Permanent Scars

Critical Veins

November 30, Saturday. 5:19 a.m.

I wake up on my bed with a blaring headache. Someone's next to me and I freak out for a quick second, whipping the covers off. I look. It's Adam. Then the events of the night before come raging through my mind like a cold river of despair. He wakes up in a jump and looks up at me with a tired, scared-to-death expression; his hair sticking up all over his head.

   "Adam, why are you in my bed?" I demand defensively, getting out of bed and putting as much distance between himself and I as possible. Adam's face turns from worried-sick to bedazzled hurt.

   "Why am I in your bed?" He shakes his head, laughing in a way I've never heard him laugh before, "Why am I in your bed? Oh I don't know, maybe I was up all night cleaning you up and making sure you drank water, and stayed warm, and kept breathing. I had to keep telling myself you were okay until I eventually fell asleep... Amber. I'm sorry I am in your bed." He gets out of the bed and turns away, running his hands through his hair. Tears start running down my cheeks and I touch them. They're cold.

   "Adam?" I say in a shaky voice. I can see his back moving from large breaths being taken. "Umm... I, well..." I stammer, trying to find a way out of talking, I'm shaking so bad. I put a hand over my mouth and look down as Adam turns around.

   "Amber, I thought you were clean!" He pauses, putting a palm on his forehead. "When did you start again?"

   I just nod because I don't know how long it's been. Since he broke me out I guess. Could be longer.

   "I could've helped you. I could've done so much more for you. And yet you chose to not turn to anything but...despair." He takes a few steps towards me. "You know you'll only feel worse in the long run. But you don't value your life at all, do you? That's how it is, isn't it?" His voice rises in such an angry manner, it frightens me. But he's right, I don't value my life. I nod more through tears.

   "You don't value yours, either," I sob.

   "I'm sure as hell starting to," he retorts. "That should count for something at least."

   The silence between us is heavy, rigid and unbearable. Adam stands up and walks over to me slowly. I feel his closeness so much more now than I ever have before. I feel so vulnerable in front of him now, I can't even look into his wonderful eyes. Once again, he has seen me at my worst. And my shame calls me small in his presence. I've never felt so revealed.

   "I... I have something to show you," he says softly. He stretches his bare arms forth, gesturing to each wrist, pushing his wristband out of the way when he points to the left. Two long, crude scars on critical veins—one for each wrist. He stares intensely at me as I dare to look at them. Then, hands shaking, he lifts his shirt, revealing a hideous, crooked slash over his heart. I stare in horror, turning to meet his eyes questioningly.

   "These scars, they're from all the times I tried to kill myself."

   "Don't ever do that again."

   "Okay," he laughs. "I won't. But you've gotta promise you won't do it again either." His right hand reaches for my left, linking our pinkies together. My brows pull together in frustration. I have to ask. I need to know why he does this.

   "Why do you do that?" I whisper. He smirks lazily, leaning his head forward until our foreheads touch.

   "Every time I've ever done this, it was my promise to stay alive. For you. Now I want you to promise to stay alive."

   I whimper, my heart hurting at the thought that I'm the reason he never committed suicide.

   "Promise me." Keeping his gaze steadily locked on mine, he holds up our hands, pinkies still linked.

   Mouth hanging open, I stand there breathing hesitantly before swallowing and whispering, "I promise."

   My fingers are crossed behind my back.