The sight I saw was nauseating. Thick, red stripes were gleaming on his arm, lined up in rows. Large beads of blood shone on the stripes. The stripes were slightly smudged from his sleeve.
He mumbled something inaudible.
"What?" I said, frantic.
"I CUT!" He yelled. His voice wasn't angry. More like stressed. He pulled out a knife.
"I cut," he said again. He brought the knife down on his arm. The skin sliced effortlessly and red steamed out. Down his arm. Onto the floor.
Just as he was about to bring the knife down upon his arm again, I slapped it out of his hand.
"DON'T DO THAT!" I yelled.
"Too late," he said solemnly.
I ordered him to take off his coat. He did so.
"Take off your pants, too," I said. "I want to see how much damage you've inflicted on your legs." Gaz walked in the room.
"What are you doing?" She asked. She saw Dib's arms.
"What have you done to yourself, stupid?!" She asked. I rushed him into the bathroom. Gaz tried to come in, but she was to stay out. But, nonetheless, she pounded on the door. I took of his pants. He slapped my face and tried to grab them back. I restrained him against the wall and looked at his legs.
Much worse than his arms.
He'd vigorously scraped his legs in one spot, and sliced up another part in number sign designs. He wrote on his legs with the knife too. I saw that he had written "I want to die." The writing on his legs was still bleeding. I took off the rest of his clothes and put him in the bathtub. I turned on the water and rinsed the blood off. To my dismay, he also had cuts on his chest, but they weren't as bad as his arms an legs, and the wounds were at least three days old.
I wrapped gauze around his arms and his legs. After I did that, he sprang up and put his clothes back on.
"Why'd you do it, Son?" I asked. His breathing was heavy, and he looked down at the floor with a sad expression on his face.
"I don't like my life," he said. "You're never home, and everyone bullies me at school. And if that isn't bad enough…" he scowled at Gaz. "SHE pushes me around and I'm willing to give my life up for her!" He started to freak out an trow everything. He took Gaz's video game and threw it across the floor. Gaz stared at it. I could tell that she had no clue whether to be mad at Dib or to let it go.
"She kicks me and beats me! And she always needs to call me 'Freak' or 'Stupid' or something insulting like that!"
He sobbed. I knew I had to do something. Quickly. Before it became too late… so I thought. I thought up a way.
"Gaz, I need to talk to you," I said. Gaz looked at me strange.
"Am I in trouble?" She asked. I don't answer. I could smell the fearless coming out of her.
"Gaz," I said, once we were in my room. "You realize what Dib is doing?" She looked to the floor.
"Dib is cutting," I said. "Cutting, Daughter! Heh, I mean, that isn't very good. It isn't good at all for one of my children to be cutting." Gaz started to sweat.
"And calling him stupid isn't improving this scenario."
"Dad… but… he doesn't seem to mind."
"Gaz. If he's inflicting harm upon himself," I said, beginning to get angry, "then he obviously minds!" I didn't mean to yell at the end there. It just sort of slipped. Gaz was beginning to cry. I knew I had crossed the line.
"Gaz," I said, softening my tone, "I can't tolerate rudeness of family members. Now I'm letting it go this time, but if I ever hear that you are hurting Dib, then there will be consequences. Tough ones." Gaz nodded. But she was choking on her sadness so much that she couldn't talk. I took my finger and put it under her chin, raising it so that she was looking me in the eye.
"Don't cry anymore, Honey." I hugged her.
After she'd calmed down, I went to see Dib. He was sitting on the couch, looking at the gauze on his arms and legs. I felt him stiffen when I sat next to him.
"Son," I said. "You didn't need to do this." He began to cry.
Great.
I had successfully made both my children cry.
"Now," I said. "I understand that you are bullied at school." He nodded. I sighed. "I was too. Cudos to anyone who hasn't been." He looked at me, as if wondering where I was going with this.
"But where am I now, Son?" I asked.
"You're here," he said.
"Yes I am. I have a wonderful career. I have two great kids." I shifted.
"The point is, bullying has made me stronger. I don't feel weak. I did not collapse under the weight of the world.
"Sure, if I had a choice, my choice would most definitely be to live a bully-free life." I sniffed.
"But the world doesn't work like that. You know what adaption is, right, Son?" He nodded.
"Well, you have to adapt to the tough conditions of the world. If your a square peg in a round hole, change yourself into an octagon. What I mean by that is that you still won't fit perfectly, but you'll fit better." My son dried his eyes.
"I still wish that people would accept me for who I am. And that I had at least one friend."
"If you'd like a friend," I said, "talk to people! And tell them off, too, of you know what I mean. Not in a mean way, but if they think your a freak, show them your not." My son looked up at me. "I'm going to try that. Thanks, dad."
After that day, my son never cut again. He also gained some friends. However, I still checked his arms and legs weekly to see if he'd started the nasty habit again.
Just in case.