Details and Explanation

Still the same disclaimer…

A/N: many thanks to my reviewers!

"How long have you been up?" she mumbled when she woke up.

"A little while." He looked over at her and smiled.

"And you've just been lying there?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Lying here and thinking." She turned so she was lying on her back, and his arm lay over her stomach. He expected she would object, and contemplated whether he should move or not. She made the decision for him, when she wove her fingers with his. She lifted their hands, noting the sharp contrast between their skin colors. She played with their intertwined hands, twisting her wrist, forcing him to turn his, just feeling his hand in her own. When she turned them in such a way that she could see his palm, she noticed where the needle had punctured him early that morning. It was red and looked like it hurt. With her other hand, she drew her fingers across the wound. She turned her head to look at him. He was looking at their hands, displaying no obvious emotion.

"Sorry," she whispered. He shrugged.

"It doesn't really hurt."

"Not just about that." She paused. "About everything."

"It scared me, Neela," he answered, his concern evident.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." He turned onto his side, facing her. "Just don't do it." She sighed.

"I can't not do it."

"Yes you can."

"No, Ray, I can't," she responded in a raised voice. She dropped his hand and sat up.

"It might be hard, but yes, you can." She sighed again, seeing the validity of his point, though not wanting to admit it and still not really believing it anyway. "Can I see?" Her answer came in the form of pulling her legs out from under the covers. She turned so she was sitting, facing him. He pushed himself up to a sitting position. There was still a trail of dried blood down one of her calves. She could see the pained look in his face when he saw it.

"There's that one, obviously," she pointed to one. There were four uneven stitches done by her own hand, followed by three tight and neat ones, which Ray had done. He ran his fingers over it. The skin was still hot, and irritated. "And this one," she moved to expose the calf of her other leg. He drew his fingers across that one as well. "And here." She lifted her shorts a few inches so he could see the cut on her thigh. She paused as his fingers ran over her skin. "I actually need to take them out," she reminded herself. "And this one." She rotated her leg to show another gash on her calf. It was mostly healed, and didn't have any stitches, though there were small cuts around it, almost like paper cuts. He looked at her questioningly, as he dragged his thumb over this one. "My hand kept shaking when I took the stitches out last night." He nodded in understanding; it didn't take much force or pressure to nick yourself with surgical scissors. They were sharp.

"That, uhh, first one should probably get cleaned up some," he said hesitantly, looking up at her.

"It's fine, I—"

"There is no way you are going to win this argument. It's not fine, Neela." He was frustrated, not so much at her, but with the whole situation in general. She didn't respond. "Stay here," he said as he got up. She started to stand, and he repeated himself, gently pushing her back down. She sighed. He returned a few minutes later, with various items, including some things to use to clean her cuts, as well as coffee. He handed her a mug.

"Thanks," she said quietly, as she took it. He slowly sat down on the bed, so as not to spill the hot beverage he had just given her. He motioned for her to extend her leg, so he could start to clean it off. Instead she reached for the towel he was holding. "I can do it."

"Please…just…let me." She briefly considered disagreeing, but decided against it, and extended her leg. "It's gotten a little cold," he said just before putting the wet towel on her leg. It was in fact still lukewarm. He let the roughness of the towel scrub away the dried blood. As he made his way closer to the wound he applied less and less pressure. She watched him work. His hands were gentle, but confident. Once that area was cleaned up, he motioned for her to sit closer to him.

"Why?"

"To take the other stitches out."

"I can do that."

"I don't doubt it. May I do it?" She rolled her eyes and scooted closer to him. "Thank you." She pulled her shorts up again, to show the cut. Ray picked up the scissors he'd brought and carefully snipped each of the stitches. With a pair of tweezers he gently pulled out the loose thread. He could feel her muscle tighten every once in a while, in reaction to the pain of when one of the stitches caught. He whispered, "sorry," each time. When he finished, he ran his fingers over the cut. It wasn't as rough, now that the stitches were out, but wasn't smooth like the rest of her skin. "If you're not careful, the scab is going to crack," he observed.

"I know. That's ok."

"It'll hurt."

"And that's why it's ok." Ray sighed. He looked around her room, and saw some lotion on her dresser. He got up to get it. "Ray," she was starting to get irritated again, "it's fine."

"How is it fine? Really, I don't understand." He turned back around to face her.

"When I did this, I knew what was going to happen. I know how cuts heal. I know what happens when they don't. I know how to help them heal better, and I know that if I don't do certain things, it hurts."

"Ok, but how does that make it fine?" He picked up the bottle of lotion.

"I know what I am doing! If it splits later—"

"When," he corrected her. She exhaled loudly in exasperation, and rolled her eyes.

"Alright, when it splits later, I know it will hurt, and take longer to heal." He resumed his seat on the bed.

"That still doesn't explain why you think it's ok."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to recognize that this not ok. You're not fine. It's not ok to know it'll hurt you, and still let it." He poured some lotion into his hand, and rubbed it between his hands to warm it up before putting it on Neela's leg. She pushed him away at first, but eventually gave in and let him. He massaged the moisturizer into the damaged skin. Every so often, he let his hands stray from the cut, and rub the lotion over the rest of her leg.

"It's a choice I'm making."

"It's not a good one."

"Are all the choices you make good?"

"I try to always make good decisions."

"But you don't."

"No. But generally, if I am advised against something, I'll reconsider." He started rubbing the lotion over her other leg.

