Smiling at Everything

Jazz took a breath, incapable of believing she was actually going to do this. She was going to show someone her scars, one of her secrets. Of all people, it was Zack. Not her friends. For some reason, he noticed something wrong with her constant sleeve of bracelets. Her band mates never noticed even though they were around her almost constantly. Obviously, Zack cared for her; he admitted to being interested in being with her the day before. But that spoke volumes about her friends.

Why didn't they care about her? Why did they not notice her? Did she really not matter that much?

"You're just a useless whore, Presley."

Jazz shook the voice from her head. She was expecting them to comeback soon. One cut wouldn't make them go away for a full day. She was lucky the cut made them go away for so long. One cut used to only last a few hours.

Zack studied Jazz as she battled with herself. What was she thinking about? What went through her head when she spaced out like that? Why couldn't she just let him in? It was difficult to watch her breakdown like that, her mental state slowly decaying. She was too amazing to be letting go.

Jazz slid the bangles off her arm, the objects clattering against the coffee table. She kept the underside of her arms pressed to her legs, hoping to keep Zack from seeing her scars and the bandage adorning her arm. Maybe he wouldn't ask her.

Then again, he did always prove her wrong on her assumptions. He cared much more than she gave him credit for. But she didn't want to be disappointed if she actually did expect him to do something and he didn't do it. She tried not to set herself up for that kind of failure.

Zack could see the force with which Jazz was pressing her arms to her thighs. She didn't want him to see, that was clear. However, she didn't have to take off the bracelets. She could have just admitted to lying. He would have no problem with it; she was just trying to protect herself. Her slipping off the obnoxious bracelets showed him that, deep down, she did want him to see.

"These are my arms," Jazz shrugged, keeping her arms down.

"Can I see the underside of your arms?" Zack asked.

He honestly didn't know what she would do in response to that. She could deny his request and simply tell him she would talk with him about it later. She could outright disregard his request. He didn't put it past her to do so.

"How much do you know, Zack?" Jazz returned.

"Nothing more than you've told me," Zack answered.

It was true. He didn't know anything past that. He couldn't if she didn't tell him.

"You know more than that," Jazz asserted.

He had to. There was no other way he could know so much, know the exact questions to ask to get the secret information. He must have known everything already and was just waiting for her let it out.

"I don't," Zack replied, "I just watch you a lot. I pick up on things other people don't notice."

"Watching can't provide the information you know."

"It can when you piece things together. No one realizes that you're not a sporadic person. You've actually planned out every aspect of yourself perfectly to hide things. I just happen to be the person willing to solve your puzzle."

Jazz let the information sink in. On one hand, it was kind of creepy. In fact, it was downright stalkerish. However, it was sweet. He was willing to take the time to figure her out. Not even her friends had taken the time to do that. He cared about her in a way no one else had. That definitely outweighed the stalker side of it.

"So are you going to show me the underside of your arms or would you prefer putting your bracelets back on and forgetting this ever happened?" Zack asked.

Without a word, Jazz flipped her arms to show Zack the once hidden section. She watched Zack as he examined her arms, waiting for the look of disgust.

It never showed up.

Zack tried his hardest not show any expression while he looked at Jazz's arms. Any look he made would have been taken for something negative. Jazz was in a sensitive state, her mindset would immediately jump to conclusions. But it was hard not to show shock. Her arms were littered in scars, some of them words that he couldn't believe she was calling herself. Even worse, she had one recent wound that stained most of her bandage a sickly shade of red.

How could she do that to herself?

"Are there more?" Zack asked.

"I can't show you those," Jazz replied.

Zack caught the meaning of her statement without explanation. His calm façade broke, exposing his shock. She cut her private areas, he had every reason to be shocked.

"I'm a freak, I know," Jazz mumbled.

"You're not a freak," Zack denied.

"Yes, I am. I cut up my body. No normal person does that."

"Jazz, you're just hurting and you don't know how to express it in a healthy way. Cutting yourself doesn't make you a freak," Zack said, "But it does make me worry about you."

Jazz fiddled with her fingers, "So you don't think I'm weird?"

"Of course not. You're still just as perfect and amazing as always."

A smile spread on Jazz's face, dimples visible. He was too good for her, she was convinced. There was no way someone so understanding was meant to be with her. She didn't deserve that. She deserved to die alone. After the things that happened in the past, Jazz knew that was the case.

This was a nice change though.

"So what are you willing to tell me?" Zack asked.

"I don't know. What do you want me to tell you?"

"Are you going to tell me why you do it?"

"Not yet."

"But you will eventually?"

"Maybe."

He could settle for that. It wasn't a promise but it was as close as he was going to get to one with Jazz. He just hoped nothing bad would happen before she decided to tell him.

"Well, when did you start cutting?" Zack asked.

"The summer before eighth grade."

He wanted to ask her why. What compelled her to start cutting so young? The question was on the tip of his tongue. But she wouldn't tell him if he asked. There was no point in wasting time.

"Was there ever a point that you realized this was bad for you?"

"I did. And I forced myself to quit for awhile."

"How long?"

"A few years."

"That's great progress," Zack commented.

"It was."

"When did you relapse?"

"Last night."

"That's why that bandage is there," he motioned to the section of white and red on Jazz's arm.

Jazz nodded.

"You need to change the bandage."

"I know."

It was silent between the two. Neither knew what to say. Zack couldn't come up with some inspirational phrase to tell her, too caught up in the newfound information. Jazz was nervous. She was sure this would change his overall opinion of her.

"What can I tell you to make you see you're gorgeous and that you don't need to cut yourself to feel better?" Zack asked.

"I don't know," Jazz mumbled.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Jazz shrugged. This wasn't a problem she had ever told anyone about. She wouldn't know how to go about fixing it with someone else's help.

"Can you promise me one thing then?" Zack asked.

"Sure."

"Promise me that, if you feel like cutting, you'll let me know before you do it so I can try to find a way to keep you from doing it."

He was desperate. Watching her deteriorate was hard enough but knowing she was cutting hurt him worse. This wasn't a minor problem. She could kill herself if the sharp object she used went too deep. He couldn't ask for much more from her, just some fair warning so he could have a chance to help.

"Is that really what you want me to do?" Jazz asked.

"Yes."

"Well, Beatrice, I haven't been able to stop thinking about cutting all morning."