Oliver moved as Adrian crumbled, catching the beefy young man under his arms before he cracked his skull on the floor.

Ned poked his head in the door. "What the hell? One minute he's up and talking and then he's down for the count."

"I'd say he fainted." He added, "Move you two, this office's too small to lay him down."

"No shit, you think?" But Ned stepped backward, running into Riley, nearly knocking the man down. "Sorry."

"Not a problem. I'm steadier than you would think. He's big to be under eighteen . You need help?"

"Sure grab an arm, he must weigh well over 250."

Riley moved and together they drug him out into the locker room and gently lowered him to the floor.

"Just what did you say to him set him off?" Riley got a towel from the stack and wet it in the sink.

"I asked him to take his shirt off, and he panicked and went down."

"Why would you do that?"

He met the man's green eyes. "Because I've noted more than once he smells like flesh blood, and he's refused to take his shirt off twice today. And both times he looked panicked. Kid's clearly hiding something."

Ned pulled his phone out. "Fresh blood? I thought you said he fainted. You want me to call 911?"

Shaking his head, he frowned, looking at the fallen teen. "Let's give him a minute. Most people that faint don't stay out very long."

"I'm not going to asked how you know that." Riley handed him the wet towel.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

Riley shrugged. "Hell, I don't know. I'm a shrink not a medical doctor. It's something to do. Put it on his forehead or something."

"You sure you don't want me to call 911?" Ned's thumb posed, ready to dial.

"NO." He shook his head. "I've got enough of my team in the hospital already. And I don't believe he's in danger. But what I want to know is why he doesn't want to take his shirt off. What's he hiding?"

Reaching, he started to lift Adrian's green t-shirt and Riley said, "Wait, can you legally do that? The boy's unconscious, and he's verbally told you no. I'm thinking this is a bad idea. Ned, what do you think?"

The man frowned hard. "Hmm, not sure that one's ever come up before. Maybe we should call 911 and let the medical people look instead of us."

"I'm not waiting. I'm looking."

"Are you sure?" Riley glared at him.

"Yeah, I am. He's on my team. I'm his coach, and I'm concerned he has an injury. And if I'm wrong he'll never know."

Riley frowned but nodded. "Okay, coach and team player, check, possible injury, check, you have witnesses."

"Riley!"

"Can't help it. Just the thought of my malpractice insurance premiums going up make me nervous."

Ned jumped in. "Get over it. Okay, makes sense to me and if there's nothing to see then there's no harm no foul. So, I say we look. Pull his shirt up, Oliver."

Carefully, he lifted Adrian's shirt and took in a blood soaked brown paper towel taped to the kid's stomach.

He'd known he'd smelled fresh blood.

What had he been thinking? He detested the smell of fresh blood.

His own blood pounded in his ears. The past came screaming back.

To the small cage.

The smell of blood filled his brain.

Trapped in that cage made it hard to breathe.

"Shit. Blood. It's a trigger. Do you hear me?"

A weight the size of Texas landed solidly on his chest, and he struggled to breathe. He tried to focus on staying on "HERE."

"Don't flash." Something wet hit his hands, and he slung it away from him.

And Adrian had countless scars covering his stomach. Everywhere he looked he saw scars.

More scars than even he had.

The damn cage. The fresh blood.

"What the hell?"

The words were fuzzy, his vision going blurry, dark, and the wet hit him in the face this time. He ripped it away from his face and jumped to his feet with a roar.

"Stay away from him, Ned. I don't know what he'll do. Oliver, feel the wet towel? Look around. You're in the locker room. Look at me."

Riley snapped his fingers in his face, and he focused, drug himself back. He couldn't do this now.

"Focus on feeling your feet. Feel the solid floor, your shoes."

"Stop, I'm okay. Yeah. I'm okay." The room came back into focus, and he scrubbed his face with the wet towel before throwing it in the dirty laundry basket.

"What the hell just happened?" Ned eyed him.

"Yeah, Oliver, what just happened? Care to own that? I'd love to see it."

"Kiss off, Riley."

To which the man snickered, while pulling out his phone.

"Ned, I'm fine. Just lost it over the sight of blood." A lame excuse but he'd never been good at lying.

