A whole week. A lot can happen in one week. Edwin had cut twice more, about the same terribleness as the first time he had drawn blood.
And Derek had started to notice the changes. While he never hurt Edwin on the arms anymore, it was always even worse then on the face, back and legs. His bruises and cuts had close to tripled since Edwin had first drawn blood.
And Lizz always had a worried look on her face and Edwin always did whatever he could to make her brighten up. Nothing ever worked.
Then came a Monday when two things would happen. Both of them forever life changing.
Lunch soon arrived on this faithful Monday. The first thing to happen was Lizz's out burst.
"Just stop doing it already," exclaimed the girl as soon as Edwin sat down.
"Stop doing what?" Edwin asked stupidly.
"This," said Lizz seizing Edwin's arm as she stood and shoved the Edwin's sleeves up to reveal three cuts, his first "dent" having faded into a very light scar that only Edwin could see because he knew where to look.
"But its okay," said Edwin quietly, knowing he would loose this fight. "Others do it."
"I don't want you to die," said Lizz quietly, sitting down.
Edwin knew what she was talking about. He had done research in my spare time about cutting and what could happen because of it. And each site always had ways to stop. And each time he read these ways and tips, he'd freeze and guilt and shame would seize him once more. But each time, he was able to ignore it.
He knew that cutting could be like a drug, and that people can easily get addicted to it, as Edwin was doing. And the more addicted you became, the deeper you went with each cut you made, the more you craved whatever high cutting gave you. Adrenaline, the feeling of life, whatever it was. For Edwin, it was calm and something he could control. Cutting never actually hurt, it was like a numbness in his arm but it was overridden by the fact that Edwin was controlling this.
He'd also discovered he wasn't a textbook case for cutting or self injury. He was a few years too young, and used a knife to cut. Most people just used nails or another sharp object to scratch themselves with until they bled. And unlike most males he hurt himself on his arms, not hands nor did he hit objects, he actually cut.
"But it helps," said Edwin quietly. "Really, it does."
"But in the long run it makes everything worse," countered Lizz. "Stop cutting."
"I can't," said Edwin as he took back his wrists and pulled the sleeves down.
"You can," said Lizz, encouragement filling her voice. "And I'll be here to help you. I promise." Little did either know, that this promise would soon be broken.
The two sat together in silence for a while, neither eating. And neither of them noticed the cafeteria get eerily silent as an eighth grader entered the room. None of the lunch monitors noticed, they were simply thankful for the reprieve in the noise. This eighth grader weaved his way amongst the sixth graders, spreading he simple truth that there was to be a fight after school, a fight between Derek Venturi, an eighth grader and Edwin Venturi in the parking lot. The only ones not to here were Edwin and Lizz.
Nothing happened within the rest of the school day of any importance but Edwin was clearly depressed.
The end of the day rolled around and Edwin walked to his locker, only to see two of Derek's friends guarding his locker. Edwin, even though he knew something was up, walked over there and opened his locker anyway. He put his books in his locker, swung it over his back and attempted to walk away. No success.
One of the guys grabbed Edwin's shoulder and started pushing him the other way. "Derek had requested your presence elsewhere," was all he said, shoving Edwin down the hallway.
"No," Edwin said, shrugging the hand off of this shoulder. "I'm not going."
"Derek thought you might resist," said the second boy, grabbing Edwin's arm and twisting it behind his back. The first boy did the same and they shoved Edwin along the hallway. Since nearly all of the kids knew of the fight, they didn't think anything of it. Some were even trying to keep teachers occupied so that they wouldn't and couldn't see what was going on. This fight was going to be big and they knew it. Who cared if it was Edwin getting beat up?
Cringing, and trying to not cry out, knowing that would only make matters, Edwin was basically dragged along. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to be here. But it was out of his hands. He couldn't do anything except let himself be dragged along. And all of a sudden, he wanted to cut. He wanted his knife and he wanted to hurt himself. He wanted something that he could control.
"I'll walk from myself," blurted Edwin.
"What?" asked one of the boys.
"I'll walk to my doom myself. Please allow at least that much con- dignity."
"Sure," smirked the other as both boys shoved Edwin forward. "But don't try anything funny. Keep your hands where we can see them."
This basically meant Edwin hand to keep his hands behind his back. He clasped them together and dug his nails into the palm of his hand, so Derek's friends couldn't see what he was doing.
They reached the door and walked out into the parking lot and then behind the dumpster, where there still was some cement. Only a small crowd of kids were there. Only a selected few, mostly eighth graders, a few seventh graders and one sixth grader, Lizz. The other kids had been chased away. Derek didn't want the fight interrupted before he got a good start.
Edwin took his place across from Derek, hands still behind his back.
"Are you ready dear little brother?"