a cut above all the rest

I know.

I'm moving down the street towards my car. My sleeves rolled up on this summer day that adds to my list of reasons of why I hate the world.

I hear my name called from across the street. I recognised the voice. How could I forget it?

I keep my head down and fasten my pace as if my name wasn't called until I feel a light but determined grip on my left wrist that manages to swing me around.
I watch his hands adjust to softly holding my hands. Anything to avoid eye contact.

"hey?" His voice is as soft as his hands. As if he's afraid of breaking me... again.

I breathe and bring my head up to face his. My hands still in his.
I give a slight smile: no teeth but an attempt to signal that I'm fine. Even though I'm not.

"I called. Multiple times." His voice is still soft.

"I know." I'm quiet and hesitant.
Maybe I am still frightened.

He takes a deep breath and stares down at my hands still held within his. His breath is cut short as he runs his thumb along the scars running horizontally across my wrist.
His eyebrows downturn in concentration before staring into my eyes unchanging his facial expression. He looks confused but soon softens his eyes to almost match the fear in mine. Almost.

He pauses refusing to blink the water out of his eyes.
"Please. Don't."

I look down at my wrists for a moment and then back up at him.
"So it's okay for you to hurt me but I can't hurt myself?"

My tone was sempiternal. As was my walk in the opposite direction.