"If you say so." Ned whistled and shook his head. "Great, he's a damn cutter. Sharon's going to freak out."

"Sharon?" He eyed the countless marks.

Riley pulled up a folding chair over and lowered his large body into it and began tapping out a text on his phone. Nodding at him, he added, "His mother. I'm calling Anna for an intervention. And Ned, you need to contract his mother."

"Won't that be fun. She's hasn't liked me since I put gum in her hair in grade school, and I've have the plague ever since I've come home. She won't even come to Adrian's conferences." The man stomped off toward the offices again.

"Jesus, damn small towns." Riley shook his head. "Looking at his stomach, he been doing this a long time, and he's been cutting his back too. God, he's got a lot of scarring."

He nodded. "He did all that to himself?" His mind had a problems wrapping around this teen doing this much abuse to his body.

"Yeah, he must cut pretty much every day from all the marks. Damn, I've never seen one this bad but then I deal with grown men, who normally have someone who notices the blood on the towels or clothes so the abuse comes to a stop pretty quickly."

He walked over to the ice machine and got a cup of ice. Throwing a piece of ice in his mouth, he sucked on it before he walked back to look at the countless scars on the teen's stomach. Still his stomach dropped and old memories wanted to surface. He crunched the ice, swallowed hard and cleared his throat as Riley's phone dinged.

"Anna?"

"Yeah. Felicity's with her. They're on their way."

He crunched more ice, his eyes glued to Adrian's scars, while his mind raced. "I knew I smelled blood weeks ago. I should have acted on my instincts. Ned," he hollered, "bring me the first aid kit. I need to redress his wound."

"On it." The man yelled from the office.

"You called him a cutter?"

Riley's phone dinged and he tapped out another message. "Yeah, his wounds are self-inflected."

"He did this to himself? Cut himself? Hurt himself?" He had problems wrapping his head around Adrian cutting himself.

The kid had hurt himself on purpose.

Why?

Poor kid had to be in pain. And not only physical pain but emotional pain.

Pain, he understood.

Heavens knew he'd seen enough pain in his life, and he'd never cut himself, but he'd done other things.

He shut that thought down.

The man kept texting as Riley added, "Yeah, and cutting's becoming a real epidemic in the teenage world because when one cuts, others follow suit. It's a you cut, so I'll cut too. I'll prove I can cut, slice, bleed, better than you."

He filled his mouth with more ice and chewed.

"It's a teenage pissing contest. A one up kind of thing, though clearly, Adrian's serious about his cutting since he's hid it for probably years."

Slinging another piece of ice in his mouth, he insisted, "Why hasn't someone figured it out? He smells like blood all the time."

"Guess not everyone knows what blood smells like, and teens are crafty. They wear long sleeves; they hide in plain sight. Though, normally, they want to get caught, so they show someone the marks. And trust me, since he hid the marks, he's ashamed, which by the way makes it worse."

"Worse?" He crunched another mouthful of ice.

"Yeah, and he's done it long enough, he's addicted to it. He won't want to stop."

"You mean this is his thing?" He carefully pulled the makeshift bandage off and stood and moved, dropping the bloody mess in the trash.

Returning, he eyed the angry wound. "Well at least this cut isn't too deep but this one here's on the verge of being infected."

He pulled out his phone and took a picture and forwarded it to Felicity.

"Busted, Adrian. He's CUTTING?! Warning gross pic attached. Show Anna." And he pressed the send button.

Riley used his phone to text. "Not surprising, cutters don't always keep thier wounds clean either."

"Do we have to call the cops on him?"

Ned returned with the first aid kit and words, "No, I've left several messages for his mom, hopefully, though I doubt it, she's on her way. But from the looks of his stomach he's not cutting to die, only to hurt."

Riley added. "Believe it or not, most of them aren't suicidal."

"Good to know." He ate more ice. Jesus, he hated the scent of fresh blood anymore.

"Yeah, but cutters are depressed, have low self-esteem or body image and don't have positive coping skills when it comes to stress. Instead, some say they feel numb, so they cut to feel, and the pain helps them cope."

