I keep looking at her wrists. I tell myself to stop, but I don’t. Each time I look at them, I feel my heart bruise just like her wrist.

Why do you hurt yourself?

What is upsetting you?

Does something hurt?

How can I help you?

What is going on?

Questions I ask her but only in my head. I don’t actually ask her. What’s the point of asking her? If she could actually answer those questions, would she even feel the need to bite herself? So the questions stay in my head waiting for answers.

I keep looking at her wrists and my heart hurts. Instead of asking her why, I just rub her wrists. I hope the soft touch tells her that I can sense her pain. I can sense her confusion. I hope the soft touch reminds her that I am hear to protect her and get her through this rough patch. I hope what she doesn’t feel with every touch is how helpless I feel. How sad I feel. How bruised I feel.

I keep looking at her writs in hope that just maybe, I will see them start to heal so my heart can heal too.