“You don’t have to do this alone.”
I stay silent. He’s wrong.
“It would be better if you let someone help you.”
I shake my head. That won’t help at all.
“You shouldn’t keep these burdens locked up inside you.”
I shrug. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.
He sighs, looking straight into the eyes of a stubborn fifteen-year-old girl. I meet his gaze head-on with an unflinching stare. Meanwhile, my heart is pounding heavily in my chest, as the fear of his words chill me to the core. What does he all know? Have I said too much? Oh Lord, what did I do?
But long ago I learned to mask my emotions so they go unseen on the outside. And now is not the time to display weakness.
“Just forget it, okay? Nothing’s wrong with my friend.” I fib. “She’s perfectly fine. I lied about her being suicidal and abused.”
“And why would you do that?” My youth pastor asks, not buying my newest confession.
My eyes are dying to find a speck of dirt on the ground but I don’t break eye contact. That shows guilt.
“I like to lie. It’s what I do.” Another shrug. “It was the first thing that came to mind and out my mouth. You shouldn’t believe everything I say. Just ask Mother or John.”
He stays silent, thinking about everything I’ve said that pertains to this ordeal, trying to sort out what’s truth and what’s fiction. But I see in his eyes, he’s not as gullible as I was hoping. Though I already knew he wasn’t stupid. That’s one reason I thought he could help. How could I have been so naïve?
“Look, I’m sorry I lied. It was stupid and dumb and I wasn’t thinking.” I apologize, trying to make amends. “I won’t do it again, so can we just forget about it?”
I’m anxiously praying his reply will be a quick and snappy yes, but no such luck. He takes his time, his face never once betraying his inner thoughts, before coming to a consensus.
“If that’s what you want,” He begins slowly, “But I’m here if you ever need advice or help. You have my number. Don’t hesitate to text me any questions you may have,” His eyes earnestly peer into mine.
I can’t take it anymore. I look away, turning my head in the process.
“Thanks but that’s not necessary. None of its real, remember?” I remind him as I move toward the exit.

“Jen.” He calls, stopping me as I reach the door. Pausing before turning around, I silently wait for him to continue, not sure I want to hear what he has to say.
He clears his throat, “You did the right thing. The Bible says we’re supposed to bring our concerns to the church so they can pray and counsel us.” There’s more he wants to say but I cut him off. I was right. I don’t want to hear any of this.

“I find that hard to believe considering how well I do on my own. But when are you going to get it? I lied. None of what I said was true. So stop acting like it’s real, when it’s not.”

I spin around and clomp noisily down the steps until I reach the main floor. Service has been out for ten minutes and children are running around, clumps of people are socializing, parents are trying to locate their kids, and everyone is enjoying their Sunday morning. Turning right, I quickly walk down a short hallway and out the door, into the beautiful bright morning sun. Little children play gleefully on the small playground, and waving to a couple of the youngsters, I don’t slow down until I’m on the railroad tracks that run directly behind the church.

Balancing on the rails, I walk in the opposite direction, with just the sun and occasional animal sounds to keep me company. Birds sing their sweet songs high up in the trees while rabbits sporadically come into view only to disappear into the woods moments later. A train whistle sounds off in the distance but by the time it reaches me I’ll be long gone.

Isolation helps calm my frayed nerves. Having no one to pretend for, my body grows heavy and clumsy, as if an invisible weight presses down on me. Thoughts over-flood my head as I feverously attempt to process all the new information recently presented. And more importantly, trying to figure out what to do next.

As I aimlessly stroll along, my mind conjures up every possible action Klint could make. Deciding I was telling the truth and everything I confessed last week was a lie. Believing I was lying today and that the situation is dire enough to bring in the police. Thinking it would only be in my best interest to talk to Mother again behind my back.

Only two things are for sure; one, I can’t trust him. Nothing he says or does. He’s already shown he’s capable of deceit. Even if his intentions were right. And two, no matter what, I have to protect Codee. I refuse to betray the trust she has given me. I can’t do that to her. Who knows what she would do in response?

Feeling the vibration of my phone, I take it out of my pocket. Speak of the devil.
-Hey. How are you?
-Pretty good. You? I text back, feeling my heart thud in my chest as I press the send button.
Quickly I text my brother, letting my family know I’m walking home today. The last thing I want to do is pretend nothing’s amiss for other people’s benefit.

The tracks run through Talls Park and for such a beautiful day there aren’t many people about. Just one family with two small boys playing on the jungle gym. Listening to the parents give warnings of safety, I learn their names; Peter and Elijah.
Bible names.
Abandoning the railroad tracks, I cut across the grass and soon come to my path that leads down to the Fox River. It’s a steep incline that is almost certain death on roller blades and bicycles as there’s a sharp corner at the end that could potentially send people into the water if they aren’t careful. That was a lesson learned the hard way.