"Great. But, I don't see this as coping." He pointed to Adrian's scars, but he remembered he'd hurt himself repeatedly in the past, in an effort to cope with his rage and helplessness. Pushing those thoughts away, he moved to take the first aid kit from Ned's hands, grateful to have something to do.

"It's not a good way to cope, but now that you've caught him he has a chance to change."

"I'm just surprised to see a boy cutting," Ned crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Cutting's more of a girl thing."

"Sexist much, Ned?"

"No, I mean it. Cutting's more a girl thing according to the trainings I've attended."

Riley frowned and waved his hand. "Jesus, you're sexist. Those days are long gone, just because on average more teenage girls cut than teenage boys, it doesn't mean boys don't cut too."

"Great an equal opportunity cutting problem people train for. Something else I'll never understand." He looked at the teen's scarred body.

"Don't joke. This is a real problem."

"I get it isn't funny but I'm struggling with processing here."

"Anna knows now, and she'll help him learn other coping strategies."

The boy on the floor groaned. "Fuck, what happened?"

Adrian's eyes snapped open, and panic raced across the boy's brown eyes, as he stuttered, "Sorry, Coach, I . . I'm dizzy. Did I pass out? I didn't mean to make trouble. I . . ."

He pressed against the boy's shoulder.

"You fainted. Lie still, for a minute. Could have happened to the best of us. You need to stay calm and breathe."

"I'm trying."

"Look, it's no big deal and none of us are holding this against you."

The young man's eyes went wild, as he realized his shirt exposed his stomach. "Coach, I . . I . . ."

"Don't bother thinking up a lie because, yeah, we've seen that you're cutting. Your stomach's a royal mess, Adrian."

"You had no right to look. It's my body."

"You're on my team, and I'm your coach, which gives me the right."

"But . . . but."

"You looking to run laps tomorrow?"

"No!"

"No, what?"

"No, Coach, I don't want to run laps."

"That's better. Then I suggest you lie there and take it easy, until you feel like getting up and let me clean and dress your wounds." He rattled the first aid kit.

"I've always got some early morning trash detail if you're interested." Ned threw in.

"No, sir, I'll pass but I'm ready to get up. Can I get up now, Coach?"

Dropping to his knees, he opened the first aid box and ripped open some white gauze and handed it to Adrian. "Here, your wound's bleeding. Put some pressure on it and then get up slow."

The boy scrubbed his red face with both hands, then took the gauze and pressed it to his stomach. He groaned as he sat up. But the youth didn't attempt to stand.

Squeezing his eyes shut, his face hardened, as he hugged his knees. "I'm in trouble, huh? Going back to juvie?"

Ned moved closer. "Right now, we're going to play this by ear, Adrian. You're doing well in school and attending soccer practice. I've also called your mom and left a message."

He buried his head in his knees. "Great, just fantastic, Mom'll be totally pissed off, I mean mad, I've inconvenienced her today."

Ned nodded. "Ah, that's your mom. And I'll bet she'll want me to revoke your probation and lock you back up. And I'd lay money she's not coming to pick you up, either."

"Ned!" Oliver and Riley both said at once.

He noted the kid's shoulders slumped even more. "You're not helping here."

"What?" He held out his hands, as he shrugged. "I've known her my entire life. She's not the loving mom type. She's a real."

"NED!" Riley cut him off. "Adrian, your mom might not be coming, but your counselor, Ms. Anna, is on her way." Riley held his phone up. "Felicity's with her, by the way."

"Then I'd better get your wound tended. Ms. Felicity's not a great fan of blood."

The teen's face a harsh mask, he stood, pressing on his stomach. "I can do it if you'll give me the stuff. I know how." He held out his hand.

"Yeah, it looks like you've had plenty of practice. But humor me and head over to that table and lie down."

Pain showed in the youth's hard face, as Adrian moved like a ninety-year-old across the room, holding his stomach. He wanted to help but he refrained as the teen took forever to get up on the table, while his own painful memories flooded back.

Ned's phone rang and he answered it and walked away.

Finally prone on the table, Adrian covered his eyes with his arm, and he wondered if the teen wanted to disappear. He knew he'd wished to disappear more than once.

