"Why are you doing this?" My best friend demanded. I cringed at her harsh tone. She waited for my reply; the hall was dark no one would be interrupting us. I tried to draw my arms back not wanting to tell, but she wouldn't let me. She gripped my wrist tightly holding them between us. It was easy to see why she was careful about the underside of my arms. The soft pale skin was laced with white scars. Fresh bandages hid the angry red ones. I couldn't look away. I couldn't hide them either.
"You have family and friends that care. You're doing great in school." She persisted "I know you aren't seeking attention, because you hide you presence, because you haven't told anyone." She wouldn't let me pull away, pretend that it was nothing.
"Why?" She asked again, softer this time.
"Because love hurts!" I blurted out yanking my arms from her grasp and cradling them against my chest. "Because it hurts." My voice dropped to a whisper tears streaming down my face. "My thoughts are so lost and broken that the mental trauma becomes physical. My chest aches as my heart clenches and lungs squeeze. My throat is raw from sobs that I've choked down, tears shed or not. My stomach is in a constant turmoil of back flips and butterflies. I can't eat because the thought of adding food to the equation in nauseating and later there are sharp pains as it begs for substance." I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around myself trying to contain the tremors that made me shake. She opened her mouth to say something, but I wasn't done. Now that I started I wouldn't stop and the words tumbled from my mouth.
"My hands, they're numb one moment, pins and needles the next, itching to touch, caresses. My face is frozen in a smile, but it's fake and no one notices; no one.
"It's too much, It's too confusing, but the cuts. They're a reason. They're a reason for the pain when there aren't any bruises. They're a reason for being short a breath when sitting in a room. They're the reason for trembling when it's not cold. They're a direct reason, no searching and searching. It's calming to have an easy answer." My friend wrapped her arms around me. She rubbed my back. She whispered soft nothings, but it was nothing to me. The words didn't meant nothing. The gentle motion meant nothing. The warmth meant nothing.
"Who is it?" She asked finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"They're everything to me; the reason to smile, to hide the pain, to choke down food, to cry dry tears. They're the warmth, the comfort, the sense of belonging I reach for. Still I'm cold, clammy, shunned when I can't reach.
"I dream of them. Wonderful dreams where it all turns out, Nightmares where everything ends. I wake happy, ready to say the truth some nights, but most of the times I wake in cold sweat knowing that I never can." Footsteps echoed down the hall. My best friends looked up, but I didn't care. Words still fell from my lips.
She had been ready to tell me off but stopped recognizing me. I was the only one who knew our friends as well as she did. She let me walk down the hall and kneel next to them.
"And sometimes I hear him whisper words that can't be true; soft words, loving words, words that I cling to despite it being an illusion."
I gathered my friend into my arms as a sob wracked their seemingly frail frame.
"There are points where I'm lost, so lost that I can see them, hear them, smell them, but for all that I try, I can't feel them. I reach out and there's something, always something blocking me from them."
"And now?" I asked gently. I tilted my friend's head so our eyes could meet. Pain shot through my chest when I saw how broken the heart behind their eyes was. "And now?"
I reached up towards them wary that it was only an illusion. My hand stopped millimeters from their cheek unable to go further. They tilted his head and nuzzled his cheek into my pal. My heart skipped and beat and I cave in to the sudden desire to see if it's real, to see if the pain will finally cease. Hands roamed trailing across their arms, shoulders, through their hair, over their face; constantly moving unable to stay still; until they caught my hands in their own and brought them to their lips. My heart soared as they brushed over my hands kissing them lightly.
"Please, it hurts when you cry." They whispered their tone sincere, heavy with emotion. I clung to them the tears heavier, the sobs louder, but the pain was fading. They rubbed my back in soothing circles calming me down as my hands stopped tingling, as my stomach settled, as I breathed freely, as my heart no longer screamed that it hurt. They leaned their head on fine whispering sweet words that were nonsense yet said everything. As I drifted into sleep as I felt a gentle kiss being placed on my forehead and my lips twitched into a small smile. Somehow I knew that when I woke it wasn't going to have been a dream.
A/N - If I made you cry I'd say I'm sorry, but that was my goal so I'm not. I'm thinking about uploading a sister story from the point of view of the person in Italics. I'd like you opinion on this.