At the bottom are three docks, with the longest one in the middle, extending a good twenty feet into the river. Mainly they’re used for fishing but every so often a group of kayakers use the middle one to enter and exit their kayaks.

When I first discovered this place three years ago, I was so captivated with the breath-taking scenery, it wasn’t until after a month of coming here daily that I finally noticed a small beat-up trail off to the side. Following that exact path now, I wind my way through bushes and trees, batting away stray offensive branches and insects.

There are little miniature shorelines every fifty feet or so but eventually I come to the last one, my secret forgotten hide-away. Standing still, my eyes soak in my peaceful surroundings, not a single soul in sight. I’m on top of a hill with a wide open shore below me and dense brush on both sides of it.

Walking to the thicket of branches to the left, I crouch down where the grass is slightly bent, and slowly lower myself into the little compartment. Rocks, water and earth create a wall on the side, shielding me from the main shore and the bottom is slightly indented, creating a natural cubby-hole with rocks as furniture and trees as shade.

Water licks the boulders underneath me, as I sit with my arms locked around my legs and my chin resting on my knees. I’m hidden from the sun’s rays by a large tree, which casts a huge shadow over the cubby-hole. Ducks swim past my field of vision, weary when they notice my foreign figure. But I merely follow them with my eyes, my mind preoccupied.

Feeling the vibration in my jeans pocket, I close my eyes before mustering up the courage to read her reply. After last night, I don’t know what to expect.

-I’m tired and in pain. But I’m not suicidal anymore.

-Why are you in pain? But that’s fantastic you’re no longer suicidal! What caused the change?

My heart skips a beat with the deadly hope that the worst has past. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves in the branches above my head and a cold shiver courses through me, despite the warm May temperature.

-My bicep is gross looking. I cut and was able to release my anger as I saw the blood spill out.

Hope comes hurtling back down to earth. It’s not over. What was I thinking? Of course it’s not over. It will never be over. Please God, help me find the right words to say. Please let me not say the wrong word that will result in some drastic action. Oh please God, help me help her.

-There are other ways to let out your anger. Less harmful ways. You know that.

All too soon, Codee replies.

-I know that but at the time I didn’t care. I needed relief from the pain.

-How in control were you?

My fingers fumble before hitting the send button, knowing this is a deadly question to ask. In the past this crucial answer has always put terror in my heart, when I realize just how little control she has.

-Enough. 25% in control.

My eyes shut tight. One fourth. That leaves a whole 75 percent chance of ending in an alternate way. One with permanent consequences.

-That’s not a lot….

-But enough to keep me alive.

-Barely. Do you ever think that next time you might not be so lucky??

Her reply is almost instantaneous.

-Every time.

What do I write now? She knows the risks she’s taking. She knows my thoughts on cutting and self-harm. She knows what could happen.

Icy fear and dread cut me to the core as I stare blankly at the water. Pressing my cheek against my knee, I close my eyes and hope that if I ignore her text, it will go away. But it doesn’t. It just keeps haunting me; don’t make a mistake, don’t say the wrong words, don’t wait too long to text her back, be careful, don’t mess up.
Yesterday I was close to losing my friend as well. Only that time she was 98.9 percent sure she was going to die and 89.9 percent sure she was going to cut. She’s not afraid to take her life and there’s not much keeping her here. It’s a miracle I’ve managed to make her rethink her actions all of these times.
I can’t do this anymore! I want out!
But of course I don’t say that. Tears silently roll down my cheeks instead. This is too much! Too much! I don’t know how long I can do this. I’m sick of life and death situations! I don’t want to be responsible for another person’s life. I just want to be a normal fifteen year old kid. Is that too much to ask?
Slowly I bring the phone up to my eyes and stare at her message, as if I’ll gain some valuable insight.
-Then why do it?
A sigh escapes my lips as I quietly blend in with the picturesque scenery. Dark feelings dampen my mood and I struggle to get out from underneath its heavy blanket.
The sun doesn’t shine quite so brightly as before. The water’s not as majestic. The birds don’t look quite so delicate. The sky has lost its smiling curiosity.
Or is it me who has changed and not the other way around?
-Because if I don’t then I feel like I’m going to go insane. Everyone has their needs.
-Yes, but cutting isn’t a need. It’s a want and an addiction. You don’t have to cut. You choose to do it.
Ten minutes go by. Fifteen. Ducks glide smoothly on the surface, not disrupting the water as they stroll on past me. Breaking the silence with their honks, they take off as they detect danger. A row boat comes into view a few minutes later.

