Disclaimer: I don't own them. Duh.
A/N: Thanks so very muchly to all you who reviewed! To clear up a few things...yes, this does have similarities to my other story (Blood, Sweat and Tears), but I don't intend for them to be companion pieces...it's just something I like to write about (weird and twisted, I know. But let me put it this way...Writing is my therapy; I write it so I don't do it...) I will see about putting up one of my happier stories, but I tend to not like them as much...though of course, if I put them up, I could get your two cents :)
Please note also, the reference information for the journal is totally made up. JAMA, AEM and Scientific American are real journals, but these are not real articles.
Interrupted
Purposely wound
yourself
Unknowingly hurt
others
Ignore your pain
Deny theirs
Neela quickly stepped toward him. "Seriously, Ray. What's going on?" Then the scalpel on the sink caught her eye. She reached over and picked it up. The thin film of blood made the blade an iridescent crimson. If it weren't blood, she would say it was pretty. She looked up at him. "Ray?"
"Uhhhmmm." Come up with something to say. You don't have to explain it, but you have to say something. "It's— it's ok, really. It looks worse than it is."
"I going to have to say, I don't believe you." She gently pushed him over to the edge of the bathtub. When his calves hit the ceramic, and she kept pushing, it forced him to sit. His shoulders were now at about her chest level and she held the paper towel he was pressing to his chest. He dropped his hand. When she peeled the absorbent material away from his body she noted it didn't stick at all, meaning there was no clotting. She tossed the dirtied paper towel to join the others he had thrown out earlier, and pulled out some supplies from under the sink. She tore open some non stick gauze, knowing it wouldn't be nearly enough, but now at least now it would hurt less to remove the bandage once there was clotting. "How deep are they Ray?"
"They'll be fine, the just have to stop bleeding. They will in about 15 minutes." He took the gauze from her and applied it to his shoulder. Red almost immediately seeped through; she handed him a pile of regular gauze.
"How do you know that?" She went back over to the tub.
"Because I've done it literally at least a thousand times, Neela." Not like when some people say literally, but they don't really mean it. I did it almost everyday for three years, and on and off for two more after that.
"Pardon?" She asked it rhetorically. She had heard him perfectly well. She leaned toward him, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and put her forehead on his. She closed her eyes out of despair and pain for him.
"It's alright, I know it will be fine." She stood back up, but kept her hands around his neck.
"No, it's not alright, Ray!" She was exasperated. Her hands dropped back to her sides. "It's not alright that you know so well what will happen, and it's not alright that you keep doing it!"
"Really, it's just a few cuts, Neela."
"You are out of your mind! 'Just a few cuts' is when you're shuffling paper all day and you get a couple paper cuts. 'Just a few cuts' is what you get when you're trimming flower bushes with thorns. 'Just a few cuts' is not when you do it to yourself with a scalpel!"
I didn't know she cared so much.
"I'm not hurting anyone else by it, it's my own thing." He was getting defensive.
"Ray, me! You're hurting me!" She was incredulous of his blindness to the fact.
"Well, I wouldn't be if you had just minded your own business. You wouldn't know about it." Now anger was starting to replace his defensiveness. "What you don't know won't hurt you."
"You're my roommate, Ray. I would have found out some time."
"I successfully hid it from my roommates for the last 3 years of college." He was back to defensive. "And two years of med-school."
"Well, whatever, now I do know."
"Why is it such a big deal to you anyway?" She stared at him in disbelief. He was now looking down trying to check the status of his wound, but it was just high enough on his chest that he couldn't really see.
"Why is it such a big deal! Ray!" She put her hands around his neck again, and forced him to look up at her. "Because I care about you."
You shouldn't. I'm messy, and inconsiderate, and not anywhere near good enough to be something you care about.
"Yes, sometimes you bug the bloody hell out of me," she continued. "Finding passed out rockers and random groupies around the apartment is irritating. But, if it bothered me that much, do you think I would have stayed here?"
"I— I don't know." Nice comeback, Ray. She exhaled loudly and shook her head, confused and irritated that he didn't seem to get what she was saying. She dropped her hands again. She turned on the tap water, quickly checking the temperature before wetting some of the gauze she had pulled out.
"Get up." He could sense no emotion in her voice. She didn't sound angry with him anymore, or sad. He stood. He immediately sat back down, put his hand on the edge of the tub next to him and closed his eyes for a few seconds.
"Head rush" he stated sheepishly. That got an ever so small smile of pity out of her. He stood up more slowly.
He continued to hold the gauze as a makeshift bandage against his own chest, and she wiped up the trails of blood down his torso. In his hasty attempt at clean up, he hadn't done a very thorough job. She started just below the material he was holding and slowly moved her way down. She had to apply some pressure and let the roughness of the gauze scrub off the now-dried blood. After every few inches she threw away the gauze that had turned a sickening shade of deep red and got a new piece. Water, squeezed from the gauze in her hand dripped down, imitating of the liquid she was presently removing. Though it was warm when it came from the tap, the water cooled quickly and it gave him goose bumps as the cold rivers flowed down. By the time she got to where his skin was clean, she noticed that enough water had trickled down his front carrying with it red color, that the top of his jeans were wet and a light pink hue.