"Pull your shirt up." He steadied himself to not let the smell of blood bother him as he pulled out the wound care spray. "This might sting. Brace."

"Only if I'm lucky." Adrian inhaled sharply as he sprayed.

"Tough guy, huh?" Yet, the boy flinched as he cleaned his wounds. "How old is this one?"

"Couple of weeks."

"Looks like it's getting infected."

"Coach, you don't have to do this. I'll take care of it. I always take care of it."

Oliver hesitated for an instant seeing himself in the youth. He had hurt himself repeatedly, and he always took care of it, well until Felicity started taking care of him.

"Look, Coach, this is no big deal."

"That's where you're wrong, since you only get one body, and you're using it up before you even get old,which makes it a big deal."

Uncovering his eyes, the teen glared at him. "It's my body, Coach."

How did he argue that? He wanted to order him not to cut again, to insist that he'd be checking to see if the boy cut, but he needed to talk to Riley or Anna first and maybe both.

"Well you're on my team, which makes it my business, and what about your family? Do they know you do this?" He had problems getting the words out but he pressed on. "Do they know you cut yourself?"

The young man turned his head away from him. "I don't have any family, my sister left years ago, and Mom only cares about Mom. Everyone knows that. And Gram died three years ago."

"You could be wrong."

"Doubt it."

He smeared some antibiotic salve on the cuts and peeled off a large bandage and pressed in to the teen's stomach. "That does it. Do you want to sit up?"

"Yeah, Coach." The youth sat up and the boy's face instantly reddened then he turned white as sweat popped out on his brow. "Is it hot in here? I don't feel so good."

Snatching up a trash can, he thrust it at Adrian just before he puked pizza violently.

When the kid finished, he took the trash can from him and tied the bag up. "Feel better? Let's lie you down again." Adrian didn't fight him and curled on his side holding his stomach.

Riley appeared beside him with another trashcan and the words, "Just in case."

"Yeah."

The bang of a door alerted him to Anna and Felicity's arrival.

#####OQ#####

He'd laid there curled in a ball and listened as Coach's fiancé and Ms. Anna entered the locker room.

All of them has a unplanned meeting, and he'd laid there motionless and fighting vomiting the entire time until Coach walked over. "Ms Anna wants to see you."

"Okay, I can do that." He rolled over and forced himself to stand and follow Coach into his tiny office.

Ms. Anna sat behind Coach's desk, and she smiled at him and his face heated.

How could she smile at him when she knew what he had done, what he had been doing for years now?

"Oliver, thanks, I'll need your office for a little while."

"Sure."

"Come on in, Adrian."

He swallowed hard but entered the room.

"Sit down."

Dropping into the other chair in the small room, he stared at his shoes, glad his stomach had decided to calm down.

Damn big feet, always getting in the way, always tripping and making him fall, he heard his mom's words.

He hated his body, his big, ugly body.

His hands fisted, he waited for her to tell him how disappointed she was in him, how he was a lost cause, and they needed to lock him up in a nut house or Juvie.

Trash, that would be what she'd thought for sure, and she'd take out the trash, which equaled "him."

Well, he truly was a lost cause, and he knew it.

Yeah, he had problems processing as she looked him straight in the eye, with the words, "Adrian, I want you to know there are other ways to deal with your feelings other than cutting your body."

"Cutting's no big deal." He swallowed hard.

"Well you're wrong, it's a big deal to me and to Coach Queen. You can't keep hurting yourself, and if you do you can't be on Coach's team. He won't put up with it."

"Yeah, okay, I know what I'm doing's wrong."

Best for him to agree with her since that'd get this over quicker.

Yeah, he needed to get high and probably drunk enough he'd black out and forget this shit ever happened.

It'd be hard to get the liquor, but he had a couple of pills. His mind worried the idea of eating those two hydros he had hidden in his sock drawer, but he'd rather have some 512's, called that because of the number printed on the generic brand of Percocets' pills.

Jesus, where could he get some liquor?

He'd have to make a trip into the hood tonight unless he could hook up with his dealer.

