Chrissy stood against the wall with her eyes still clamped shut. Monica waited until she was sure Jessica was gone, and she went over to where Chrissy was standing. Chrissy was shaking and Monica put her hands on the young girl's shoulders. Chrissy opened her eyes slowly, and looked up at her friend. She exhaled, as if she'd been holding her breath.
"Are you alright, little one?" Monica asked. Chrissy looked at the front door and sighed.
"I have to clean up this mess before she comes home." She said, as she ran to get the broom from the broom closet. Monica decided to help, so she began to clear the kitchen table.
"Monica, don't. That's my job." Chrissy said, as she began sweeping up the broken pieces of glass on the floor.
"I don't mind Chrissy." Monica said with a smile. Chrissy nodded, with the smallest smile.
So the two tidied up the kitchen together. Chrissy didn't talk though, despite the fact that Jessica had left. She seemed distracted, Monica thought, almost in the same way she did at school that afternoon. Monica feared that Chrissy wanted to cut herself again, like she did that afternoon, but knew she couldn't ask or talk to Chrissy about it because as far as Chrissy knew, Monica was unaware of the cutting.
Chrissy put away the last plate and surveyed the kitchen. She saw that everything was clean, so she put the towel back on the towel rack.
"Well that didn't take long did it? Now we have the whole evening to ourselves. Would you like to play a game of cards?" Monica asked, but Chrissy didn't look up. She only shook her head.
"No thanks. I-I just need to go to my room for a while." Chrissy seemed determined and Monica had a bad feeling.
"Do you need to talk Chrissy?" Monica asked, hoping to stop her but Chrissy only shook her head and began walking upstairs. Monica wanted so desperately to take Chrissy's arm and pull her back, but knew she couldn't. She had been told earlier by Tess not to intervene, but this didn't seem right. Monica had to do something.
She made her way to the staircase and went upstairs slowly. Being a friend is not intervening. She told herself as she approached Chrissy's room. She knocked on the door quietly, yet heard nothing on the other side. She tried again but could only slightly hear muffled sobs. She hated to intrude, but she opened the door and walked inside just in time to see Chrissy sitting on her bed, holding a razor blade in her hand while blood trickled from her wrist. Chrissy dropped the blade quickly when she saw Monica, and she covered her wrist with her other hand. Wide-eyed, she stared at Monica, struggling for the right words.
Monica was having the same problem.