She slammed the door of the toilet cubicle behind her back and took a deep breathe. She was alone, for once. She needed the time alone, just to think, to process the pain. Most people were under the impression that she did not feel pain. They were wrong. She did. She just hid them well. Maybe a little too well. She had been too used to blinking away a tear, setting her lips into a hard line that she had forgotten how to cry. People cry for a reason, to relieve the pain. She pushed back her sleeves slightly, a series of scars decorated her wrist. Those were her ways to relieve the pain.
It was a long and tough day. She was tired, both emotionally and physically. She just wanted to go home, crawl into her own bed and sleep it off but there is work to be done. Gibbs would want her back in the bullpen soon and she knew she was in no shape to work. Unless... she thought as she stared at the knife in her hands. She knew it was wrong. Everyone did. But if it allows me to function, to do my job, why not, she thought. It's just once.
No, I'm stronger than this, the rational part of her brain screamed. It is wrong and I can get through this day without the feeling of pain. She hated herself. It felt as if she was a drug addict craving for one more fix. Gibbs would be wondering where I am if I stayed in here any longer, she thought. Pushing away her internal debate, she took a deep breathe and pressed her knife to her skin.
"Took you long enough," Tony commented as she returned back to her desk. She gave him a death glare to shut him up. Somehow she felt calmer, more in control of the mad mad world around her. She could do her job now. She left wrist was throbbing, she was sure some of the blood had already seeped though the tissue she used as a bandage, but that was not important. She was functional and that's all that it matters.
"Ziva, come," Gibbs ordered after looking at his watch, his tone leaving no room for argument as he made his way into his famous meeting room. Her co workers shot a look that said good luck as she followed her boss.
"Yes?" she asked once he pressed the emergency stop button.
"Why Ziva?" he commanded, though it was more gentle than expected.
"I think the mayo sandwich I had was meaty..." she said.
"Ziva, the word is fishy, but that's not what I'm asking," Gibbs said, his voice firm but not unkind. She looked away. She knew she was busted. Of course she would be. It was Gibbs, he knew everything, she would be a fool if she thought she could hide from him. Her face flushed with embarrassment. She felt weak and judged. She was a special agent and yet she was doing what little teenage girls do. Shame on her.
"Why do you cut, Ziva?" Gibbs asked, his voice surprisingly soft as he lifted her chin to meet her eyes. Silence. He continued, "You know it is bad for you so why do you cut?"
"I don't know Gibbs, I need it to focus, to function, so stop asking me why," Ziva screamed at her boss' face. Half expecting Gibbs to scream back at her, she was surprised when Gibbs just nodded calmly. But he did not break eye contact, as if he was expecting more from her. Taking a deep breath, she continued in a defeated tone, "I'm trying to stop, I really really am. It's just... I don't know..." She trailed off as she struggled to find the right words to describe her intense need to cut.
"I know," Gibbs whispered, pulling her into a hug. It felt good, like how a hug from a father was suppose to feel. It was full of warmth and security. She felt like a kid again, scared but safe.
"It's hard, but I'm trying," she confessed, finally pulling away from the hug reluctantly.
"Good, try harder kid," Gibbs said. He sounded like a father. Not her own father. A real father that she always wished she had. Someone who cared and not judged, someone who understood. Maybe she will be able to stop this time.
