“Jason,” I repeated, louder. I took another step closer, then another, until I was right in front of him, crouching down so I could gain his full attention.
“Faith, I couldn’t talk him into changing my grade.” His face held a perplexed look as if he never considered his plan would fail.
“It’s okay, Jason. You can do some extra credit or maybe take the class again with another teacher. One that will get you, but you need to give me the razor blade."
“Faith, you are so stupid. You think life is so simple,” he sneered.
I bit my tongue to keep from telling him I knew a lot more about life than he did. Especially since he rarely lived in reality. “Jason, I just don’t want you to do something to hurt yourself.”
He glanced down at the razor blade in his hand and rotated it back and forth. Expelling a bitter laugh, he pressed the blade to his wrist. Not hard enough to break the skin but enough to indent it.
“No!” I cried in horror as I reached out to pull it from his hand.
It happened in slow motion. With a lift of the blade the sharp corner sliced into my wrist. I jerked my hand away, which made the blade cut further into my skin.
We stared as a thin line of red snaked over my wrist. Within seconds blood welled up and dripped onto the floor. I wrapped my other hand tightly around my wrist trying to staunch the flow of blood.
“Faith, what did you do?” Jason asked, snatching a washcloth from the counter. He threw my hand away and pressed the white washcloth against my wound. I stared at him confounded. Was he really turning this on me? I should have been used to it by then.
“What? You lifted the blade up,” I accused, unable to hold my anger in any longer.
“Faith,” he said in a placating tone.
I wished then my wrist had been uninjured, because I really wanted to rear back and slap the shit out of him.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, reaching for me again.
I jerked away.
“Stop it, Faith. It's a really deep cut. I need to make sure you don’t need stitches.”
I blanched, knowing that if I went to the hospital with my wrist sliced open, Jason would gain the upper hand.
“I don’t want to go to the hospital.” My legs were rubbery as I slid down the wall. The adrenaline crashed down, leaving me in a shocked state.
“Alright, no hospital, but I need you to let me bandage you up.”
I nodded as tears slid down my cheek, diving deeper into the black hole of Jason's twisted reality. He kissed me on the cheek and began gathering supplies.
I stared at the pristine cloth while it slowly turned a dark pink, as my blood seeped into it. I had a tiny glimmer of hope, thinking no one would believe I tried to commit suicide. My jumbled brain revolved around the cut being on my right wrist. Who would try to kill themselves by cutting their right wrist if they were right-handed?
This was the thought I clung to as Jason had butterfly-bandaged the cut and placed a bigger Band-Aid on top of it before wrapping the whole thing tightly in gauze. He lifted me up and carried me to the bed, taking my shoes off and laying me down. My whole body had felt exhausted as the last of my adrenaline dripped away from me.
Since Mr. Hutchingson had proof of this disaster. Jason must have come back into the room at some point and taken pictures of my wrist while I slept. Ever the opportunist, never knowing when something like that would come in handy. I wondered briefly if I would have stayed with him, what situation would have caused him to pull out those little gems.