"Sorry." He shrugged, and quickly realized that was a mistake, the movement twisting the injured skin. He sat back down. She started assessing the damage and he dropped his hand, not needing to hold the temporary bandage any longer. She was able to remove the absorbent material without breaking any clotting, and the bleeding appeared to have slowed significantly, if not stopped completely. She tossed this gauze in the garbage too. Now very gently she slowly wiped clean the skin around the cuts themselves. This was when she noticed the other four parallel slashes. She traced them, silently seeking an explanation that she knew he wouldn't give, before she continued. She concentrated intently on what she was doing. His gaze was focused on the floor. Once the area was mostly cleaned up she tore open a few alcohol pads. Starting at the bottom older cuts she moved up. She saw the scars of the other three cuts that he had not yet reopened. She again traced them with her finger, her actions begging questions that she knew would go unanswered. She reached the new lacerations.
"Ow, shit!" The pain made him react faster than he could stop himself.
"Sorry." She touched them gingerly. He cringed slightly, but allowed her to continue. He shrugged again, this time though, only with his right shoulder. She stepped back and leaned against the sink wondering how best to deal with the situation. The cuts weren't deep enough to need stitches, but a regular band aid wouldn't really be enough. Plus, she thought, she'd never seen a band aid big enough to cover that large an area. She decided to just tape it up. Once again she reached under the sink, this time pulling out a roll of silk surgical tape. He shook his head.
"No, just leave 'em."
"What? That's stupid, you know that."
"Like I said before, Neela, I know how this goes. I'll leave them open to air out and go watch TV or something." When he used that tone of voice she knew it was pointless arguing with him. He went into his room to change. She walked in the opposite direction and fell into the couch. She turned the TV on and started flipping through the channels. Not finding anything of interest she willed herself to get up and figure out something to do.
Aftermath
Pain is temporary
Scars are forever
But they are
eternally entwined.
Scars are the
foot prints of pain
Everlasting
evidence that can't be erased.
"Hey, Ray? I am going out, is there anything you need at the store?" He came out of his room.
"You're leaving?" There was a hint of sadness in his voice.
"Yeah, I was going to…the apartment is stuffy, and it kind of sounded like you wanted to be alone anyway."
"Oh. No, not really," he replied, disappointed.
"You want me to stay?"
"Would you?"
"Yeah, sure, I guess so." She saw his eyes light up ever so slightly. He started walking over to the couch. "There's nothing on TV." He stopped walking.
"Hmm." Standing in the middle of the room, he looked like a lost little boy.
"I have a several back issues of journals…I haven't been keeping up lately. I guess I'll try to make some headway with that," she said, mostly to herself. She went to her room to retrieve the stack of issues of JAMA and Annals of Emergency Medicine. There were a few Scientific American's thrown in the pile too.
"That sounds like loads of fun." He rolled his eyes, then noticed he was talking to himself, she was already out of earshot.
"What did you say?" She came out of her room, with her stack of publications.
"Nothing." He still hadn't decided what he was going to do, and thus hadn't moved from his spot in the center of the room. She dropped the load in her arms on the floor with a loud thud and sat down leaning up against the wall. "You know we have a couch?"
"It's too hot to sit on the couch." She started flipping through the top journal. He came over and lay next to her on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, careful to avoid moving the injured skin as much as possible. He read over her shoulder. "Ray."
"Hmm?" He tried to make it look like he was concentrating. Really, he just liked bugging her. She's cute when she gets mad.
"You're acting like my little brother." She really was trying to concentrate.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"I'm just saying you're acting childish." He moved a little, so he was no longer reading over her shoulder.
"Just keeping your life interesting…" She looked over at him and smiled.
"Gee, thanks," she answered sarcastically. He took the next journal off the top of the pile, and started thumbing through it.
For a little while they each remained where they were, slowly flipping through the pages. Every once in a while she found an article that caught her particular field of interest and would rip it out. She tossed the pages she was finished with on Ray's back. If he was going to act like a child, she decided, he would get the same attitude in return. Every time he felt more weight added to his back he looked up did his best to glare at her without laughing.
She paused and looked like she was reading another article, but really she was watching Ray as he thumbed though the journal in front of him. Now and then he would stop long enough to read an abstract, but he was tired and not in an academic type of mood. He turned the page, and she saw his jaw tighten. He flipped the issue shut and abruptly got up, the other journals falling off his back as he stood. The one on the bottom of the pile stuck to his skin from the heat and humidity and he ripped it off before making his way swiftly to his room. She heard the springs as he flopped onto his bed.
That was weird, she thought. She leaned over to pick up the issue he had been reading. Opening it to the table of contents she quickly skimmed down hoping something might catch her eye to clue her in as to why he left so quickly.
How children…
…and the BRCA1
gene in…
How malpractice
is affecting…
…during
pregnancy…
…self-injury in
men…
American obesity
rates…her eyes stopped and moved back up a line, this
time reading the whole entry.
Rise of self-injury in men, 1999-2005. Marcs J, Dell P, Connors L, Gupta S, Sarte J. p. 1686.
She quickly flipped to page 1686, and skimmed the page, picking up the words and phrases that must have caught his eye too. Self-injury…men…single…late 20s…generation X…knife…blade…hurt…die…not suicide…desiring pain…
"Ray?" she knocked on his door. Standing on the other side of the door from him, worried, for the second time that day, she hoped he would talk to her.
"I'll be out in a few minutes."
"Are you ok?"
"I said I'd be out in a few minutes!" he snapped back.
"Ok." She paused deciding whether to wait for him, or resume her reading. Eventually, she chose reading, but sitting back down surrounded by torn up journals, she found herself watching his door instead.
A few more things... (1) I don't actually know if there is currently a rise in instances of self-injury in men. (2) Self-injury is not the same as suicide, an important concept that a lot of people don't get. (Self-injury is a type of self-harm, which also includes binge drinking, eating disorders, etc.)
What'd ya think? Lemme know...good, bad, whatever!
