Page 34 of Collin: Episodes 1-3
“Let’s get you out of your street clothes.”
Mr. Reevesworth took more pajamas out of the drawer and set them on top of the low dresser. Collin pulled his sweater over his head. He turned it right side out slowly and started to fold it.
Mr. Reevesworth’s hand came down on his elbow. “When did this happen?”
Collin looked down. Red welts and patches of torn, broken skin with flakes of bloody scabs stood out in strong contrast to the rest of his unmarred arm. He moved his arm toward his body, turning it and covering it with his other hand.
“It’s nothing.”
“Collin.”
Collin swallowed. “It’ll be fine.”
“You do this when you’re scared.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“The pain, I mean, it makes other things go away.”
“When did you do this today?”
“In the car.”
“On the way there.”
“Yes.”
Mr. Reevesworth reached out and examined the rest of Collin’s injured arm. Collin closed his eyes and let him. How long there stood there, Mr. Reevesworth looking down at the drag marks and Collin refusing to look, he didn’t know. Time felt like it was slipping and floating, refusing to be tied to anything, let alone Collin.
“We should clean this,” Mr. Reevesworth murmured. He drew Collin into the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet. It made it easy to put Collin’s arm on the counter by the sink.
“It’s okay. It’s not deep.”
“I’ll worry less if they’re clean.” Mr. Reevesworth opened a pack of antiseptic wipes.
Collin closed his mouth. He looked down at his lap and used his thumb to pick at the nails on his fingers. The cool touch of the antiseptic wipes was nowhere near enough discomfort to ground him. The need to dig his nails into his thigh and transport himself away from where he was right then was strong enough to be a taste in his mouth.
“If you don’t want to give me a contract anymore, please just say so, don’t make me wait.”
“Pain is something I understand, Collin. I’d rather you ask for the pain and receive it in hygienic and controlled environments, but when you need pain, I will give it to you.”
Collin dared a glance at Mr. Reevesworth’s face. “You’ll give me pain.” He didn’t know if he was asking a question or expressing disbelief.
“I can. In a safe, controlled way.” Mr. Reevesworth ran his fingers down Collin’s arms, no doubt finding the lace of old scars. “I thought it was an idea I would have to introduce you to, but it seems you have discovered it for yourself. Now we need to develop it and help you find the other side of it.”
“Please don’t ask me to stop.”
“There are safer ways to get what you need.”
Collin’s chest rose and fell. He looked down at the marks on his arm. Just the idea of promising to stop “scratching” was terrifying.
Mr. Reevesworth went on cleaning the cuts. He dabbed them dry. “I don’t think we should cover any of these. We’ll leave you in short sleeves for a few hours.
“What if I leave blood on something?”
“Then we’ll send it to be cleaned.” Mr. Reevesworth washed his hands. He motioned Collin to do the same.
