Strawberries
Bad News
“…Stat over?”
You tilt your head and nod.
“I… I don’t know, Joe. I’m not ready.”
You nod. “Understandable.”
There’s a long silence. You look down at the pillow my arm is hidden under, and the blood splotch on the bed. You nod towards the pillow, and I nod in response, looking away as you pull it away from my arm. Your eyes grow wide when you look at the newest wounds and some of the faded scars. Blood’s blotted and dried all over my wrist.
“Nicky…” you cradle my arm in your hand. “Did you do this?”
I nod.
“Oh my God, Nick… why?”
I shrug, looking down at my marred wrist. I rest my head in my free hand, shaking my head. You pull me up off the bed gently and silently lead me to the bathroom. You left me up to sit on the counter and open a drawer, pulling out a first aid kit. I hand you my wrist and you hold it gently, first blotting it with a wet cloth.
I hiss through my teeth when the cloth touches it. “Owww… ow, ow.”
You look up at me apologetically as you clean the dried blood off my arm. You pick the squashed tube of Neosporin up and dab some on a swatch of gauze. Then you press the bandage over my arm and wrap it around.
“Oww!” I squeak. You pat my wrist gently as you secure the bandage with some medical tape.
“There,” you say softly. I look down at my bandaged wrist, running my fingertips over the gauze. “God, Nick, I’m sorry.”
I just nod and look down at the countertop. “I’m sorry I tried to….”
You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I am…”
“Don’t be. You don’t need to be. I hurt you.”
“It’s oka-”
“No it’s not.”
I’m silent. I pout as I look down at my wrist. Finally, I whisper “I’m not ready to start over.”
“I understand.”
“What about… Rory’s kid?”
You look down at your lap, blinking a few times. You close your eyes, shaking your head.
“Joe…?”
“She… the baby died, Nick.”
You tilt your head and nod.
“I… I don’t know, Joe. I’m not ready.”
You nod. “Understandable.”
There’s a long silence. You look down at the pillow my arm is hidden under, and the blood splotch on the bed. You nod towards the pillow, and I nod in response, looking away as you pull it away from my arm. Your eyes grow wide when you look at the newest wounds and some of the faded scars. Blood’s blotted and dried all over my wrist.
“Nicky…” you cradle my arm in your hand. “Did you do this?”
I nod.
“Oh my God, Nick… why?”
I shrug, looking down at my marred wrist. I rest my head in my free hand, shaking my head. You pull me up off the bed gently and silently lead me to the bathroom. You left me up to sit on the counter and open a drawer, pulling out a first aid kit. I hand you my wrist and you hold it gently, first blotting it with a wet cloth.
I hiss through my teeth when the cloth touches it. “Owww… ow, ow.”
You look up at me apologetically as you clean the dried blood off my arm. You pick the squashed tube of Neosporin up and dab some on a swatch of gauze. Then you press the bandage over my arm and wrap it around.
“Oww!” I squeak. You pat my wrist gently as you secure the bandage with some medical tape.
“There,” you say softly. I look down at my bandaged wrist, running my fingertips over the gauze. “God, Nick, I’m sorry.”
I just nod and look down at the countertop. “I’m sorry I tried to….”
You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I am…”
“Don’t be. You don’t need to be. I hurt you.”
“It’s oka-”
“No it’s not.”
I’m silent. I pout as I look down at my wrist. Finally, I whisper “I’m not ready to start over.”
“I understand.”
“What about… Rory’s kid?”
You look down at your lap, blinking a few times. You close your eyes, shaking your head.
“Joe…?”
“She… the baby died, Nick.”