Self-Harm

She held a cheap blade in one hand and an expensive phone in another. Looking at the blade made me look at my arms repeatedly. They were clean, almost as if they had always been this clean, yet I felt a twitch, almost as if they were still there, wanting more. She picked up the call by then, and was talking to the HR from the hospital setting a date for the interview, as they were in need of a psychologist. She occasionally nodded her head, and spun the blade between her fingers. The wounds on her thigh and heel were not bleeding yet. In fact, a stranger would pass them as stretch marks if asked to. I kept looking at her expectantly, she needed this job. She needed to get out of here, and move on to a faster, better life. It was better for everyone this way. She needed to be among those who made her feel welcomed, her family. I needed to be anywhere but near her, though I needed her to cure my loneliness. We spent so much time together, I wonder what made her feel this won't work out. I loved her, I still do, I just never figured out how to make her happy enough. I didn't have enough time for her anymore. I wanted to save her but I wanted to save myself as well. I looked at her expectantly with a smile, but guilt welled up inside. She hung up the phone. "What now?", I asked. "I got it". she replied. Sudden relief rushed over my body, I smiled and took away the blade from her hand. She just looked at nothing, really. She looks so lifeless. I can't see her like this anymore. Everything will be okay soon, though, right? It has to. The wounds are finally setting in. I kept the blade in my pocket. "Let's get you cleaned." I smiled. She will be okay now, and so will we.