"You're right it is. You only get one body, and you need it last a long time. Adrian, I'm sorry I didn't realize you were hurting yourself. I should have caught it, should have realized you were covering up. But . . ."

"You're going to send me away aren't you?" Again, he stared at his torn up shoes. "It's okay, I understand. No big deal. Do it and get it over with. I deserve it."

"No, you don't understand. Adrian, look at me. Here look here."

Lifting his head, he looked at Ms. Anna brown eyes.

"There you are." She pointed with her fingers. "That's it, eyes up here. First off, I'm NEVER going to send you away. I have no reason. I don't believe you're suicidal. Are you suicidal?"

"NO."

"Didn't think so. So, together, you and I and your coach, we're going to help you get through this. I care about you and you're worth a lot, Adrian. Believe me, you're worth it."

He blinked a couple of times trying to process her words.

"Now, I know when you cut it helps you feel better inside, but there are other ways to feel better, and I want to help you to figure out those ways. First can you tell me what you use to cut? If it's too personal then we'll move on."

"I . . . I . . ."

"A knife? A razor."

He nodded.

"Which one?"

"Razor." It felt strange to tell her that secret.

She exhaled and picked up her pen and tapped in on the desk. "Do you cut every day?"

Looking at a spot on the wall above her head, he gave a sharp nod.

"Do you think you could try to stop?"

"I don't know."

"Can you try if I give you something to help you?"

"Drugs?"

"Don't get your hopes up." She reached into her pocket and removed two thick rubber bands and held them out to him. "Take them."

"And what am I supposed to do with these?"

"Put them on your wrists and when you want to cut, pop them hard."

"Won't that hurt?"

"Yeah, it will hurt, but it's pain without bleeding or scars, so feel free to pop them as often as you need to."

He couldn't suppress his small grin.

"And if you still feel the urge to cut," she reached in her pocket and pulled out a nice silver pen and handed it to him.

The pen lay heavy and solid in his hand, and he rolled it between his fingers as she added, "I want you to draw on yourself or use a piece of ice to draw on your stomach. And," she handed him a brand new green notebook, "I want you to use the pen to write down your feelings, your thoughts, hopes and dreams, your demons too."

He dropped the pen on the desk like it'd burned him, and he sliced the air with his hand. "I don't write. It's not my thing. Not happening."

Spelling and him were not even close to best friends. He couldn't write without spell check, and even then, he struggled and had to use Google to help him spell. Regardless, he'd never be a writer.

She smiled at him, a tiny smile, with a nod that told him he'd disappointed her.

"Come on, please, try. If not for you then because I ask you to."

"Whatever." He waved his hand at her.

"Not whatever. Why."

"WHY?"

"Yeah. If you're angry write down WHY. If you sad or lonely, explain IT."

"I don't know if I can."

"You CAN. Think of it like texting."

"Texting?"

"Yeah. You don't have to spell the words out or spell them right, but you can scream about it on paper. Do what you have to do but spit the poison out."

"Poison? I don't have poison."

"Oh, yes, you do. Pure poison's living inside of you. But you have the strength to get through this." She caught his eyes. "I believe you can do this, that you can give cutting up. I know it'll be hard to stop but you can do it. I have faith in you."

He returned to looking at his busted out shoe and fought the urge to smile.

Jesus, she had faith in him.

Yet, he got it.

Knew it for the truth.

She'd pull him in, suckered him like a fool, set the damn hook in his mouth and like a stupid fish, she'd reel him in.

He couldn't allow this to go on.

Swallowing hard, his tone bitter, he added, "Right, whatever. And I bet you want to read it. Analyze me and shit. You know. Poor stupid cutter and all. Maybe you could write a paper and get published."

"Language and no, I don't want to read it. And you're not stupid. Talk about smart. You blow your test scores off the charts. You may play dumb but you're not. And heck, burn what you write if you want but get the poison out. Draw, write poems, or write stories, anything to get the poison out. But don't cut. Your body doesn't deserve to be cut."

"You don't want to read it?" Confused, he narrowed his eyes at her. "Okay, what your angle?"

"Helping you get out poison that's choking you and destroying you that's my angle."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe it. I'll only read what you wrote if you want me to since I understand a person's writing's personal and it's hard to share. There's nothing more scary than having people read what you write."

