1.8
I roll my wrist around again, cradling it with my other hand that’s still drying from blood.
“Hey,” he murmurs, moving towards me. He takes my wrist from me and holds it gingerly between his fingertips. “Are you okay?”
YOU ARE READING
Fragments
Teen FictionOne bridge. Two guys. Three secrets. Four therapists. Five attempts. Six months. Seven bad habits. Eight family meetings. Nine visits. Ten cuts. One death. Spiritual #4
