoodie string in and out, in and out.

Get up, Val. Get up and move, I said to myself again

But she didn’t.

I stood before I could think too hard about it, crossed the room, and dropped into the chair next to her. I didn’t say anything right away. Just tapped my fingers on my knee, matching the rhythm of her hoodie-string routine. Her eyes stayed down.

“Your whole ‘silent brooding’ act is stepping on my brand,” I muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

Her lip twitched. Barely.

“Yours is more ‘stoic and tortured,’” she muttered back, not looking at me. “Mine’s ‘beautiful disaster.’”

“Catchy,” I said. “You should trademark it.”

“Maybe I will,” she said, still not looking at me.

Quiet again. Not the thick, heavy kind. Just… quiet.

“You alright?” I asked, eyes still on the wall in front of us.

“Define ‘alright,’” she muttered.

I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling slow. She wasn’t wrong. “Alright” was relative. For people like us, it meant “functional” on a good day.

“What’s eating you, Val?” I asked, voice lower this time. No edge. Just quiet curiosity.

Her fingers tugged at a loose thread on her hoodie, back and forth, back and forth. No answer.

I knew that move. I’d done it a thousand times. Find something small to pick at because it’s easier than picking at yourself.

“If you’re waiting for it to go away on its own,” I said, still looking ahead, “it won’t.”

Her fingers stopped. For a second, I thought maybe, just maybe, she’d say something real. But then her fingers started moving again, and she shook her head.

“Not everything needs fixing, Eric,” she said, finally looking up at me. Her green eyes were sharp, locked on mine like she was daring me to argue. “Stop trying to be a hero.”

I leaned forward, turning toward her fully this time. If she wanted to do this, fine. We’d do it.

“Stop acting like you don’t need one.”

Her face didn’t crack, but something flickered behind her eyes. It was quick, like the moment before lightning strikes, when you feel it more than you see it. Her fingers tugged harder on the thread, like she could rip it free if she just tried hard enough.

“I already said too much,” she muttered, her voice tight, clipped. “Last night was a mistake.”

I clenched my jaw. I’d been expecting it, but hearing it still felt like a gut punch.

“No, it wasn’t,” I said, my voice low but firm. “You were honest. That’s not a mistake.”

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. She shook her head, looking down at her lap. “Honest just makes you a target.”

I leaned back, letting that sit for a second. “Maybe,” I said. “But it also makes you human.”

Her eyes snapped to mine, like she wasn’t expecting that answer. She didn’t look away this time. We just sat there, staring at each other like two people standing on opposite sides of a bridge, both wondering who’d cross first.

The bell rang, loud and jarring. People started filing back in, their footsteps filling the air with noise. Valerie stood up without a word, tugged her hood over her head, and shoved her hands deep in her pockets. She walked toward the door, slow but certain. Not like she was running. Like she was done.

I watched her go, jaw tight, thoughts louder than they had any right to be.

One of us is going to break, I thought.

And it’s not going to be me.