Seventeen and Invincible

Like so many other mornings, a few days later, on that Friday, I woke up in Garrett’s arms. I guess he thought that as long as he stayed with me no harm could be done. But he was wrong. He was so wrong. He didn’t know that I would crawl away from him when he finally fell asleep and do the one thing that he hated; the one thing that provided relief from the things I couldn’t tell him.

I shifted uncomfortably as his arm fell onto one of the cuts on my side. I gasped slightly and moved his arm up and away from the scabbed-over gash—well not gash; I was too much of a coward to go that deep. He mumbled something softly and quietly in his sleep—what, I have no clue. I smiled and allowed myself to sink deeper into the sheets. The further I sank in, the less pressure his arm would have against my skin. He yawned and blinked a few times before opening his big blue eyes.

“Morning,” he mumbled groggily, tightening his arms around me in consciousness. I winced and closed my eyes for a moment until the pain passed. “You okay?” I simply nodded, not being able to form the words. “You sure?” I nodded again trying to ignore the pain that his hold on me was causing—both physically and emotionally. I knew he would want an explanation for my wincing and silence. He knew me better than to just accept the nods I’d been giving.

“Just really bad cramps,” I lied, sighing loudly. I opened my eyes again and rolled over to look him in the eye.

“Do you want me to get you aspirin?” I nodded quietly and he stood up, leaving me alone in what remained of his body heat.

“There’s Midol in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom.” He nodded and walked away. I wasn’t watching him, but I could feel him turn back to look at me and I could feel the nod he gave me.

“Here,” he handed me the pill and a glass of water. He sat down behind me again and wrapped his arms around me. “Anika,” he whispered, “stop doing this to yourself. Stop hurting yourself, please.”

“I’m not doing anything, Garrett. I have cramps—trust me, not by choice.” He reached for the hem of my shirt and held the thin material in his hands.

“Do I have to do anything else, Ani? We both know what I’m going to find if I lift your shirt even just a little bit,” he whispered, his head resting on my shoulder. “Why are you doing this, Ani? Can you please just tell me why?” he asked, his voice soft and broken sounding. “Please?” I sighed and shivered feeling his breath on my neck. “Please, Ani?”

“There isn’t just one reason, Garrett,” I sighed. “There are so many things and it’s just the only way to deal.”

“No,” he shook his head, “it should never be the only way to deal. What about me? You can talk to me. You have me. You can beat the shit out of me if it helps. Just, Anika, please, stop hurting yourself.” I pulled away from Garrett and sat on the floor. “Anika.”

“I do it because it’s one pain that I actually have control over. I can’t control their yelling and fighting. I can’t control his drinking and I can’t control my heart breaking. I can control this,” I sighed. “I can control what I do to myself. It’s the only thing I have control over.”

“But you’re losing control of it, Ani. Don’t you get it?” I shook my head. “But you are.”

“Garrett I don’t want to talk about it!” He climbed off of the bed and toward me.

“You need help. Anika, you need help. If you won’t let me in then I’m going to have to tell someone.”

“You can’t tell anyone!” I yelped. “They can’t find out about it. It’ll make me seem weak.”

“Then you need to talk to me, or Pat, or one of the guys. You can’t keep doing this.” I stood up to walk away from him again when he grabbed my hand. He stood up quickly to stop me. “Look at me,” he demanded. “Turn around and look at me Anika.” His voice and his touch were soft and warm.

“Why?” I asked shakily, turning to face him. He looked at me softly and quietly. He moved his hand to push up the side of my shirt. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard—I’d never wanted him to see. I never wanted him to be so aware. I felt his callused fingers trace across the scabs.

“Anika,” he whispered softly—so softly I could barely hear it. The tears started to form and I pushed them away. “Why?” he asked sadly. “Why do you do this to yourself?” I shook my head and felt him trace across the scabs and scars again.

“Because I need to feel like I have some kind of power—like there’s still something I’m good at.”

“But you’re amazing at everything. You don’t need to do this—you shouldn’t have to.” I sighed and took a step back.

“You don’t get it Gar. You just don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand, Ani,” he pleaded. “Help me understand why you think that cutting yourself apart is the only way to deal. Just help me understand why.” I sighed and shook my head.

“You’ll never understand though. No matter how hard I try it won’t make sense.”

“Then tell me how I can help. How can I make you stop?”

“You can’t,” I said simply, quietly and weakly. “You can’t make me stop,” I sighed.

“Then let me try anyway. Let me help you Anika,” he said exasperatedly. “Just let me try.”

“It’s a waste of time,” I sighed. He grabbed my hand and I opened my eyes.

“No it isn’t. It isn’t if there’s some slight chance that it could help.” I nodded reluctantly.