This Rose Bleeds

Chapter ~Five~

"Are you suicidal?" He asked. "You try to kill yourself?"

What kind of insensitive...

"I've never tried to kill myself." I said indignantly. Then added, "you're seeing things."

I check the clock. Two hours had already passed, but I hadn't stopped the session since he was actually focused. I got up and grabbed my bag.

"Wait, don't you dare leave yet." He scrambled off the bed and blocked my way to the door. "Why did you slit your wrists?"

"I didn't slit my wrist." I clutched my bag tightly because my hands were trembling. "Now may I leave?"

"No." Then he reached for me but I jumped back. He frowned and demanded, "Let me see your wrist."

"No." He lunged for me but I ran backward to get to the other side of the room. "No!"

"Hold still!" For a soccer player, he wasn't that quick. When he moved away from the door I maneuvered around him and was almost able to reach the doorknob when something grabbed my waist from behind. I kicked and thrashed but it was in vain. He held me to the spot and grabbed my wrist, holding it out above my head so he could have a good look.

"You did cut yourself." He breathed. Then suddenly he yelled, "Why the fuck did you cut yourself?"

I flinched and cowered from the harshness of his voice and how close he was.

"I keep telling you, I didn't cut myself." I shouted.

"Then do you mind explaining what the hell is with the fucking scars across your veins?"

"I don't have to explain anything to you." His grip on my wrist tightened and I gasped.

"Explain."

"Why?" I tried to free my other arm from his hold around my waist. Why was I so weak?

"Because I want to know." His voice went quiet all of a sudden.

"No." I glared at nothing. "You're going to use it against me." Because that's just how the world works, someone discovers your secrets and suddenly you're powerless.

"I promise I won't. I'm not like that." The grip loosened and I was spun around, face-to-face with him. I backed up and bumped into the bed, sitting down harshly.

"To others. What about fags?" I flinched again at the word. He glared. What exactly did it mean? All I know is that it was derogatory in some way and it meant I'd get punched a second later.

"Don't say it if you're scared of it." He muttered. "Now are you going to tell me or not?"

"Not."

He laid a hand on either side of me and leaned close. "Listen, I don't have any intention of weaponizing your secret, and I'm not going to leave it because...because I don't feel like it. So just tell me why you tried to fucking kill yourself or what I can do to make you stop."

"First of all, I didn't try to kill myself. And second," I breathed and looked down, before continuing a little more quietly, "Do you mind not swearing? Geez...and back up a little."

I played with my long sleeve and tugged it over my hands. I looked up at his bright gray eyes that assessed me, a little too long if you asked me.