Dan touched my arm and I yelped. Phil cringed at the sound.
"Dan, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing…"
"Okay…" He said. But everything was wrong. Because I had just cut and I didn't want him to find out. Every time he touched my arm, I felt a searing pain. Only I couldn't tell him that. So I had to deal. He grabbed my arm again to pull me along, and this yelp was louder than before.
"Okay, Dan, seriously. Did you hurt yourself?" He asked, letting go of my arm in reflex. I didn't say anything. "Dan, I asked you a question." He grabbed my hand and began to lift my sweater sleeve up. I yanked my arm away.
"Don't." I said.
"Why not?" He asked, trying again.
"You'll regret it."
"I don't care." He held my hand in his and lifted my sleeve up. I couldn't watch, so I turned my head away. But I knew what was underneath. My arm was gushing blood from my recent cut and was oozing all over the place. I had cuts up and down, from the top of my shoulder to the bottom of my wrist.
"Dan, show me your other arm." He said calmly. I breathed heavily and looked at him, holding out my left arm to him. It was just the same, except I hadn't cut on that one for a while, so there was no oozing blood. He quietly and collectedly got up and went into the kitchen, and then his bathroom. He returned with a bowl of water, a towel, an ointment, and some bandages.
"Phil, I don't want your help." I commended, starting to walk away.
"Sit down!" He commanded forcefully. I obeyed.
"This might sting a bit." He dipped the towel in water and pressed it against my right arm.
"Holy mother of-God that smarts!" I exclaimed, trying to pull it away. He was too strong.
"How long have you been doing this?" He asked.
I breathed heavily. "Since I was eighteen."
"Why didn't you tell me? Or anyone, for that matter."
"Didn't want anyone's pity."
"Well, it's a little late for that." He said. He dipped the towel in water again and set back to work cleaning my wound. He looked up at me and really started. "Dan, what's going on?"
"Nothing, i'm good."
"Shut up and spill." He said.
"I can't do both at the same time." I responded pointedly. He glared at me.
"You know what I meant." I sighed, not wanting to give myself away just yet. He grabbed a new towel and set it back on my arm with fresh water. I screamed, and he hummed a melody. I listened closely, grateful for a distraction. It sounded like Taylor Swift.
"Taylor Swift? Really?" I asked. He shrugged, singing the lyrics.
"You'll be all right. No one can hurt you now. Come morning light. You and i'll be safe and sound…"
The song was mesmerizing when he sang it. He had a deep, gravely voice that made me think of him as a bass singer. I understood why he chose to sing that song. He was trying to calm me down and talk to me at the same time. When he finished cleaning, I had barely felt any pain. I was surprised; whenever I did it myself, there was always pain. Maybe I just needed a distraction. He put some neosporin on my recent cut and bandaged it. I didn't think there was enough bandages in the world for all of my other ones, so I told him to forget it. He just shrugged and looked at me. He remained surprisingly calm. Until he took one look at the bloody towel in his hand and started crying. It was drenched; there wasn't a splash of white. And there were two of them.
"Phil…" I hugged him and let him cry over my shoulder. I felt guilty for making him cry. I didn't want to be the reason he was sad. He was my little ray of sunshine.
"Dan, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Nothing's wrong. Shh…" I said, trying to wipe his tears away.
"Clearly something is." He said, gesturing towards the towels and swatting my hand away.
"I just...lots of things are. It would take like an hour to list everything that was wrong with me." I admitted.
He sniffled and wiped his arm across his eyes. "I've got all night." I sighed.