i sat there, on the floor of the school gym, back up against the wall, arms wrapped around my knees, gazing out at him. i smiled as he sank the basketball easily through the hoop, and a couple of his friends high-fived him. i sat watching the game until he came over to where i was sitting, and smiled down at me.

"hey, what's up?" he asked, his voice kind and warm, as usual.

"not too much, you?" i gave my standard answer.

"just playing some basketball. wanna play?"

"uh, no, i'm ok, thanks, i'll just watch." i hated myself for not playing, cuz i wanted to, but my energy refused to be centered on anything but the swirling thoughts in my head.

"oh, ok. but if you change your mind, you're still welcome to play." he smiled and winked at me.

"ok, thanks." i smiled back, gazing into his deep, dark brown eyes, eyes that seemed to understand everything. eyes that i could look at and tell by the look in them how much he cared.

as soon as the last bell rang, signaling the end of school, i grabbed my stuff from my locker, and hurried down to the gym for volleyball practice. i wanted to get to the locker room before everyone else. i changed quickly. i was sick of questions. i was running out of excuses for the perfect, red lines scattered across my body. i was kind of proud of them, in a way, but not enough to subject myself to questioning by my peers, who wouldn't understand, anyway. but there was one who understood. just one, but one was enough. he understood. he understood me- everything about me, it seemed like. and he cared. he told me so many times how much he cared. a lot of guys had said that before, but this was different. i had reason to believe he meant what he said.

i quickly brushed my hair, put it up in a messy ponytail, and tossing my brush into my gym bag, headed into the gym. people trickled into the gym, and soon, it was filled with the sound of laughter and balls bouncing on the gym floor. the guys all headed out to the field for soccer practice. i caught his eye. we both smiled, and he gave me a quick hug before joining the rest of the guys on the field.

i whacked another ball at the net and remembered back to when i'd first told him my secret. i'd stumbled on my words, fearing rejection, but finally got it out. i even pushed up my sleeve and revealed to him what i hadn't dared to show anyone else- ever. what i got instead of rejection was an understanding gaze and a warm embrace. he held me close, and i felt more loved and protected than i'd ever felt before. i also learned his secret, the same secret i had. a secret we now shared. only he had stopped cutting. i hadn't. now, he was my hero, my superman, very much alive and real, and there for me whenever i needed someone to understand. i smiled. a real, genuine smile, not fake or forced, for once.

i was snapped out of my thoughts by a voice, a familiar voice, yelling at me. "hey! if you want to be in practice, you gotta pay attention! i told you to run three laps. now, you can run five. get moving." the coach looked impatient, and looked at me like i had just stepped off an alien spacecraft, and grown antennae. i looked up to see the rest of the team already stretching on the other side of the gym. i sighed and started jogging.

as i passed the open door of the gym, which led out to the soccer field, i looked out and saw him skillfully juggling a soccerball. i smiled, but at the same time, a sense of sadness and anger came over me. i wanted to tell him so bad, tell him i did it again... and again, and again. but i couldn't. and i hated myself for it.

see, he thought i'd stopped. after a week of hospitalization, i'd come back and i swore i wouldn't do it again. i was now equipped with "healthy coping skills" as the staff had said. but they didn't work. so i burned and branded. then, i bought a little pocket knife, and went back to cutting. he knew about the knife, and i was afraid that if i told him, he
might force me to give up the knife. i needed it. mom had hidden all the kitchen knives. but i still wanted so badly to tell him, to let him hold me again and feel safe and wanted and protected from the cold harsh reality that was the world. the confusing, swirling thoughts in my head fought with the need to feel safe, and it was almost like two people
screaming at each other in my head.

"the next time you cut, tell me." that's what he'd said. and i wanted to, i really did. but for now, my knife was my safety, until it just became too much, and i have to run into his warm, accepting embrace, and let him soothe my fears once again.