A/N: Another chapter. Ever had those days where you're all like must update all stories I have? That's me. Even though doing this from my iPod makes this twice as much work. Now you see how much I love my readers. REVIEW!
The next day I was describing them to Eli.
"It looked like she cut herself with a knife. I wouldn't have thought her the cutting type, but they were there."
"Did you talk to her?" he asked.
"She won't listen. She's mad at me. Can you?" I was too much of a wimp to face her. I knew she wouldn't mind Eli, he wasn't the one she thought was betraying her.
"No. I want to help, but you have to do it. You're her best friend, and I know you like her. And if we all try to help, she'll just shut us out. I know her type. Listen, she's not at school today. Why don't you wait until school's out, then go to her house."
"Good idea."
But when I got home, she was at my house.
"Hey," she said, and smiled. "Before you ask, yes I skipped school today."
"We wondered where you were," I told her. "I...wanted to talk to you."
"Why? Is this about our fight?"
"Sort of. Sit down." We sat in the living room. My mom passed and said she was going to run some errands, and Drew was at football practice. We were alone.
"I...the other day, when we had that stupid fight," I began, "I...I saw..." I stopped. Maybe it would be easier if she knew where I was coming from. I rolled up my own sleeve to reveal the scars where I had burned myself. "I know what it's like to not have control over your life, these scars are proof. But I've learned. I've changed. Listen, whatever it is that's making you cut your arm, I want to help."
Katlyn had listened patiently and calmly while I had been talking, and when I stopped, she just sat. She didn't say a word, she just stared at my arm. I moved closer to her and took her arm gently. I pulled up her sleeve. She didn't pull away.
"Do you realize, that if you keep doing this you could die? If it gets that bad, you really could die."
I don't know what I said, but I saw a single tear drip down her face. She wiped it away. "When I was sick a few weeks ago," she began, "I had to go to the hospital. I was so sick and I felt terrible, I felt like I was going to die. I got so angry, and I dug my nails into my arm on instinct. It felt good. I felt better if I did that. I got a knife and began cutting my arm. I was so scared I was going to die, but doing that, it just...it made me feel better. Those are old scars, Adam. I'm not doing it anymore, I swear. It was a form of control. I hate being sick, I had no control over my life at all, and that's how I got it back."
"I know. I did the same thing when forced to be Gracie for my mom. We can get through this together. Our scars may stay forever, but our inside wounds will heal, and we'll forget all about why we hurt ourselves. I promise."
She nodded, and her phone rang with a text. She read it, and then got up to leave. "That's Anne." Anne was her foster mother. "I have to go. We'll talk later?" I nodded to her, and she left.