Novel & Cerita Emotional Closet

“Yes, we are monsters! There is no room to be anything other than. I knew it was a mistake to allow you to work with us. I told you over and over again that the work we do is different from what you are used to. We are not the good guys and we are not trying to save anybody. We are working in our own interest. If you can’t handle it, then I won’t let you keep working with us. I will do everything to protect my organization, my people, and my family. Nothing is ever going to make me compromise that.” She shook her head at me and then she stormed out. It was a mistake ever allowing her to be involved, she was too emotional and around here, emotions are a liability. I was also scared that the m

Is it the closeness itself that frightens you, or the person the closeness makes you? He said it carefully, the way he said things he had been thinking about for a while. Because I have been watching you for five years and the closeness has not broken you. The closeness with me, the closeness with your clients in the work, the closeness you have allowed with Marcus and with Priya and with your family. He paused. You are not afraid of closeness. You are afraid of what you will find in yourself when the closeness is complete. The

I lay back against the sheets, fold my arms over my eyes, and pull in a faint breath. Sofia's words don't make me feel good. Not any better than I had when she'd started spilling her guts into the toilet bowl. I don't feel much of anything. Not fear, not anger, not happiness. Nothing. I feel as though I'm locked away in a bubble, and it's keeping away the emotions, preventing the fear lapping at the edges of my consciousness from making its way in. The shower starts running, and I get off the bed, walking over to the closet where I find myself something to wear. My chest feels as though it's full. Tight and heavy.

The pig who had hired a mafia family needed a humility cure. I don't know how I started to cry in silence, and how that turned into loud crying. I was falling apart emotionally and I didn't like it at all. I used to be the stronghold of my group of friends and I was starting to act like a crybaby. It had never been like this. I only had a slip like this when my first boyfriend left me. After that I vowed not to cry for a man anymore and here I was years later, crying in a closet. Beautiful.

"No, this is when you're honest with me, and tell me what in the hell this is." "I'm fucked up." He grips his hair in his fingers, spreading his arms out, trying to get his lungs to expand. "I have nightmares sometimes, but honestly they're more like memories that I can't escape." He turns from me, as I wrap my arms around my body. "Stuff that happened to me when I was younger. I get claustrophobic, half the damn time I sleep outside on the deck, just so I can see the sky. It lets me know nothing can keep me from leaving. I was locked in a closet once," he admits softly. "Tried to get out and couldn't. I was in there for days, with nothing to eat or drink. Since then, I hate to be in a place

“let it go.” But anytime I tried to talk—to voice the complex, agonizing mix of grief, relief, and guilt that churned inside me—he’d dodge it like a practiced matador. He’d switch the subject, lean into me, and act like forced closeness, like sex, could somehow magically plaster over everything broken between us. He thought physical intimacy was the superficial cure for my deep emotional wound. But afterward, I always felt emptier—like he wasn't offering comfort, but actively drawing warmth and validation from me to soothe his own guilt. His closeness was selfish, a transactional exchange where my submission was the currency.

I cocked my head to the side as I turned to look at him, his hand stayed still as it now sat on my hip from me moving. "You've seen more than this one?" When it hit me that he was in my closet, had he noticed them, seen them? They are how I remember my mother, how I feel close to her when I miss her, they're private for me, filled with more emotions than I know how to express out loud without a brush in my hand. I could tell he felt nervous now, like he slipped up with mentioning it, not wanting to pry. "My closet right? You saw them in there?"

The cold marble floor of the walk-in closet pressed against my knees, but I barely felt it. The tears came in hot, heavy waves, not the quiet, muffled sobs I had perfected over years of crying into my pillow while Adrian pretended not to hear me, but a full, chest-heaving release. Every ounce of suppressed terror, every insult, every morning spent feeling like a ghost in my own marriage dissolved into the fabric of the cashmere sweater I clutched to my chest.

The lights came on and the 8 feet long walk in closet was not illuminated, displaying my many outfits and shoes, bags, jewelry and everything else a rich girl is supposed to have inside her closet. "Because you're always so calm and collected, always speaking in monotones, you speak very intelligently, so you must be some sort of secret agent"Emilio says walking into my closet and finding the dress racks. "Excuse me for being well educated and only speaking when I feel the need"I retort crossing my arms over my chest.

She had managed to go through the day without eating and it was telling on her. Deep inside, Emma felt the need to cry but being one who preferred to lock up her emotions, she kept them in. She didn't want to give her enemies the joy of seeing her break down. She refused to let herself fall even if it was in her closet. She reckoned there wasn't any part of her life that she was fortunate to manage without the input of anyone except her true emotions. With Colton, she had tried to grant him asses but due to his busy state, she never got around doing it or even feeling comfortable enough to do it.