The Cutter

She holds out her wrist for me to see healed over scares that now rise pink from her tan skin. She smiles proudly. "I'm a cutter" she announces to me, as if telling me she just won gold at the Olympics. What does she want me to say? "O, I'm so happy for you." NO. I want to tell her she's a dumb ass - Cutting is so late 90's. Her wounds tell me that she wants attention, because if she was serious about it, her wounds wouldn't be so shallow and short. I want to smack her across her face. Stupid. I warn her that she could accidently slit her wrist. " No I can't" she with a smile of accomplishment she draws back her arm. Stupid.