"I'm not going to write." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stuck out his chin.

"Okay, then don't but take it with you and if none of these things work and you still want to cut yourself, then I want you to run laps until you can't run anymore."

"Run?"

"Yeah, until your legs hurt."

"And what's that going to do?"

"You'll find pain without cutting yourself and running will help you play better soccer; remember your first game is next week."

"Are you serious?"

"I am since I'd like to see your team having fun playing soccer."

He looked hard at her. "You're coming to the first game?"

"Yes. I've been looking forward to it."

"Why would you bother?"

"Adrian, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Well, we aren't very good." He blurted out, and started to sweat just thinking about her going to be at his soccer game. "We're going to get our ass, ah, butts kicked."

"That's okay. Language remember?" Her smile gentle, he listened to her lie, to tell him what she thought he wanted to hear, while he fantasied about Ms. Anna being his real mom.

Sometimes he lied to himself. He imaged Ms. Anna as his mom, and she loved him and gave a shit about him.

"Adrian, the game's about having fun, playing a sport, it's not all about winning."

He ruthlessly killed the fantasy in his head.

Don't forget you're a paycheck, nothing more, he cautioned himself. He sneered the words, "Yeah, you adults say that but news flash, it's all about winning, and we're going to lose."

"Okay, I know it seems like that sometimes, but I'm not like that. We've worked together long enough for you to know that."

"Jesus, would stop acting like you care about me. You're a court ordered counselor. The only reason you're here at all is you're getting paid."

He hated that he'd knocked her smile off her face, but he drove the point home. "Now that you know what I am, what I do. I bet you want to see."

"That's not necessary." She looked at the floor but he pushed.

"Yes it is necessary. I want you to see."

The blood roared in his ears.

On light speed the entire day ran through his mind.

He watched as he stumbled out of a messy bed, Mom MIA, normally NOT home, again. He didn't want to think about who's bed she's slept in.

The pictures spun faster.

Him throwing on regularly, normal blood stained clothes, him getting high before class, him flunking his test, him cutting himself in the bathroom, bleeding, tending his wound, him attending practice, a surprisingly fun practice, and then Coach busting him out, with him fainting for god's sake in front of Coach, his probation officer and Ms. Anna's husband, and now killing off any warmness Ms. Anna felt for him ending his day.

Why not? He'd burnt the entire day down, why not go out in a blaze of glory?

"No, I want you to see."

He didn't want anyone to see but he couldn't stop.

Standing, he towered over her, his hands reaching and ripping his t-shirt off. "This is what I am. This is the real me. And I'm royally fucked up."

He could tell he'd shocked her since she didn't say the word "language."

She gasped loudly, and he drove his point home. "I like razor blades the best. Sharp ones are my favorite, but I've done a lot of knives, broken glass, metal can lids, safety pins and needles."

He pointed to the scarring on his chest and arms, and turned showing her the marks on his back. "I've cut for years, and no one, not even you, caught me or stopped me or cared about stopping me, and if damn Coach hadn't figured it out, we wouldn't be having this stupid conversation right now."

She paled and her mouth fell open.

But she recovered quickly. "Okay, you wanted to shock me, well good job, Adrian. And I get what you're doing here, and it's not going to work. I'm not throwing you away because you've cut yourself, but I do apologize that I didn't realize you were self-harming. I should have figured it out, but then you're an expert on hiding it, aren't you?

He ducked his head.

"Does your mom know? Your friends?"

He respected her as he froze, then slowly shook his head.

"Thought not. Now, I want you to sit back down and put your shirt back on. I get your point. You know how to hurt yourself and me and everyone else missed what you were doing. Now you get mine."

He looked in her eyes and she nodded.

"You're right; it's my job to talk to you. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you as a person. And yeah, I'm going to help you figure out how to stop cutting. It's bad for you. Hard on your body. So, together we're going to find a way to make you find better ways to cope."

He jerked his shirt back on, managing to wrench his wound, as a wave of pain ripped through him, making his words harsh. "I don't believe you, and I don't want to stop. I like it. Hell, I get the fuck off on it."

