4 December 2012
I sat across the room from him, sitting and staring at him from his desk. He sat on his bed and stared out the window, a look of guilt and stubbornness plastered on his face. In my hand I held the razor he was holding as I walked in. Small red gashes trailed up his arms. It was the first time in years I'd seen him with the little bloody cuts. Why he relapsed now, he wouldn't tell me.
"Did something happen with your parents?"
"...."
"Did you have a fight with Johnny?"
"...."
"Are you not gonna tell me?" At this point he nods, not breaking his gaze at that unseen point in the distance. I narrow my eyes and throw the razor down onto the desk. Grab my bag. Get up and storm to the door. Then, there it is. A faint whisp of a voice. I turn and look at him.
"What?" He looks up. Pain stabs his expression.
"I said, 'wait.'" I stood by the door, hesitating. Silently, I walk back over to where I was sitting. I sit my bag on the desk and stand in front of him, waiting. He pulls me down onto his lap and buries his face into my shoulder. We sit like this for awhile. Suddenly, sobs rack his body and the bed shakes slightly. I hold him to me and run my fingers through his hair. He feels so small in my arms. The cuts bleed and seem to grin at me, their morbid purpose so clear. Mesmerized, I release him and gently grab him arm. His sobs shrink to small hiccups and he watches me with confusion in his eyes. I lift his arm up and, as gently as I can, kiss every scar, gash, bruise and cut. Blood coats my lips halfway up as if to threaten me to stop. I ignore its metallic taste and continue, determined to leave no abrasion untouched. His hiccups have finally stopped and he's watching me with something that's almost fascination. I softly place my red lips upon the last scar and look up at him. His eyes search mine and he leans forward hesitantly. His mouth finds mine and presses firm. Though firm, his kiss was tender and loving. My shoulders sagged and I leaned into him. His tongue lapped my lips gently and the metallic taste began to fade. Slowly, he released me. Our eyes met, slightly dazed, and he intertwined our fingers. I remember that day always. It was the day we finally kissed. It was the day I promised the end of his scars.
His Scars • Opuss № I