Hey guys! Chapter 2 is here! I hope you guys will like it and that I didn't disappoint! I almost decided to leave you guys with a cliffhanger, but I figured you all got enough of that after the end of "Sectionals! Haha soo... I added a bit to the end :)
Enjoy and please review!
"Ok," the girl started, "I-I'm not like... pregnant or sick or anything like that. That's not why I keep getting out of class to go to the bathroom."
Emma kept a stoic expression but inside she was thanking her lucky stars that she didn't have to deal with more pregnant teen-who's-the-father angst at McKinley High.
"Mm hmm," She responded calmly, encouraging Chelsea to go on. She still wanted a concrete explanation, especially for the gloves and long sleeved shirt.
"And I m not hurt--cutting myself either. I'm not suicidal, if that's what all the teachers think."
"No, no. Trust me, sweetheart, they never assumed that. If they thought you were suicidal, you would have been in here a lot sooner." Emma noted the girl's mid-sentence change of words, and her worries that something was very wrong started to prove themselves more and more valid.
"They were just...concerned. If you want to tell me what's going on, I promise that I will do whatever is in my power to help you, and I don't have to say anything to any of the teachers." Emma was telling the truth. She wanted to gain Chelsea's trust, something that may not be easy considering the terror in her eyes that still hadn't left. Emma could tell that this conversation was headed down a bumpy road.
Chelsea nodded, paused and looked at the floor again before she asked in her almost inaudible voice, "You'll promise not to tell anyone?"
"You have my word."
For the first time, Chelsea looked Emma square in the eye, and her expression changed. The dread still lingered, but added to it was a mix of sorrow, embarrassment, and anxiety, like she was ashamed of something or pondering on what to do. Emma blinked, waiting.
"I-I'm not hurting myself, I swear. I swear, I'm not. I'm not...trying to, it's not on purpose," Chelsea stammered as her voice cracked, making it sound like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else.
"I believe you, honey." Normally, the guidance counselor wouldn't use these many terms of endearment with regards to a student, but she felt that this particular situation called for it. Her sympathy was deepened as she wondered what the troubled teen could have meant.
Next, Chelsea did something that shocked Emma, something that was assumed out of the question before. Ever so slowly, she started to peel off the black fleece gloves she wore, and what was hiding underneath them was impossible for Emma to comprehend at first, and then it hit her like a brick wall.
Chelsea's hands.
They were almost entirely covered with red blotches. Her skin was cracked and chapped, and traces of dried blood dotted her knuckles. The color of it all sharply contrasted with her pale face, which seemed to have suddenly had its color drained out. It took a second, but when Emma finally figured out what was going on, she had to force back her tears harder that she ever had before. Chelsea's knuckles, palms, and backs of her hands had been scrubbed. Raw.
It was getting increasingly harder for Chelsea to keep her emotions inside, so she hung her head in shame as she tried to hide her eyes that began to gloss over and water.
"I was just washing my hands."
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Christmas break starts tomorrow and I'll be studying for exams (gag) but I think I can squeeze in a little writing here and there if you want. :)