Bleeding Love

He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his tongue hard to prevent himself from screaming out loud. His body trembled, his heart rate quickened, the blood trickled from his wrist. He hastily wiped the tears from his face. He was being weak. This pain was nothing. These cuts would be barely noticeable. He breathed in deeply, smelling the aroma of his blood. He calmly picked up the knife again. How easy it would be to slit his throat, to stab his chest. Death seemed so much easier than living. Who knew, perhaps he could be with his parents and sister again. His grandparents wouldn’t live much longer. He’d have everyone he cared about. Everyone except . . .

“Chloe,” he whispered under his breath. Her sweet voice filled his ears, calling for her Uncle T. He’d love to take her with him. She needed the protection. She wasn’t safe. Not here. Not when he was gone. He brought the knife to his wrist again, slicing lightly across his skin. It satisfied him. It was as if harming himself made it all better for the wrong he was doing. For the wrong he would have to do.

The girl’s voice wouldn’t leave his ears. It was there constantly, reminding him of the beauty that existed in the world. She was only a child, but she was so mature. So innocent. She was the younger sister he never knew. Her nickname of Uncle T gave him some relief to the name of Terrier. A dog, he was called by many. A pathetic one at that. He supposed it was true. He’d lost count of the months he’d been here. It felt like a hundred. And if he had a name that wasn’t Terrier, he couldn’t remember what it was. Just one night and he had lost all sense of who he really was. He was a dog.

He didn’t hear the door swing open. He hadn’t been expecting it. He was sure it had been locked. It was only when he felt the presence of someone staring at him did he look up, eyes adjusting around the dark room. He froze when he saw Chloe standing speechlessly in front of him. He stared speechlessly back, through a wad of overgrown hair that covered his eyes. He was aware of the tears that had remained settled on his cheeks, aware of the bloody knife in his hands, aware of his wrist bleeding out onto his torn jeans and splattering the wooden floor. He was also aware of her . . . it wasn’t horror. Disappointment maybe. He knew she was mature.
She pried the knife from his fingertips. He allowed her to take it. He watched as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue, wiping the blood off the knife and chucking the tissue in the bin beneath his desk.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed. He did as he was told, letting the darkness sweep over him. Visions of torture filled his mind, and again he found himself knowing exactly what the Briggs brothers had been through. He felt a little hand slide into his, and pull him to his feet. He opened his eyes. It was still dark. He had drawn the curtains shut a week ago.

“I’ve hidden it,” she informed him, “So you can’t find it again.”

Terrier nodded grimly, still not saying a word. He was ashamed of himself. He was allowing a ten year old – his best friend – to see him like this. He was just taking away parts of her innocence one by one.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, Terrier. You can trust me.”

The boy shook his head, pulling his hand out of her hold as he grabbed a wet rag from the desk and began wiping his hands. Wiping the blood away from his bleeding wrist. He went to pick up the bandage he had left there, but found it gone. He looked around. Chloe had it in her hands. Volunteering her unasked help, she began to wind the worn material around his wrist. He stared at her quietly as she did so, tears uncontrollable. As soon as she was done, he dropped to the floor, leaning his head back against the mattress, and whispered.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Uncle T, I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“I won’t do it again,” he promised. He meant it. If that’s what she wanted, he would grant it.

“You still have my shark necklace?” he whispered, not daring to look at her.

“Yeah,” she reached a hand to the string strung around her neck, “I wear it everyday.”

“It’s supposed to give protection,” Terrier whispered. He could feel his weakness coming on. He was tired. He wasn’t getting nearly enough sleep these days. He tried to keep his eyes open, but it was difficult. They wouldn’t stop drooping. He continued to whisper instead.

“Can you do me a favour?”

“That depends what it is,” she replied, lying down and draping an arm across his chest.

“Tell your tutoring teacher,” Terrier’s left hand found the girl’s right, “to . . .”

He was almost out of it. He forced his concentration on getting out the message, “To be strong. To have faith.”

“Why?” Chloe whispered. He could hear the croak in her voice from her own tears.

“He needs to keep safe.” Terrier mumbled, before allowing the sleep to finally wash over him. The last thing he was aware of was the little girl crying into his chest.

[930 words]