You never truly liked people looking at you, and yet, everyone was staring at you now. Dirk was examining the bruises on your face and back while Jake looked at your arms. You kept them firmly planted at your sides, knowing that if they turned them over, your own abuse to yourself would shine through. It kills you to see the pair so worked up over this; this was a life you were used to and they were not. You kept assuring them you were fine, but Dirk insisted on calling Child Protective Service.
As much as you always wanted to do that, you knew Bro would murder you if you so much as showed anyone a bruise. Technically, this preview was not your fault, more so, it was Dirk's for not knocking.
You are now seated as best you can on Jake's lap while Dirk tries to clean up as many of the cuts as he can. Eventually, he does flip your wrists over, and that's when you begin crying.
You felt absolutely pathetic; exposed, stupid, and pathetic. Dirk simply stares at your arms while Jake gasps in horror. You've counted before, so you are aware that twenty-three self harm scars, new and old, litter your left wrist; seven on your right.
You took up cutting when Bro's abuse reached it's peak. You had been sitting in your room one night when he entered, perfectly sober. It scared you, the way he stared at you as if you were his prey. Who are you kidding, of course you were prey to him. He sauntered over to your bed, and-
You couldn't bring yourself to think of what happened next, and you wouldn't be telling these guys about it anytime soon.
It takes almost two hours, mostly because you kept pulling away and trying to cover yourself back up, but Dirk attending to some of the worst part of the damage.
By now, you've done your crying, you've done your screaming, and you've protesting. You were worn out now, and you wanted nothing more than to climb in to bed and forget about life. Maybe breathing, too.
However, Dirk and Jake had other plans. They begin asking you questions you never thought you'd be asked and for the most part, didn't want to answer.
How long has this been going on?
Why do you cut?
How bad has it gotten?
Did he touch you?
Has it always been like this?
Truth be told, Bro hadn't always been that bad. Back when you were little, you had some of the happiest memories of him taking you to the park, living in a big house, and having a pretty typical childhood. That was before Bro lost the house. He had lost his job and could no longer pay to keep it. He lost it to foreclosure and moved into the shitty apartment you live in now. He began DJing at some local clubs and that's when his drinking started. He began coming home later, smelling heavily of drugs and booze, usually passing out on the couch for hours. He was becoming frustrated with his life not being in order and began taking it out on you.
One Monday morning, you tried to stand up to him. When you woke up, bleeding on the floor Thursday night, you decided to keep your mouth shut around him.
Eventually, the questions stopped and you three fell in to an awkward silence. Finally releasing his hold on you, Jake let you head off to the guest room. You were drifting off when you heard pounding at the front door. You sat up and peered through the ajar door. You saw your brother standing in the door way.
"Where is the little bastard."
"I dunno what you're talking about." Jake replied calmly. You looked to your left to see Dirk leaning against his katakana.
"You know what the fuck I mean, fag!" Bro argued.
"I'm going to ask you to leave my house before I call the cops again, I really have no idea what you're talking about." Jake kept his cocky demeanor. Bro punched the door and turned to leave.
"Oh, Mr. Strider," Jake leaned against the door, "I collect guns for fun. Watch your back."