Tears, Secrets, and a Razor Blade.

Frank and I arrived at the house in awkward silence. He parked the car, and I went and got the key that was taped inside the mailbox. The door was locked and all the lights were off. Baby. Even my own house creeped me out. It was so empty and lifeless. Family-less. It wasn’t a home; it was just a house. No warm memories of good times. Things weren’t any different at my old house, though. Parents always gone. No one to tell me everything is fine, to hold me during a storm, just to be there. I was brought out of my trance when I heard Frank start talking. “Crap. Someone’s rich…?” Frank sounded like he was trying to ask a question without being impolite. “No, but yeah. My parents are rich, but they rarely give me money.” I said. “or acknowledge my existence.” I mumbled under my breath. Frank shot me a hurt look. I plastered a fake smile on before remembering why he was here. I started going up the stairs to my room, motioning for Frank to follow me.

Once we got in my room and sat on the bed for awhile in a creepy silence waiting for the other to talk first, I finally spoke up. “So, w-what did you need?” I stuttered. Frank replied “I know you already know I’m the one who-erm-saw you. We need to talk about it.” By this time, my face hurt from the heat and pressure of my tense blush. In my stunned state, all I said was “O-Okay. Go ahead.” He seemed so calm and collected, like he had planned out the whole conversation. It seemed very staged, and too serious for it to just be about him seeing me in my panties. “This isn’t about me seeing you in your underwear,” he said confidently “it’s about what I saw on your wrists.”

•Franks P.O.V•

"it’s about what I saw on your wrists." She looked so scared, and it was very clear she had no idea I saw her scars. I looked deep into her eyes, trying to make it clear that I understood, but I got sidetracked. I could tell she was on the verge of tears, and I didn’t know what to do. I reached up and cupped my hand around her face, at which she just let the river of tears roll down. I hope I don’t look creepy. she looked down to her hands embarrassed. They were fiddling nervously on her lap. I tried to speak softly “I need to see them. I need to see your scars.” She looked up at me, still clearly very afraid. “I-I…” She stuttered and stopped, and just looked up to me. I carefully reached for her wrist, lifting it close to my face. I looked to her for the “okay” before I lifted up her sleeve. She nodded. I looked down at all the soft pink slash marks, and the fresher, some still a little bloody, red ones. They were only on her left wrist. Without saying a word, I bent down to kiss her wrist. There weren’t very many, but they spelled out a word. I spoke low and soft, “Why.”

•Char’s P.O.V•

He looked in awe at my wrist. He bent down, kissing my scars. I just met him, but I’ve never felt so safe and trusting. No one knows about my self-harm, but now he does. He spoke quietly, “Why.” It took me a minute to realize he wasn’t asking me a question, but reading the word I had sloppily carved into my body. He looked back up to me. “It looks like you haven’t been cutting for very long…” He said. I thought for a second, trying to decide whether or not to tell him I have more. “N-not exactly..” I mumbled. He looked at me in confusion, then asked “What do you mean?” I looked away from him, ashamed, and said “I don’t usually cut my wrists.” I could feel myself shaking. He laid my hand down on my lap before questioning me. “Where do you cut?” He asked. I didn’t answer. “Why do you cut?” He asked. I didn’t really know the answer to that one. “I-um. .” I could tell he was getting a little frustrated. “I’m don’t really know. I’m so alone. I scare myself sometimes. I-I think I make myself cry. I don’t like my thoughts. I don’t like my body. I don’t like my life.” By then, I had started crying quietly, my lip was quivering, and I was shaking intensely. He sighed and asked “How long have you been cutting?” “S-since I was in sixth grade.” I replied. He had that look of pain on his face again. He swiftly pulled me into a tight hug. I didn’t fight it. His body was warm and comforting. I wrapped my arms around his neck, sobbing. “Shh-shh. It’s okay, darling.” He comforted. I started to say “But-” but Frank interrupted me. “Look, everything is going to be okay.” He started stroking my hair and rubbing my back. I continued to cry. “Now, please, I need to see your scars.” He said. I shivered and replied “I-I cut my thighs…” “I’ll leave while you change into shorts, or whatever.” He said before he slid off the bed and out into the hall. He called from out the door “Tell me when you’re ready.” I sniffled and went and got my old pajama shorts. They were mint green and white pin-stripped. They we’re too small now, barely covering my boy-short underwear. I nervously yelled “O-okay!” Before I heard the door creak open, I sat up with my chin tucked behind my knees, hugging my legs. He came in, sat down beside me, and put his arm around me. I slowly unfolded my my legs, hearing Frank gasp.

•Franks P.O.V•

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This endless battlefield of scars on her skin. A scream for help on every scar, a plea for someone to notice. I placed my hand on her leg, motioning her to lift it up. She leaned back on her arms, lifting her leg high in the air for me to see. Just like her wrist, words were spelled out across.

I slowly started saying them out loud. “Alone”…”Scream”…”Fat”… “Ugly”… The last one hurt me the most, causing me to go into tears stuttering it. “H-help” I stared into her eyes, we were both crying immensely. We were both shaking erratically. We were both speechless. Again, I pulled her into a hug. I didn’t plan on letting go this time. I pulled her onto my lap, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. We sat there for a long time. I had stopped crying. Right now is her time to cry. My neck and tee shirt are soaked from her tears. I continued to just stroke her back. Finally, she said something. “Plea-” she took a big gulp before continuing. “Please promise me you won’t tell anyone about my scars.” She was still shaking. “Will you promise to stop?” I asked in return. She looked down away from my face. “No. I can’t promise that.” she replied. She started crying again. “Shh, it’s okay. I won't tell anyone.” I said to reassure her. I sat my chin on top of her head, still hugging her. She had moved her arms in-between us, not pushing me away, but grasping my shirt. I slowly picked her up and sat her back down on the bed. She had a confused look and started to say “What’re you-” before I interrupted her. “I have to go sometime. I promise I will help you. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll come over tomorrow and we will discuss this.” I leaned over and kissed her on her forehead before saying “So Long, and Goodnight.”

Notes

Okey, third chapter is up. I hope it's okay and doesn't seem to go to fast. Or to slow. I don't even know. Feedback please! ;D