Status: The end. Thank you all so much for reading.
Wrists
mind .
I don’t remember how and when I managed to slip by my family and reach the campus coffee shop, but I did. And there I was, dressed sloppily in an old red T-shirt (which was now too big on me) and the smallest jeans they made in for young men possible, waiting for him to come. I didn’t have to wait long, though—quickly he entered, dressed in his signature leather jacket, vintage sunglasses, and hair a disheveled mess.
He lowered himself in a seat across from me silently, slowly slipping off his sunglasses to give me an intense stare. I had to tear myself away from his gaze before I started crying. I hated feeling so weak; I hated feeling so feminine, but I couldn’t help it. The demons (or was it myself?) made me this way; they made me so useless, a shell, empty.
I deceived myself into thinking I enjoyed the feeling of emptiness. I tricked myself; let myself fall into the clutches of those horrid demons in my head. And now it was too late to turn back. I had already given my soul up to the devil. Which brought me back to the same point I’d made before: why was I pulling Elijah into my unfixable mess? Why were we here? And why was he still trying to help? Did he not see I was fucked up; did he not understand that the demons in my head were becoming now me?
“I’m sorry,” I blurted before I could stop myself. I tapped my fingers against the table repeatedly, and bobbed my foot up and down. “I’m sorry. I. I’m sorry.” I felt like a broken toy, repeating myself so much. But I couldn’t help it—apologies was all I could make out without breaking down.
Elijah grabbed my hand, preventing me from tapping any further. His eyes were still on my face, unmoving, but he was working slowly, turning my hand over. I looked up and watched him, confusion flashing through my features, just before I realized what he was doing.
But it was too late.
He saw my wrists.
He saw the scarred, bony, bruised mess of my wrists. He saw the past I tried so hard to contain; the past I tried so hard to keep to myself. He saw who I was.
The horror that passed through his eyes was enough for me to snatch my hand back and get to my feet. “Is this what you came here for!?” My voice sounded so far away. I didn’t even realize it was me until I saw Elijah react.
“No!” Elijah got to his feet next, grabbing my arm so I wouldn’t run away. “I came here because you needed me!”
I tried to pull away from him and run, but I couldn’t. Elijah was too strong and too stubborn for his own good. “You called me, didn’t you!?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “But I don’t even know why anymore!”
The lone cashier was watching us. I could feel her stare. But I was too upset to care.
“Talk to me, Graham,” he said harshly. “How can we ever see each other if all you do is sit around and drink coffee!?”
“Because—” I mumbled, but never finished. The tears of holding in too many emotions, thoughts, feelings were coming fast. And I didn’t want anyone to see it, especially him. But they came, and I couldn’t stop it at all.
I saw Elijah’s face contorting into shock before my vision blurred. I was too overwhelmed to move; I felt strong arms carrying me out into the cold, fall outdoors. And they held me out there until I stopped sobbing,
20 minutes later.
He lowered himself in a seat across from me silently, slowly slipping off his sunglasses to give me an intense stare. I had to tear myself away from his gaze before I started crying. I hated feeling so weak; I hated feeling so feminine, but I couldn’t help it. The demons (or was it myself?) made me this way; they made me so useless, a shell, empty.
I deceived myself into thinking I enjoyed the feeling of emptiness. I tricked myself; let myself fall into the clutches of those horrid demons in my head. And now it was too late to turn back. I had already given my soul up to the devil. Which brought me back to the same point I’d made before: why was I pulling Elijah into my unfixable mess? Why were we here? And why was he still trying to help? Did he not see I was fucked up; did he not understand that the demons in my head were becoming now me?
“I’m sorry,” I blurted before I could stop myself. I tapped my fingers against the table repeatedly, and bobbed my foot up and down. “I’m sorry. I. I’m sorry.” I felt like a broken toy, repeating myself so much. But I couldn’t help it—apologies was all I could make out without breaking down.
Elijah grabbed my hand, preventing me from tapping any further. His eyes were still on my face, unmoving, but he was working slowly, turning my hand over. I looked up and watched him, confusion flashing through my features, just before I realized what he was doing.
But it was too late.
He saw my wrists.
He saw the scarred, bony, bruised mess of my wrists. He saw the past I tried so hard to contain; the past I tried so hard to keep to myself. He saw who I was.
The horror that passed through his eyes was enough for me to snatch my hand back and get to my feet. “Is this what you came here for!?” My voice sounded so far away. I didn’t even realize it was me until I saw Elijah react.
“No!” Elijah got to his feet next, grabbing my arm so I wouldn’t run away. “I came here because you needed me!”
I tried to pull away from him and run, but I couldn’t. Elijah was too strong and too stubborn for his own good. “You called me, didn’t you!?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “But I don’t even know why anymore!”
The lone cashier was watching us. I could feel her stare. But I was too upset to care.
“Talk to me, Graham,” he said harshly. “How can we ever see each other if all you do is sit around and drink coffee!?”
“Because—” I mumbled, but never finished. The tears of holding in too many emotions, thoughts, feelings were coming fast. And I didn’t want anyone to see it, especially him. But they came, and I couldn’t stop it at all.
I saw Elijah’s face contorting into shock before my vision blurred. I was too overwhelmed to move; I felt strong arms carrying me out into the cold, fall outdoors. And they held me out there until I stopped sobbing,
20 minutes later.