Le counselor.



She was darting her head all around the room, scanning with her haunting emerald eyes. They finally rested on the tiny piece of thread jutting out from the hem of her jeans. She tucked at the strand with her fingers trying to pull it out when her efforts were impeded by the voice of her shrink. She rolled her eyes up and looked at him, nettled that he had not forsaken any further attempts to talk to her.

“You’re going to have to talk to me sometime.” he said.

Cute. Her mouth curved into a grin. She almost laughed even.

“Is that it? Talk the pain away?” she replied, letting a tiny chuckle sneak out the side of her lips. She refocused her eyes on the strand on her jeans, tugging at it once again. You could see a very faint red line stretching across the facet of her wrist.

“Why do you hurt yourself?” he asked.

She didn’t answer for about 30 seconds — still tugging at the string. Then suddenly she looked up as if she had found her answer at the end of the bottom of the plucked string — like cutting was just a thing she did and she never really knew why until now.

“……..the pain has to get out somehow.” she replied, then she fixed her eyes back on the string.


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