Seeing Shane Gray ✓

forty | depressed

Warning: triggering discussion of child abuse, depression, and self-harm

November 30

*.*.*.*.*.*

My heart tears at the sight of the parallel lines on Riley's thin wrist and forearm. Images of Carter's dead body flash before my eyes and the entire day plays out before my eyes: finding him dead in his bed, going from skepticism to shock to panic, calling an ambulance and riding in the back till we got to the hospital where my parents soon arrived. I can almost hear the doctors saying 'I'm sorry Mr. and Mrs. Ming'.

Nobody ever said sorry to me. Not the doctor, not my parents, not Carter.

Blinking a few times, I try to put the thought of Carter out of my head. This is not about me. This is about Riley and she deserves to be the focus here. I can't help my friend if I'm having a battle with myself on the inside.

"Riley ..." I begin, my voice barely audible.

"I'm not depressed," Riley says hastily, "It's not like I'm trying to kill myself or ..."

Her words pierce my being and I exhale a shuddering breath, physically hurt by her emotional pain.

"It just makes me feel better," Riley concludes in a small voice, averting her gaze.

Neither Marla nor Racheal speak, both staring at me as if they're waiting for my reaction. I swallow back my agony and suck in a deep breath to brace myself.

"When did you start?" I ask Riley, sounding calmer than I feel.

Riley looks up at me, her eyes confused and disbelieving.

"A couple of months ago."

"Did ..." I drop my voice. "Did Carlos have anything to do with this?"

Riley lets out a frustrated sound. "No, he didn't. I couldn't care less about him. It was ..." She hesitates, biting at her lower lip.

For a moment, I wonder if it has something to do with her dad. I never told her what he did, but I tried to ask her how he treats her. She said he's good. I didn't fully believe her but I didn't want to ruin her image of her father.

I wish I'd said something.

I reach out and take her hand in both of mine, my thumb caressing the wounds in various phases of healing. My eyes take in the white ones that have healed and left behind scars that stand out against her pale skin, the red ones that are still fresh and raw, and even the brown and pink ones that have dried up and will soon stop hurting.

My eyes sting and I sniff. Not only am I reminded of Carter but also of myself. All this time, I've blamed myself for not knowing what Carter was going through. I wish and I wish that I could go back and save him. But here I am again, still as oblivious, still as self-absorbed.

Still unaware of what the people around me are suffering from.

"Tell me what happened," I say to Riley, softly to shield my own hatred toward myself. I hate that I have been so caught up in my pain, holding on to it for over a year, when I could have used it to make me more aware and helpful.

Instead of letting my tragedy become my wings, I let it become my anchor.

Pulling me deeper and deeper, holding me back.

Riley shakes her head and licks her lips. "It was ... stupid, really. My aunt came to my house last month and started yelling at dad. She said he tried to molest her ten-year-old daughter. She was lying, I know it. My dad wouldn't do that."