I began to take her suicidal tendencies seriously as we lay there weeping together, I pull out my old army knife, I always carry it on me now for some reason.
I flick it open and draw lines on my finger with the blade, it's sharp and the blood bubbles to the surface as the skin splits. The lines have migrated to my wrists and arms and they aren't lines anymore, they're filling up my arms with blood and it's quiet, I know she can see what I'm doing and I know she's trying not to do it to herself, I know it's wrong but I pass her the blade anyway and she does the same.
How am I supposed to help her through depression when I cant even quit my cutting addiction? I've been doing it for years, I never stopped I've just been using my legs (because i always wear long pants) and torso (because I always wear a shirt) instead of the obvious places like my wrists and arms.
I lied to myself and a lot of people, I don't know what happened next, I think I told her that I never stopped because she's unbuttoned my shirt and is skating her fingers over my cuts and scars so carelessly and freely.
She rests her head on my chest and wraps her arm around me and there's a small amount of blood dripping out of her wrists and onto my chest but I don't mind.
Her dads wife, Brooke, walks in and we both jump and Steph holds me tighter, slightly digging her nails into me
"What's going on in here?" she says softly, eyeing the army knife with blood on the blade discarded on the floor then both of us on the bed with eyes swollen from crying and arms dripping blood.
Steph shuts her eyes and buries her head under my arm that's around her and Brooke looks afraid, she walks out slowly and comes back about fifteen minutes later with some sort of doctor guys,
"I think we're going to a mental institution" I whisper into her ear through her hair, without making it look like I moved so that no one would ask what I said, Steph nuzzles my chest and I can feel her eyelashes as she blinks and it tickles.
She won't let go, they're pulling her off but she won't leave my side and I won't leave hers, she looks up at me, her emerald eyes are big and shiny and she's crying again, "Don't l-let them t-take me a-away" she whispers sadly
"I won't" I say holding her closer but we're both tired and the doctor guys are stronger and they've taken her away and I feel like shit because I'm alone.
"Blake?" it's Frank now, talking to Brooke downstairs "What happened?" he asks coming into Steph's room; I'm in here alone but Brooke has brought Gerard, Lindsey, Bandit, Frank, Jamia, Cherry and Lilly up.
The girls are playing on the floor with an ugly Barbie doll or something and the adults are staring at me and if they were my parents they'd be saying "Where did we go wrong?" but they don't, they're compassionate but they're eyes are staring hard, trying to figure out what happened, why I did this.
Lindsey, Jamia and the girls all leave the room while Gerard and Frank try and talk to me.
"Blake..." Gerard says wearily as he reaches his hand toward me, my arms are curled around the bed like I'm still holding Steph,
"What's happened?" he asks slowly as he takes my hand and turns it over, examining the cuts.
Lindsey walks in and helps clean the blood off my arm (and chest where Steph's blood dripped) and then someone dresses the cuts with a bandage that smells like methylated spirits and stings bad.
They even wrap up my legs and torso because there's a lot of fresh cuts there too,
"Talk to me" Frank says softly.
I take a deep breath and just shake my head, I can't find words-
I can't speak.
Gerard and Lindsey drive me home and I run upstairs right away and lie in bed for hours and there's light out before I can sleep again, Stephs the only thing on my mind. Where did they take her?
When will she be back?
Is she okay?
Her words echo in my head, "Don't l-let them t-take me a-away"
She knew what was going to happen, I could hear it in her voice.