She sighed. “What, Becca?”
“What…what is this? What are you doing?”
“You’re smart, Beck. You tell me.” She got up and scooped her iPhone from the desk and plugged it into the speaker dock. Eddie Vedder’s “Longing to Belong” came on, the unexpectedly amazing pairing of Eddie Vedder’s voice and a ukelele filling the room.
I spent a quiet moment listening to the song, fighting my anger and my tears. “It looks like you’re cutting yourself.”
“Bingo.” Nell sat at her desk, browsing through pages of what looked like guitar chord progressions in a thick book.
“Why?”
She gave me a look of disbelief. “Why? Really? Why the hell do you think?”
“I don’t know, Nell!” I had to fight to keep my voice down. “I have no clue why you would cut yourself open with a razor blade.”
She huffed and shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try to explain it, then.”
“It helps, okay?” She slammed the book shut and skipped a song so “City” by Sarah Bareilles came on. “I don’t expect you to get it. But it helps. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I’m tired of hurting, and this—” she held up her left arm, the sleeve now pulled down, “this helps me feel something besides missing him.”
I sniffed, knowing if I cried it would only piss her off. “But…isn’t there…isn’t there a better way? That’s not healthy, Nell. You n-n-know it’s not. You have to stop, please.”
She shook her head. “Beck, listen. This is my life. This is how I’m dealing with it. You didn’t see what I saw. You didn’t lose….Look. I know—I know he was your friend, too, but he was the man I loved, and he’s gone. It hurts so much, every day, and you can’t—you don’t understand. No one does. I’m not trying to kill myself. I promise. And I will stop someday.”
“How can I just sit aside and let you do that to yourself?”
She picked at a thread in a hole of her jeans. “You don’t have a choice.” She glanced up at me, her eyes challenging. “What are you going to do? Tell my parents?”
“If I have to. You can’t keep doing that. It—it’s wrong.”
“Which makes me feel so much better about it, Beck. Thanks.” She snapped at me, pissed off. “If you tell my parents, I swear I’ll never speak to you again, Rebecca. I’m dead serious. They don’t get it any more than you do, obviously. No one can help me. I’m not in danger of killing myself. I’m not suicidal. It’s not like that. So just…just keep it to yourself, if you’re my friend.”
I couldn’t stop myself from crying. “That’s not fair, Nell. You know I’m your friend. You know I love you, and I’m just—I’m so scared and confused.”
“I know, okay? I know.” She moved to sit beside me and put an arm around me, as if to comfort me. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to act like you don’t care. But this is my thing to deal with. It hurts so bad, Beck. You don’t even know. I hope you never know. And the cutting…it…distracts me, just for a moment.”
She withdrew her arm, her voice shaking. I watched as she wrapped her fingers around her left wrist, her thumb pressing into the spot where she’d cut herself. She went pale with pain, but somehow she seemed to steady herself emotionally.
“I promise you, I’ll stop, Becca, I will. Just…keep my secret, okay? For now? I’ll deal with it on my own.”
I nodded, sniffling back the tears. “I promise, for now.” I trembled all over. “I hate myself for this. It feels wrong. You need help, Nell, professional help.”
Nell hugged me. “I don’t want help. They can’t bring him back, and they can’t make it hurt less.”
“Jason and I both are seeing a therapist. It does help.”
“I’m not going. Just drop it.”
We sat in silence until it grew awkward. “I should go,” I said.
“Let’s hang out this weekend, okay? Saturday?” Nell said.
I nodded. “Sounds good. Get mani-pedis like we used to.” I glanced at her, but I couldn’t see anything except the image of her with a blade to her wrist. “I feel guilty, promising you I won’t tell.”
“But you shouldn’t. I’ll be fine, okay?”
“Just promise me one thing, okay?”
She gave me a hesitant look. “If I can.”
“Call me or text me when you feel like cutting. I’m your friend. I won’t tell if you promise me this is all it is, that you’re not suicidal—”
“I swear I’m not, Becca. I told you that already. I don’t want to die—I need to not miss him so much, just for a second.”
“Okay, and I believe you. But talk to me about this, okay? I don’t care when it is, what time, where I am. I’ll leave class in a heartbeat.”
Nell nodded. “I will.”
I nodded, unable to believe her, but not sure what else to say or do. I left then, shrugging noncommittally when Rachel asked how it had gone. The truth was burning my lips: Nell is a cutter. Someone should know. What if she accidentally cut too deep and something happened? Wouldn’t it be my fault for keeping her secret? Wouldn’t I be a better friend by getting her help when I knew she needed it?
But Nell said it herself—she wouldn’t accept help. To tell would be to lose Nell forever, and I did believe her when she claimed to not be suicidal. I watched her calm down visibly when she pressed her thumb to the cut on her wrist, as if the pain had centered her, pushed away the emotional heartache. I didn’t get it, but I saw it work.
I hated secrets. I hated being the guardian of dark truths. I’d kept Jason’s secret for two years when I knew he was suffering every day. I woke up at night ridden with guilt, wondering if my silence was deepening his pain. Now I had an added burden. I felt like I would literally have Nell’s blood on my hands.
I sat in Jason’s truck listening to “Dream” by Priscilla Ahn, and I wondered if that’s how Nell felt, if she was willing to leave this life, feeling old and gray. I drove to my brother’s apartment and lay down in Jason’s untouched bed, crying quietly. I saw, as I drifted in the afternoon glow, the thin red line on her wrist brightening scarlet.
I woke up with words bubbling in my head. It was early evening, and I had a text from Jason from ten minutes earlier saying he’d be home soon. I dug my notebook from my purse and let the thoughts flow.