My eyes widen at his realization and I can do nothing but stare at him for a good minute. My thoughts are whirring past in a blur of mixed up sentences and broken words. He knows. Oh my God, he knows. My mother is going to kill me, Samuel is going to kill me. My father is going to kill me. That last thought causes my heart to start racing. With everything that happened from the time I was little to the court date when I was eleven, a year after mom had kicked him out, I wouldn't put it past him to commit such a crime.
The quickest solution I can come up with is to divert his interest. Maybe if I can get him to focus on another reason why I cut, I won't have to speak about what my father did.
I take a deep breath, while ignoring his question, and ask one of my own. "Harrison, do you have a way to escape from things that are bothering you?" I ask.
His eyebrows knit together for a second, before his expression is calm again. "Yeah, I guess so. But what does that have to do with anything?"
"What's your escape?" I inquire, avoiding his question again.
He pauses for a minute, thinking about the answer he's going to give me. I am still all too aware of the hand he's resting on my arm, wondering about when he's going to move it. I really dislike physical contact.
"Swimming, I guess." He starts slowly. "Being in the water relaxes me; lets me cool down if someone's made me mad. I can get away from my problems, because I force myself to only think about the water."
I nod at him, my mouth turning up into a wry smile. "It's the same for me."
He cocks his head to the side, trying to fathom the answer to his previous question. He looks like a puppy who's learning how to play fetch, and somehow, this thought lightens my mood.
"See," I continue, "I'm not looking for attention. Otherwise, I wouldn't keep everything covered up. I don't like blood... In fact, I hate the sight of it. It's just, the feeling of a blade. The cold metal. The small pinch when it first bites into skin. It's relaxing."
He sucks in a strangled breath, eyes widening. "But... But, it hurts you! Why does hurting yourself relax you? How can that be? It's not possible! Pain doesn't soothe. Pain just...hurts." He finishes the last of the sentence in an almost whisper, and I am taken aback by the intensity of his words.
"It's different for me." I say, letting my dark hair once more make a veil to cover my features.
The quickest solution I can come up with is to divert his interest. Maybe if I can get him to focus on another reason why I cut, I won't have to speak about what my father did.
I take a deep breath, while ignoring his question, and ask one of my own. "Harrison, do you have a way to escape from things that are bothering you?" I ask.
His eyebrows knit together for a second, before his expression is calm again. "Yeah, I guess so. But what does that have to do with anything?"
"What's your escape?" I inquire, avoiding his question again.
He pauses for a minute, thinking about the answer he's going to give me. I am still all too aware of the hand he's resting on my arm, wondering about when he's going to move it. I really dislike physical contact.
"Swimming, I guess." He starts slowly. "Being in the water relaxes me; lets me cool down if someone's made me mad. I can get away from my problems, because I force myself to only think about the water."
I nod at him, my mouth turning up into a wry smile. "It's the same for me."
He cocks his head to the side, trying to fathom the answer to his previous question. He looks like a puppy who's learning how to play fetch, and somehow, this thought lightens my mood.
"See," I continue, "I'm not looking for attention. Otherwise, I wouldn't keep everything covered up. I don't like blood... In fact, I hate the sight of it. It's just, the feeling of a blade. The cold metal. The small pinch when it first bites into skin. It's relaxing."
He sucks in a strangled breath, eyes widening. "But... But, it hurts you! Why does hurting yourself relax you? How can that be? It's not possible! Pain doesn't soothe. Pain just...hurts." He finishes the last of the sentence in an almost whisper, and I am taken aback by the intensity of his words.
"It's different for me." I say, letting my dark hair once more make a veil to cover my features.
