The Wounds He Mended

Meeting Him

Once the show had ended, I shoved through the crowd to try and make it to the signing room before everyone else; which was absolutely pointless, because everyone else had already gotten there.  I waited by myself in the back of the line for my turn to meet Pentatonix.  I took my sweatshirt off, despite the fact it would reveal all of my cuts and scars; it was crowded and growing very hot.  After two and a half hours or so, I was finally up next.  I took out the PTX snapback I had bought and a silver sharpie so they could sign it.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Mitch asked, taking the sharpie and hat out of my hands.

“Rian,” I replied.  “With an ‘I.’”

“That’s a really cool name,” he said, signing my hat.

“Thanks,” I replied, cheerfully.  Most people asked why I had a guy’s name, so I was very excited to hear that someone actually liked it.  Mitch passed my hat off to Kirstie who was next in line.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you!  What’s your name sweetie?” she asked full of enthusiasm.

“Rian,” I replied.  “With an ‘I.’”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.  I am absolutely obsessed with your hair color.  It looks so natural,” she said.

“Actually, it is natural,” I said, grabbing a piece of my hair and looking at it.

“Really?” she exclaimed.  “I love it!”  The soprano passed my hat to Kevin.

“Rian, is it?” he asked, looking at my hat and what the others had written.  “I really like that name.”

“Thanks;” I began, “your cello-boxing is absolutely amazing.”

“Thanks!” he said, very happily.  “I really appreciate it.”  He passed my hat and sharpie down to Avi.

“Hey,” he said.  “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Of course!” I replied.  “I was in the front row.”

“Wow, that’s awesome.  I think I might recognize you.”  I giggled and he began to sign my hat.  Last, but not least, was Scott.  Avi attempted to hand Scott my hat, but when he wouldn’t pay attention he wacked him with it.  I laughed.

“Sorry!” Scott said, taking the hat away from Avi.  “What’s your name, beautiful?” he asked.  Scott was definitely my favorite member of Pentatonix, so hearing him call me beautiful made my heart skip a beat.

“Rian,” I replied.  “With an ‘I.’”

“Rian,” he repeated.  “I love that.”  He finished writing on my hat and reached out to hand it back to me.  Without thinking, I reached out to grab the hat with my left arm; the one with the cuts and scars.  He drew back a little so I couldn’t reach the hat, my arm still out-stretched, once he saw them.

“Did you do all those?” he asked.  I tried to pull my arm back, but he grabbed my hand, before I got the chance.  “Did you do all those?” he repeated, more strict and looking into my eyes this time.

I looked down at the ground.  “Yeah,” I mumbled.

Scott stood up and walked around the table.  He reached out and gave me a huge bear hug.  I was shocked and didn’t know what to do for a couple seconds, so I just stood there.  Once I regained my senses, I wrapped my arms around him and hugged back.  He picked me up slightly and set me down quickly.

“Why are you so light?” he asked, looking at my stomach.  He was the first person ever to notice my eating disorder, and I had only known him for two minutes.  “Do you starve yourself?”

I looked down, again.  He wrapped him arms around me, again in a hug.

“Please, don’t,” he said into the top of my head.  He let go and backed away a little.  “Do you have a phone?” he asked.

“Um, yeah, why?” I asked, very confused.  I had switched my number the day before and didn’t remember my number yet.

“Here,” he said, turning around towards the table.  Scott knelt down and wrote something and then stood back up.  He turned around and handed me a small sheet of paper.  It was his phone number.  “Please call me or text me if you ever need anything,” he began, “especially if you ever think about hurting yourself, again.  Are you going home, now?” he asked.

I froze for a second.  Um, no.  I’m never going home.  “I was going to go back to my hotel,” I replied.

“Do you have time to go eat?” the baritone asked.

“You do realize it’s almost 3 in the morning, right?” I asked, laughing slightly and hoping that he wouldn’t make me eat.

“Yes,” he said, through his laughs.  “I do, but Wendy’s is open and I’m starving, and I would assume that you are, too.”  He said goodbye to the rest of the group and lead me out a couple of doors and out of the back of the opera house.  We snuck past the fans, who were outside looking for anyone they could find, and into his car.

“Wendy’s ok with you?” he asked.

“I’m not hungry,” I said, obviously lying.

“Oh, no,” Scott began, “we are going to get some food in you.”  We drove for about 10 minutes before arriving at a Wendy’s.  We walked in and sat down at a table and began to talk.

“So, how old are you, Rian?” he asked, munching on his burger.  I sat and poked at my food.

“18,” I replied.

“How old were you when you started cutting yourself?” Scott asked, changing the subject abruptly, which I was not prepared for.  He stared at me as I poked at my food some more.

“I don’t remember,” I said, not even looking at him.  “A long time though, and it’s not just cutting.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, setting down his burger, folding his hands, and placing them on the table.

“Sometimes, its burning, sometimes its stabbing;” I began, “it kind of just depends.”

“Wow,” he said, leaning back.  “I’ve been through it, too,” the baritone said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, placing a fry in my mouth.  It was the first thing I had eaten in a week, and it tasted so good.

He took off his jacket and rolled up his sweater sleeve, extending his arm out for me to see.  It was covered in scars.