Excerpts From The Book I'll Never Write

#11

Her fingers lightly traced over her left wrist. The skin was soft, like the rest of her.
"You know," she said with a laugh. "There use to be scars there."
"I know." He said. They had, had this conversation many moons ago, the first night they'd spent together. "I'm glad there's not."
There was a silence that felt heavy on his shoulders because he knew it was heavy on her heart.
"Sometimes," her fingers were no longer Tracy her skin. "I wish I would've pressed a little harder. Not because I wanted to die, but because when I tell people I use to cut, they look at my wrists."
He kissed her forehead. "It's none of their business, you know."
"I know." She nods. "I just wish I could show people where I used to be, compared to where I am now."