I hung my head and shielded my arms as I walked into the councillor’s room. Some girl in my class had seen my arm and decided I needed help. But I didn’t. SH helped me, it was my friend. She wouldn’t take another friend away from me, would she? She spoke to me about how I felt, expecting me to answer. I didn’t. I mumbled and grunted and took advantage of the way she said ‘if you don’t want to tell me something just shake your head’. This wasn’t me. This was Kelli. She talked and talked, the words blurring around me, a lost muddle of empty promises, empty emotion and empty help. She came too close to me, invaded my space, patted my knee and asked to see my arm. She didn’t really care about me; I knew she didn’t. ‘Cause she didn’t even know me, all she knew was that I had cuts on my arm and my friend had died a month ago. Her eyes were fixed on me, like she was trying to penetrate my skin, into my pain and loss. I didn’t want this; her interest scared me, I didn’t want her near me. She leered at me, looking down on me. She wasn’t inwardly sympathetic, I was nothing new to her, just another depressed teenager. I chewed my sleeve and shook my head. Why did she have to sit so close? The next day, everyone was looking at me. Every eye, every stare, on my arm. My friends told me they weren’t, they told me I was being paranoid, but I wasn’t. They were all looking at me. They were. They didn’t want me there; I was just bringing them down. I was the odd one out and I was contaminating their air. They stared and stared, their eyes never left me. I walked down a corridor and every head turned. Even people I had never seen before, they had all seen me, they all knew about my arm and they all hated me as much as I hated myself. They pushed me deliberately and trod on my feet. They all wanted to cause me pain, they knew I couldn’t handle it; they knew I would cry and cut and that was just what they wanted. And just to top it all off, I had swimming. I couldn’t swim, not with my arm in the state it was. I couldn’t let anyone else see, especially not the teacher. I told her I had my period and turned to go back into the changing room. But she wouldn’t listen. The stupid cow wouldn’t listen. She told me it wasn’t a good enough excuse, and I should sort myself out and get in the pool. But I couldn’t. I refused and she wouldn’t listen. She took me away, to her office, tried to make me explain, but I wouldn’t. She told me that I would definitely be swimming the next week and again I said no. And she just wouldn’t shut up. She went on and on about how important swimming was, and that no petty excuse of mine was good enough. I turned away from her, ready to walk out, and she grabbed my arm to turn me back. Her grip so tight, right across the previous nights cuts. I span around and screamed, and hit her across the face. No one touched my arm. No one.