She holds up a hand, stretching out one leg to reach into the pocket of her leggings. I didn’t even notice the pockets before. But she holds up a small pocket knife, her eyes droppingin shame, and I realize it wasn’t just a thought. It was an idea. She had the means to do it if she truly wanted to.
“I know I shouldn’t,” she says, and I glance up at her. She holds out the knife to me and I take it, her hand snapping away from mine. “And I don’t think about it. Much. Or often. It just hit me. And although it was a thought, I didn’t want to do that to myself again. But Ithoughtabout it. And it sounded like a good idea. So I used the tracker. I thought if I saw you the urge would go away and it did.”
I toss the knife to the chair across from us and turn, gripping both of her hands. “Never apologize for alerting me that something’s wrong. I’m always here for you, like I promised.”
My fingers reach higher on her arms, running across the scars, and we both look down. She blows out a breath, and I keep doing the same thing. “You don’t have to touch them.”
“I want to touch them,” I correct. “As long as it’s okay with you. They are a part of you. Your scars tell a story, but it’s not one you need to add to.”
She keeps her eyes down. “I hate them. I don’t want to put any more on my skin. It was… a bad judgment call, that’s all.”
“It was a good judgment call,” I argue. “You chose not to. Even if you had the urge, you didn’t go through with it.”
It’s kind of like what’s going on with her and alcohol, but there’s no reason to mention that now. For the moment this is enough to worry about.
When we fall silent, I trace the scars with my finger again. “What made you cut to begin with?”
I feel her tense, but remarkably, she doesn’t pull back. “High school. It was terrible. I didn’t have any really close friends, and I was the weirdo who liked strange things. Teenagers are just awful. My parents weren’t really emotionally there for me, so there was never anyone I felt secure enoughwith to share my thoughts. If I cut, the pain released some of the tension and it eliminated the need to talk. It made things simpler.”
Frowning, I don’t hesitate to lift both of her arms and bring them to my lips. She stops breathing as I kiss one wrist then the other.
“You’re not alone anymore,” I say, meeting her eyes again. “I’ll be your sounding board for anything that’s troubling you. Hurting yourself isn’t the answer, and I don’t want you to feel like it’s the only one there is. You’re not alone in this.”
Her eyes mist, and she moves forward to throw her arms around me and tuck her head against my chest. Her shoulders shake when she takes the next breath, and then she’s crying in my arms.
I lift her without a thought, and she bands her legs around my hips to steady herself. When I kiss her it’s soft, gentle, and the kiss mixes with her tears.
Pulling back, I head towards the stairs. “No more bad thoughts. Not for tonight anyway.”