It gently rows past me, before coming to a halt on my far left. I’m hidden by a large tree trunk and although he can’t see me; I see him. He pulls out a fishing rod, carefully attaches bait to the hook and pulls his arm far behind him before casting the line into the water. With an almost inaudible plop, it ducks underneath the waves as rings of water ripple the surface.
-To me it’s a need. Cutting keeps me alive.
The man leans lazily back in his boat as he is bathed in sunlight and warmth.
-Yeah. Until it kills you.
How relaxed and at ease he seems. As if he has no care in the world. And maybe he doesn’t at the moment. Maybe that’s why he’s here alone. To enjoy his happiness while he can before it’s too late.
-….
I ignore her text. She knows I don’t reply to one word messages. And this time, I don’t feel any guilt in doing so.
For twenty minutes, I watch the man. He lays back and enjoys the sun, occasionally checking his pole for any prey. After a half hour slips by, it’s like all the fish in the river decide to line up around his boat and wait for their turn on the end of his line. Fish after fish attack his rod and he doesn’t have a moments rest as he continually reels in the fish only to release them back into the river afterwards.
Even from where I’m sitting, it’s easy to see his broad and overwhelmed smile illuminating his face. It’s surprisingly amusing to watch him. The different sizes of fish, the man’s reaction as he can’t quite grasp the fact that this is actually happening, the endless motion of his hands and fingers working. After an immeasurable time, the catches become fewer and the wait becomes longer. But the man doesn’t mind as he wipes the perspiration off of his forehead with the back of his sun-tanned hand.
Grasping the oars firmly, he rows his boat back the way he came. As he passes, I look down, afraid of making eye contact should he glance my way. My phone’s screen is alight with my newest message from Codee.
-Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. The cuts aren’t that bad.
I don’t buy it. Not for a second. Don’t worry? How is that possible when she’s addicted to cutting and abused at home? She cuts out of frustration. When she feels worthless. When she gets angry. When she needs to calm down. When she feels trapped and scared. When she needs to escape reality.
-I don’t believe that.
I set my phone down, not wanting to continue this conversation. All I want is someone to help me. Tell me what to say, how to help, what to do. But there isn’t anyone. I’m on my own. God is on my side, I know that; but sometimes it would be nice to have an actual human being to talk to every now and then. But that can’t happen. I came way too close telling Klint everything before trying to make amends. Bad things happen when the police get involved. Life gets a lot harder for Codee every time the cops visit her home. Her dad goes crazy and the stress makes her more depressed and suicidal. She cuts deeper and more often. She starts thoroughly planning her death.
That’s why I can’t tell anyone. If I do, the police will get involved and that will only make her life worse. And it will. It has every time in the past.

That’s why Klint needs to forget I ever said anything to him. It’s better that way. Because maybe then I’ll be able to help Codee live to see her eighteenth birthday. She’ll be able to legally leave and get her own place. It might not solve all of her problems but it certainly can’t be any worse that what’s going on now.
-Trust me. I’ll be fine.
I know her well enough to know she’s lying. Instead of replying however, I breathe in deep and let nature cleanse my soul. Like the fisherman, I’m going to try and enjoy a small bit of peace this place extrudes. Even if it’s just for a little while, it’ll be worth it. Resting my chin back on my knees, I gaze at the spot where the boat had recently floated.
Staring at the empty space, I can’t help but think how similar our lives are, the fisherman and I, and yet how vastly different. When everything was calm and quiet, the man was at ease, but it was obvious once the magnitudes of fish started appearing at the end of his rod, that that was the part he enjoyed the most. How backwards that is to my life. When the waters are calm, that’s when I most enjoy it most because it’s smooth sailing. But once fish start attacking the line and I have to continuously work wheeling them in, and trying to keep up with them; that’s when I want to call it quits. That’s when it becomes overbearing.
The amount of time that passes is indeterminable and when I stand up, my legs are numb. Stomping my feet on the rock-hard ground to help circulate the blood, I stoop down and grab my phone. The message reappears on the screen as my fingers accidently press the menu button.
-Trust me. I’ll be fine.

She might be now, but she won’t in the future. That’s a given. But glancing around my secret hiding place and its beauty, all I feel is a bittersweet optimism. The sun will shine tomorrow just like it will set tonight. Life goes on. It’s just my duty to help her live to see tomorrow and in any way I can. God will do the rest. Because He cares about her more than I do and He loves her. And whatever is happening or going to happen, is part of His plan. After one more glance, I climb back up the small hill and start walking home. Because I know that no matter what, I will be fine. I always am. And for the moment, so is Codee.