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Marjorie
People didn’t appreciate the virtues of physical pain. The stabbing pain in my thigh didn’t erase the emotional upheaval, but it dulled it, made it a little easier to bear.
The red trickle of my blood meandered out of the wound and across the fair skin of my thigh. I was always mesmerized by the slowness. It was a superficial wound, and I was in no danger. I was smart enough not to go deep, not to risk hitting an artery.
Soon, it would clot on its own as it always did. I’d add some antibiotic ointment to make sure I didn’t get infected.
And that would be that.
Another cut.
Another emotional crisis averted.
So why did I feel like a complete failure?
Cutting myself was not a good thing. I knew that. Objectively anyway. I was always careful to do it in the same place—a place where no one would notice.
And no one did. Bryce hadn’t. Or if he had, he didn’t think it was anything unusual. No one else had seen that part of my thigh up close. When I wore a bikini, it was simply a little scratch. No one was the wiser.
The bleeding began to lessen, and I grabbed a tissue and blotted it up. Then, as I always did, I applied pressure until it stopped.
Perfect first aid.
No one would ever know.
No one except me.
I woke in the middle of the night.
Why? Had I heard something? I was not a light sleeper, so this was unusual. Jade used to joke about me sleeping the sleep of death.
I went to the bathroom but still had a strange feeling, so I put my robe on and walked out the bedroom door.
Something jarred in the kitchen, and I flicked on the track lighting.
Dale sat at the table, squinting against the invasion to his eyes.
“Hey,” I said. “What are you doing up?”
“Nothing.”
The kid wasn’t a big talker. I knew that.
“Are you hungry? Do you want me to fix you something?”
He shook his head.
“Okay,” I said. “Mind if I sit with you?”
“It’s a free country.”
I couldn’t help a smile. He’d heard that from me. I said it a lot. I sat down in the chair next to him. “So it is.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I was hoping he’d start talking, but this was Dale, after all.
“You want a drink of water?” I finally said.
He shook his head.
