Cut

You cap your pen. “Dannielle.” you say. I stare out the window, counting all the cars that drive by. One, two, three, four.. “Dannielle” your voice rattles my brain. Three, four.. I lose count. I tug my sleeves further down on my wrist and wrap the hem neatly around my thumb. There's a silence in the room that cuts deeper than my knife. You exhale. “Show me..” You tap me on the shoulder. I blink, had I missed something? “Your scars Dannielle...show me” you say as you tap your pen on the file on your lap. The file reads: “BAKER, DANNIELLE L.” I shake my head and you crease your brow. I watch as tiny wrinkles come along your forehead, like perfect little crevices. I go back to counting. One, two, three, four, five, six... Your face turns red. “Dannielle.” You're so close to me it seems like you're yelling. I shake my head. “N...no” the words fall out, my voice cracks. I glance around the room, wishing I'd never said that. I read a sign on the wall. “Sheryl C. Crystal Pointe Therapy Ward” it says. You bite your lip and reach for my sleeve. My eyes widened. You pulled down my sleeve to reveal many deep scars. Your mouth opens in a neat little part. “Why...do you do this to yourself hun?” your words come out like sugar. So sweet, its hard to take them lightly. “I...” my voice shakes and my palms gets sweaty. My feet tingle and I feel my legs start to shake as I bite my lip. I hold my legs to get them to stop shaking. Its no use. “I hate myself!” I scream and tears come flooding down my face. You hand me a tissue and grab my hand. Your hands are warm. You squeeze my hand and sigh. “Its okay hun..” you say “I want to help you through this, because I know you don't want to be here..” I look up and sniff. I cough and you sit up straight. I take a deep breath. “I..I want to move.” I say. “And..I had the chance..today.” I feel like arrows are being pulled out of me, like relief. “If I wouldn't have broke down. If I wouldn't have cut...” tears start to come but I clench my eyes shut for a second. You sigh again and stare at the clock. You cap your pen and close my file, an empty piece of paper lays there. Our time was up 5 minutes ago.

“So, how did it go?” Ruth's voice echos through my mind. I stare at the ground and trace a circle pattern on the couch. “Dannielle...” I trace the pattern over and over again. My blood stained finger running over the plush brown fabric. “I..uh..” I stutter, I'm at a loss for words. “Well?” You look into my eyes, I hesitate, but look into yours. They're a beautiful ice blue. “Fine.” I say hastily. “Are you okay..?” Ruth asks. I nod. “Okay..” she says, handing me a box of butterfly strips. I look at her, puzzled. “Your arm.” she says. I say nothing. “Just in case.” she smiles and I walk out of the doors.

That next morning, I woke up tired. I yawn and pull myself out of bed. Anger floods my veins and I wonder why I'm angry all of a sudden. My eyes come to the box of butterfly strips. Once. I think. I know we're not allowed to have anything sharp, but I came prepared. I pull out a key from my back pocket. Derrick. I think, but I shake him from my mind. I sit down, and stare at my arm. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. No. I think. I stand up and shove the key into my pocket once again. I managed to pull on a pair of skinny jeans and a jersey. Jared. I shake him from my mind as well. Dannielle, what are you doing? I think to myself. “I don't know.” I answer aloud. I slap my hand over my mouth and looked around the room, like someone had heard. I forgot I was alone. I wish I had someone. I think. Steven comes to mind, I let the thought peacefully linger in my head, making a smile cross my face. I tie my hair up in a neat bun, little strands of messy gold hair falling to my shoulders. I shrug and slip on my shoes. I smile knowing that it's okay. I stare at the laptop at the foot of my bed. I look at the clock, I have 10 minutes before I have to go. I turn on my laptop and sign into skype. I jump as the phone rings down the hall, I listen. One ring, two rings, three rings, four rings.. The ringing stops as it's answered by an invisible voice. 8 Minutes. I talk for a few and nothing changes, my mood, my smile, nothing. I look at the clock. I'm late. I pace down the hall, staring at the wallpaper on the walls, counting as I walk by. Tan, white, tan, white, tan, white. The stripes give me a headache so I stare at my feet while I walk. I want to go home, but I cant. Where is my home..? I wonder.