Eden

Nine

Lexi had watched as I bandaged my wrists, as I suppose she would do, but now, after I finish, she keeps glancing at my arms as we stand there talking. I wish she wouldn't. I really do. I'm feeling horribly embarrassed about what I did, and hoping to just forget it.

I feel embarrassed, because, well, it was a stupid thing to do. It was a stupid, short-sighted, inane thing to do.

Especially the way I did it, so that now I have holes in my arms, that everyone can see. That just makes me feel stupider.

Having cut wrists really makes me feel silly. It just does. Because honestly, I wouldn't have done what I did if I'd known I was going to survive it. Or not survive it, exactly, but whatever has happened so that I'm here. And I especially wouldn't have if I'd known it would be so obvious, and that I'd be marked by it apparently forever. I mean, assuming my wrists aren't going to get better on their own, which I am at the moment, since they haven't healed up yet.

I think, looking back, that I probably wouldn't have done what I did, if I'd known what was going to happen afterwards. I'd have waited a bit longer to decide, I suppose, and thought a bit more, and then probably not have bothered.

But it's far too late for that now.

*

I look at Lexi, trying to think of something to say, hoping that talking will make her stop staring at my wrists. I'm hoping that, and also, I want to ask her a little more about herself, and try to find out exactly what happened to her, because I'm still wondering about how people end up here, and what they have to have done first.

It seems important to know, although I'm not sure why. I suppose it seems like it might matter, if we meet other people, which we probably will if we go to the city.

I think that's probably why.

I want to ask her about herself, and it seems important that I do. I want to ask, but I don't actually do it for a moment. I seem to be having trouble convincing myself to. Partly because it seems rude to pry, I suppose, since I might be asking about more than she wants to tell me. Partly, I'm being selfish. I really am. I don't want to start questioning her, and then have her start questioning me back.

I mean, I'm assuming she can guess what I did from my wrists, since she's seen them already, before I covered them up. And that means that if she asks me anything, most likely she'll be asking me why, rather than just what happened. And I really don't want to talk about that.

I look at Lexi. I think. I sigh. I don't want to ask her questions, I really don't, but I decide that I have to. Or, at least, I decide I have to try.