Oh no. No, you didn't. Please. You always text me in the evenings, in the night, when any normal person should be asleep. You always text me just when I'm dropping off, and I fumble for my phone and answer you and more often than not it's something so screwed up that I don't know what to say.
I can't sort out your problems for you! Why can't you just get over yourself?
But you're hurting.
I know you're hurting because you don't text me unless you are. You text me to tell me that you're cutting again; you speak as though it's a good thing, like I should be proud of you, and I can picture your face and it's so vacant that it scares me and I try to get you to promise me you'll stop but I'm ten miles away and you're just a message on a screen.
I tell you to promise me.
You say that you won't, that you can't, that you don't want to. You say you hate breaking promises. I tell you I'm here to listen and that you can tell me anything, when I know that'll mean more late night conversations and messed up lessons the next day because I'm dozy from lack of sleep. I should know better by now, but I know you're hurting.
Why is it always you this happens to?
I guess I'd be confused too in your place. It's not easy, having people treat you like that, having to deal with the aftermath of such a complicated knot of people who like people - like you. But I don't want you cutting yourself for something like this. I don't want you cutting yourself for anything.
You say it sharpens your mind. No, it just sharpens the edges. The inside's just as screwed, and I won't have you cut deep enough to reach there. You hear me? We care about you. You stay here, and you listen to me, and you promise me you won't do this again!
What do you mean, I can't tell you what to do?
I might be just the same age as you, and I might be only words on your phone, but I'm a real flesh-and-blood friend here, you know that. You can't go doing this.
Do you hear me?
I'm warning you. I know you're hurting. Right now, you're hurting me.