"But sometimes you still make bad decisions."

"I've not made ones to intentionally hurt myself."

"Yes you have." He looked at her questioningly. "All those girls you bring home. Those are good decisions?"

"Some of them." He smiled. She rolled her eyes, finding a sliver of humor in his answer.

"In retrospect, you don't see that as hurting yourself?"

"No. Do you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Not physically, but mentally, Ray, honestly, you know it's not smart."

"That's different."

"How?" He was silent for a moment. "See? It's not different."

"No one's advised against it. And I just don't really see it as hurting myself."

"And I don't see this as hurting myself."

"Neela, I spent fifteen minutes this morning cleaning up your blood. I don't know what the hell you consider hurting yourself, if this is not it."

"Never mind, you don't get it. You just won't."

"I want to."

"You won't."

"I can't if you don't give me a chance." He began running one hand up and down each of her legs, under the guise of rubbing in the last of the lotion. In fact, he just didn't want to stop touching her.

"I know you won't and I don't want to waste the effort."

"How do you know I won't get it?"

"Because you've never done it."

"No, I haven't, but I still might understand. I won't be able to empathize but I might be able to sympathize."

"What do you want to know?"

"Why you do it, mostly." He paused, waiting for an answer, and she restrained herself from answering, expecting there to be more questions.

"That's it?"

"No. I just thought I'd give them one at a time." She looked at him, silently telling him to continue. "Why do you do it? Why don't you stop? What will make you stop? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I do it because I want to. I don't stop because I don't want to. Nothing will make me stop. And I didn't tell you because I knew you'd react badly to it."

"With the exception of the last one, those are wholly unsatisfactory answers." She shrugged. His hands stopped and rested on each of her thighs just above her knees. "Neela," her eyes were wandering around the room, "look at me." She focused on him. "If you don't want to tell me about it, that's fine. I wish you would, but I obviously can't make you. You have to talk to someone though. You can't keep doing this."

"Why not?"

"Are you trying to irritate me? Or are you seriously asking?"

"I am seriously asking." He sighed, frustrated.

"It's unhealthy, you know that. Something is going on that is not ok, or else you wouldn't be doing this. You are not the type of person who would cut herself, especially to this degree, just for kicks."

"Maybe you just don't really know me."

"Maybe. But I think I do. And I think you are stubborn. You know I am right, but you won't admit it." They stayed silent, locked in eye contact for several minutes. "So what's going on, Neela?" he asked almost in a whisper.

"I don't know," she responded equally quiet, and dropped her gaze. "I don't know."

"Well, you've gotta figure it out. I can't let you keep doing this."

"Why not? Why can't you just let it go, and let me live my life?"

"Why?" he asked incredulously, "because I can't stand to see you like this." He threw his hands up. "I love you too much. And I do want you to live your life, but I want you to be happy doing it."

"Who says I'm not happy?" She didn't verbally acknowledge his confession in the sentence preceding the one she was challenging. Mentally, she struggled to convince herself that he really said it.

"Me." He wasn't sure if she didn't respond to all of what he had said because she didn't believe him, or if it was because it hadn't registered with her. He decided to contemplate it later.

"I am happy."

"You cut yourself. Practically by definition, you are not happy."

"But I'm telling you, I am happy."

"You cried yourself to sleep last night," he stated matter-of-factly, arms crossed over his chest.

"I thought you were asleep," she replied quietly.

"I almost was."

"Oh." She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around the front.

"You're not happy."

"It's not your fault," she conceded, admitting he was right, without actually saying it.

"That's good."

"So it's not your problem."

"Yes it is. You made it my problem when you became my friend."

"Ray, I don't know what it is, ok? I don't know."

"Why do you do it?"

"I just told you I don't know!"

"I mean, like, are you angry? Are you sad? Are you taking something out on yourself?" She shrugged.

"All of that, none of that. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. I thought I had it all figured out, and now I have no idea."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything is a paradox, contradictory." She straightened her legs again. When Ray uncrossed his arms his hand dropped onto her leg. He didn't move it; he would take any excuse to be in contact with her. "I don't feel like anyone knows me until I tell them I do this," she gestured to her leg. "But I don't tell anyone I do it until I feel like they know me." Ray nodded slowly. "I hate working long shifts, but when I'm home early, I don't know what to do with myself, and wish I was working." Ray nodded again. "I have no friends outside the hospital, so I hardly ever go out. If I don't go out, I can't meet new people. I think I am happy, then I do this. I hate talking about this because it makes it worse. And it gets worse if I don't talk about it." She rubbed her hands over her face. "It's so frustrating. Everything is so frustrating." Ray wasn't sure if she was done, so he gave her a minute to continue. He started absentmindedly dragging his fingers up and down the part of her leg that lay next to him. "You can be more aggravating than anything and everything else in the world, but I can't imagine…I don't want to imagine, not living here with you."

"Neela, come here," he whispered, as he leaned forward, reaching for her. She repositioned herself, so she was sitting next to him. He lifted her onto his lap, wrapping both arms around her, and pulled her into his chest. He felt her slowly relax, their bodies gradually conforming to the curves of the other. She buried her face in his neck. "Neela, you are everything to me," he whispered. "Do you understand me?" She nodded, without lifting her head. "Everything." He ran his fingers through her hair. They sat like this in silence for almost half an hour.

R.E.V.I.E.W.S. --Reading Evaluations Very Interestingly Excites Writers, Seriously!