"Language. And it doesn't matter if you believe me or not, I care about you, and you're lying about not wanting to stop self-harming. I think you wanted to get caught self-harming and . . ."

"CUTTING. I CUT. Damn it, call it what it is." He hissed the words at her. "And I don't want to see you anyone. I want a different counselor. You're fired."

"Adrian, language!"

Her tone sharp, she gave no ground.

"And surprise, you can't fire me, since you didn't hire me. I'm court appointed, and unless your mom wants to drive you to an out of town counselor to fulfill your counseling requirement, I'm it for this small town."

All he could think about was being totally fucked.

His mom wouldn't drive him to school, no way she'd be willing to drive him fifty minutes to a larger city, once a week.

He collapsed back in his chair as Ms. Anna added, "So, it's me for the next six months or you can go down to juvie for at least the next year."

"I only have six months left on my probation."

"If you go to juvie, it's probable that you could not be released until you're nineteen, especially if no one on the outside's pushing for your release."

He heard what she wasn't saying. "Your whoring mom likes her boyfriend's way more than you, and she's going to let you rot. She won't even bother to come and visit."

"But that's almost two years." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat and swallowed.

"Yeah, it is, and your only other choice is lockdown in a mental institution for a full evaluation. And trust me, cutters get strip searched daily to check for new marks."

"If they'll give me drugs, lock me up. I don't care. It doesn't matter anyway." His body felt numb.

Such a shit day and he still had to deal with mom. He dropped his head in his hands, and he wanted to pull on his hair.

"Look at me, Adrian. Come on, look at me."

He lifted his head from his hands and took in her serious face as she waved a finger at him. "No way do you get to do that. Not after today's break through."

"How is this," he pointed to chest, "a break through? I'm a cutter." He wanted to scream, "I'm worthless." Why would she care but instead he pressed hard against the wound on his stomach, and the pain helped remind him he deserved this.

"You've been seeing me for over six months and you've never once raised your voice to me, never shown any emotion at all. It's been, Adrian, tell me about your week and you've given me lip service, bla, bla, bla. Today I got to see the real you for the first time. Nice to finally meet you, Adrian."

He ducked his head again.

"Now, you and me are standing at a crossroads. We don't lie to each other, right? That was in our agreement. No lies."

"I haven't lied to you."

"No, what you've done is withheld information. You're smart enough to know that's lying by omission."

Again, he stared at his shoes, his shoulders bowed as he wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself.

"Look at me."

He raised his head.

She looked at him seriously and held up two fingers. "Now comes the hard part. I want you to commit to not cutting for the next two days."

The blood pounded in his ears, and he rubbed the back of his neck, while ducking his head.

"You can do this."

She stood and gave him a nod. "I'll see you in two days. Can you commit to not cutting for two days?"

"I don't know if I can."

"Can you try? I want you to try. Forty-eight hours! You can do that easy, can't you? You can call me if you need to cut. Any time, if you need me, call. I'm there for you. I'll talk to you. Just don't cut. Snap the rubber bands, write on yourself, use ice, write in your journal or run. Those are your options. Will you try?"

"I can try." He stood and she extended her hand.

"Shake on it? I trust your word."

"Why would you. I'm nothing."

Jesus, he need to wipe the sweat from his face.

"Because I trust you. And you're something. You're a good person, Adrian. The very best."

"I'm not." Again he looked at his falling apart shoes.

"You are. Listen, I believe in you and so does your coach. He said you can call him too if you need him. Now, you've got this, and your coach and I are going to help you through this hard time. Together, we'll get through this. Look at me."

He looked and she nodded. "Okay? You're going to be okay. I want you to shake on it, to commit."

"I could be lying."

"Not to me, you're better than that. You're a man of honor." She held out her hand and he inhaled sharply.

"I'll try." He reached and shook her hand as his heart thudded hard in his chest.

"That's all I ask."

Forty-eight hours loomed like a lifetime in front of him, a fucking life time without cutting, but he'd do his best and try because Ms. Anna believed he could do it and so did Coach.

Heaven help him, since someone needed to, and he pressed on his bandage, savoring the sweet pain one last time.

#####OQ#####