The school alerted us to danger signals we couldn't help but look for.
Were her pupils dilated?
Had she lost interest in school activities, in sports and hobbies?
Had she withdrawn from their peers?
They handed out the same pamphlets that were in the virgin suicide movie, same colors, same text. This was real though.
She wasn't suicidal, she isn't.
I know how she felt so I was just there for her when she needed me, because I wanted someone to be there for me when I went through all that shit and I never had anyone and it only got worse.
I sat with her at lunch, she took my hands and pushed my sweater sleeves up my arms, her cold fingertips traced the outline of my old cuts, my scars now. It made my hair stand on end and goosebumps appeared on my forearm,
"S-Sorry" she says awkwardly, I pull my sleeves down and kiss her cheek softly, "Don't be, I don't want you to have ugly scars like this. Don't ruin your body"
I kiss her again and she squeezes my hand tightly then throws her arms around me tightly, I place my hands carefully around her waist and then she sits bolt upright again, she cries out in pain, "Argh"
She untucks her shirt and lifts the elastic of the skirt a little, her bandage has come off and the stitches have come undone and are bleeding, I pull out the mini first aid kit that I make her carry in her backpack and wipe the blood, I put another bandage over it and the blood stops.
"Thank you D-Doctor Frodo B-Blake Wisman" she says to me.
I wink at her and she fixes her uniform up.