Suicidal Tendencies

'I won't see you tonight. - Harley'
Matt crumpled the small note up and tossed it in the bin. Harley was always out and about, doing things to make her life more adventurous; tonight would be no different for her. He knew why she did this; why she lived a certain way.
Matt wasn't the easiest or greatest guy to live with. He was a rock star, with loud, boisterous friends and a sex appetite that never seemed satiated. However, Harley still lived with him, quiet and observant of everything that went on. She never questioned a thing Matt did, only smiled and kept on walking. He knew that she always had something off about her; to him it was odd how she kept on moseying about and ignored the atmosphere in which she lived in. But, Matt treasured Harley's friendship. It was a friendship they've had since high school and even though they were of opposite sexes, they were happily living together without romantic feelings; or so Matt thought.
It was late when Harley finally made appearance. Matt had drifted off on the couch, chips still on his chest and a dribble of drool hanging out of his mouth. Harley stifled her giggled and moved to where she positioned herself behind him. She leaned down, smirking to herself as she gently blew on his ear; something she knew turned him on. Matt made a small groaning sound, shifting a bit on the couch.
"Matt," Harley whispered in his ear. "I'll help you to bed."
Matt made some sort of sound, which Harley took as him agreeing. She rounded the couch to his side, bending down to grab one of his arms and slinging it around her should.
"Alright! One, two, up ye' go!" She grunted with exertion of pulling the bulky man to his feet. Matt whined, but didn't fight being pulled up. Together they shuffled up the stairs and in to Matt's room. She tried to place him gently on the bed, but he was heavy enough where he ended up falling on to the bed.
Harley started taking his clothes off, knowing he liked sleeping in his boxers. He wasn't much help trying to get his own clothes off, but they had lived long enough together that this was a routine for them. Once she finished pulling his jeans off, she got a glass of water for him, not knowing if he was drunk or just tired. As she turned to leave, Matt's hand stretched out, gripping on to her arm, his fingers sliding up underneath her sleeve.
"Wait, Harley-" She could feel his fingers prodding, feelings the raised scars, feeling things he never knew about, feeling and touching and pressing - suddenly Harley recoiled like a snake, drawing to herself and a barrier being built around her quickly.
"What were those?" Matt pondered, alert and shifting to sit up more.
"Nothing, Matt. You must have imagined you felt something." Harley replied, her eyes guarded. Matt stared at her, watched as she wrapped herself up and would look at anything but him. It was that moment that he realized what was wrong with his best friend; she was depressed, but more than that. She was depressed beyond capacity.
"Lee, come here." He said, using her nickname. Her eyes drifted to him briefly, shyed away, then back to him. She slowly made her way to him, crawling into his capacious bed.
"Those are self inflicted scars, aren't they?" His eyes gazed down at her covered arms. Always covered. Harley couldn't risk people seeing them, couldn't risk people knowing about her secret and she definitely couldn't let Matt know why. Yet here he was; feeling them, touching them, probing them, asking questions. She couldn't handle it.
Harley broke.
"Stop! Matt stop!" Her first words came out strangled and high pitched and panicked. Matt didn't let go, he held on to her arms.
"Why Harley?" He asked quietly, slowly moving the sleeves up and revealing them. They weren't grotesque or hideous or horrendous. They were beautiful in a very dark way. Most of the scars were silver, criss crossing over each other in an intricate design. Then there were some that were dark and vicious, still healing to become the woven pattern in her skin. Some were raised and bumpy, uneven with her skin and the small, almost knicks, were smooth with her skin.
"They're because of you, Matt." He barely heard her, he was so focused on her skin, but he did. He heard her and his broke in a matter of seconds hearing those words.
"Me?" His eyes slowly traveled up to hers and it was like he was seeing her for the first time. He noticed how her face was sunken In, hollow and ghastly pale; her eyes were dim and the once vibrant blue eyes seemed grey.
"You leave me behind. You're famous, Matt. I just live with you because who else wants me? I've watched you bring home girls upon girls and even more girls. I hear you; I room right next to you," She let out a humorous laugh. "I've watched you live an amazing life, but also noticed how even though I was a part of your life, I was never in it. And I'll never be; I know that and I've come to terms with it."
Matt's world shattered. How could he never notice it?
"Fuck, Lee, why did you never mention this before? Why did you let it get so out of hand?"
"You were happy, Matt. Even though seeing you happy was my greatest pleasure in life; it didn't hide the fact that I was so very deeply in love with you." Harley's eyes filled with tears.
"Harley," Matt started, trying not to sound condescending but it was inevitable.
"No, Matt. Don't. You're the cause of my depression, my self hatred, my insecurities; however, you'll never be the cause of a cut on my body. These," She motioned to her scars. "They are because of me and only me. They were placed on my body when I let the weight of the world crash down on me, when I let my thoughts get the best of me, when I couldn't handle everything that was thrown at me and I took it out on myself."
Matt didn't know what to say. What did he say? She confessed everything to him, everything that burned her soul and weighed her down. Harley stared at the man, stared at him and waited for anything, something that could signify that she did the right thing, that she could still have a tiny thread of hope left.
Matt didn't say anything. Instead he stood, walking out of the room.
Harley died on the inside.
Clothes were flying, smashed together, everything she could fit, was being stuffed into a single bag. Zipping up the bag and flinging it over her should, Harley left the single place she knew best.
Days later, Matt was speaking to Dr. Sanchos, telling her every single detail about the woman who he loved in every single way.