Heavily Wounded

Every day, she puts a smile on her face. It is a truly dazzling smile. Her sapphire eyes shine and her dark hair is a waterfall as she throws her head back and laughs. There is no shame. It echoes down the hall and is music to everyone's ears. She seems to be incredibly happy. Although, if you cared to notice, you would see that she always wears long-sleeves. The eyes that shine turn into dark pools when she is alone. She takes comfort in making herself feel something, anything. She wants to distract herself from the ache in her heart; the ache that never goes away. She does not have anyone to confide in. No one would understand. That was how it was for years. She could never find the courage to save herself. She had dug herself in too deep to get out alone. Until...he came.

She had stood in front of an easel, trying to finish the project her art teacher had assigned. The colors were not blending the way she wanted them to. She was in desperate need of white paint. As she reached up for the bottle on the top shelf, her sleeve slid down. She snatched her hand back and hastily pulled her sleeve into its original position. It was too late. A boy had already caught a glimpse of the angry slashes there. He considered confronting her after class. He decided against it, contemplated again, and so on.

He raked a hand through his golden brown hair. No, he thought. I should just leave her alone...but what if she ends up killing herself? I can't let that happen! But it is her business...but then again, she could die! He jumped at the sound of the bell ringing. Ugh. Get yourself together, Hunter. He rushed to clean up his work station and went after the girl. He looked through the sea of high school students and took a few moments to find her. She had stopped at her locker.

"Hey, Margaret," he said a little out of breath. "I need to talk to you." "About what?" she replied. Her eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment; they had never spoken more than a few words to each other. He looked down to his shoes. He didn't want to just come out and say, "Oh, it's kind of a funny story, really. I saw ..." Ha, no. Instead, he gently poked her wrist and choked out, "I know." Margaret struggled to keep a straight face. Paranoia swept through her while she looked around to see if anyone was listening in. No one paid any attention to the two. "You can't tell anyone," she said firmly in a lowered voice. "I won't, but you need to get help, Margaret." "No!" she regained composure. "I can't. Please, just keep it a secret." She looked at him with big, hopeful eyes. "Please." "Fine, I promise I won't tell." She let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

They stood there for a few seconds, unsure of what to do next. "Oh," Hunter began, "and if you ever-uh-n-need anything? Will you c-call me?" Hunter stuttered. Margaret's lips upturned into a grateful smile, "Sure." "Okay. Good. Well, bye." He started walking backwards towards his next class. "Bye," she said and watched him until he disappeared in the crowd.

During the following months, they grew close to each other. Eventually, they fell head over heels in love. The ache in Margaret's heart vanished. The empty void was filled with Hunter's love and concern. She gave up pain for a while, but one day, she broke.

She heard the yelling through the music from her iPod. Her father's voice boomed as it tried to override her mother's. They always fought, but today, they discussed her. They were battling each other over who would receive custody of Margaret after the divorce. She never had a say in anything. Stop! Stop! Stop it! Their voices reverberated in her mind. She needed something to distract her. Her relapse began.

A piercing sound filled her ears. It took her a few seconds to realize her mother was screaming. The sound faded and she swam into oblivion.

Oh, Meg. No, no, no. Not you. He paced back and forth in the waiting room. Margaret's parents were sitting down, motionless. They were still in shock. Hours passed until the doctor announced that Margaret was perfectly fine and awake. Hunter nearly bounded to the room, but a raspy voice stopped him. Margaret's mother had called his name. "Hunter," she repeated, "are we-are we the reason she--." Her sentence broke into a sob. He looked at them in despair. How can I answer that question? With the truth. Their eyes remained fixed on him. He nodded slightly. "Then we should leave. Please tell her we love her," she said.

After watching them trudge out, he ran to Margaret's room. She lay in bed, looking up, staring at the ceiling. He walked to her side. "Meg," he whispered. She flinched at the sound of his voice. He took her hand in his and kissed it. Thick bandages covered her wrists. He traced his fingers across them tenderly. Her blue eyes met his green. Her face crumpled, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorr-." "Shhh. It's okay." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "It doesn't matter," he gave a weak laugh. "Just as long as you're breathing, okay?" "I'm sorry for being such a weak person," she whispered. "No. You are so strong, Meg," he insisted. "We are going to get you through this. I promise."

"Did you tell them?" she asked. "Well, I didn't exactly have to-" She cut him off, "Did you tell anyone my secret, ever?" She wanted an answer so badly. She needed to know if the first promise he made still rang true. "No. Never," he said. "Good. Because I think it's about time I told them myself." She smiled. It was a genuine smile Hunter knew well.

With that, he kissed her gently on the lips and murmured, "I love you."