I'm a total wreck
"Mitch?" I whispered in his ear. He shook his head. "Mitch?" I repeated.
He turned his head in my direction. His pale face drowning all of the light and color that was usually there. I took the black marker out of my pocket and put my hand on his small arm.
"You don't have to be here. Really. I'm fine, Scott."
I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. I opened the cap. "Just trust me, okay?"
He nodded and looked at me, fear filling his eyes.
I rolled up his sleeve, looking at all of the marks. He winced as I ran my fingers over each scar. "This won't hurt, I promise."
I drew a butterfly in the center of Mitch's wrist.
"Why did you do that?"
I examined each curve the wings made on him. I looked at the way it looked on him. The way I felt about it.
"You have to leave this," I pointed to the butterfly on his wrist, "on until it is completely gone. You cannot scrub it off. Just let it fade naturally."
"So? That doesn't mean anything. It's just a stupid butterfly on my arm. Nothing special."
I shook my head.
"I put it there so you can see it and won't cut. And when it fades away, you'll realize you accomplished something. You went a long time without harming yourself."
"Oh..." He ran his thumb over the drawing, "Thanks."
I pulled him close to my chest.
"No problem."
