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“Are you cut?”
Tears are streaming down her face. Shaking her head violently, she says, “No! I swear. I didn’t do it.”
But she wanted to.
I move to sit cross-legged on the floor and gently take both her hands in mine. “Can you tell me what happened?”
She looks so lost. I feel like I’ve failed her already because I’m only now realizing just how much she’s struggling.
I squeeze her hands. “Layla, please. What happened? Why were you holding a knife?”
She shrugs. “My skin was crawling, and it wouldn’t stop. It just kept getting worse and worse, and then there were the bruises.”
“What about the bruises?”
“They’ll see them. They’ll ask questions.”
“Who will?”
“The photographers and the students in my classes. When they see the bruises, they’ll ask questions I don’t want to answer.”
A sickening thought hits me. Did she really think she could cut the bruises out of her skin? “Layla, didshetell you to cut yourself?”
Her panicked gaze flashes up to meet mine, and even though she doesn’t answer me, I can see the truth in her eyes.Shedid. The voice told her to cut herself.
Layla’s shaking so badly, I can’t help pulling her onto my lap and wrapping my arms around her. At first, she resists, stiffening, her spine going ramrod straight as she tries to put distance between us, but I just hold her and talk quietly in her ear. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Slowly she begins to relax in my arms.
“Please call me when you’re having a difficult time,” I say quietly. “Let me know when she tells you to hurt yourself. That’s why I’m here. To protect you from things like this. Think of me as your support dog.”
To my surprise, she snorts out an unexpected laugh.
I see a watery smile. “That’s much better.” I raise the hem of my T-shirt to dry her cheeks and dab at the corners of her eyes. Impulsively, I press my lips to her hair. My heart hurts for this girl, and I just want to make her feel better. “What started all this? You seemed fine at dinner.”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “I e-mailed my professors to ask if I could work from home this coming week. If they don’t agree, I’ll fail my classes.”
“And that bothers you? The thought of failing?”
“Yes.”
“You can always take the classes again next term.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. Ican’tfail.”
“Everybody fails sometimes. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It terrifies me. She said I’m a failure. That I’m a disappointment to my family.”
She. She means the voice. “That’s not true, Layla. You’re not a failure. And you could never be a disappointment to your family. They love you unconditionally.”
When she doesn’t respond, I’m afraid it’s because she doesn’t believe me. So, I change the subject. “Tell me more about what you hear. Help me understand.”
“You mean the monster?”
“Is that what you call it? Is it just one voice?”
“Yes. She’s constantly tearing me down.”
