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Spring was fine. He could manage only wearing long sleeves and making all the excuses and the constant sweating and all the comments. In spring, people believed him. There was still a breeze in the air that was just cool enough to become a reason for never showing his arms. People wore longer sleeves during spring; it was normal.
That was in spring.
Now it was summer.
He didn’t think this far ahead when he sliced up his arms in the most recent winter, he didn’t think about the consequences of his stupid, stupid actions. And now, he was left with angry, raised pink lines along his forearms, all because of one of his slumps.
The captain was wrong, the rabbits foot couldn’t fix everything.
When he woke up, June 17th 2014, he knew. It was hot, hotter than it usually was in his tiny apartment bedroom, the sun was beaming through his windows lighting up the whole flat, so much so that he even considered buying curtains (though he later realised they would just be a waste of potential orange soda and cheese puff money). He was warm and sticky and felt gross as sweat soaked his sheets. He couldn’t afford to turn on his air conditioning unit or install ceiling fans (or turn on the hypothetical fans) so had learnt over the years just to suck it up…but summers were only get warmer and New York was like one giant greenhouse at this time of year,
So, when he got up and opened his closet he didn’t eye the excessive collection of his signature button-up, long sleeved polo’s. Instead, his eyes drifted to the other side of the railing and hanging up was the lonely few short sleeve shirts. Over the years as work load increased, pressure to do well and his unhealthy high school habit returned, he found his short sleeved shirt selection was diminishing rapidly.
His old scars, some decades old, had whitened enough that he could wear short sleeves, very awkwardly, keeping his arms nearly always crossed of behind his back, but he did wear them.
Then five months ago hit and all his cases were a total bust. No evidence, no victims that were alive or willing to talk, no perps and not one ounce of motivation to close one of the dozens of cases he had open. It was all one big dead end and all his colleagues breathing down his neck, especially Holt’s, became too overwhelming that one day in the precinct restroom, he cracked.
It was dumb and he only went into the stall to try and calm his erratic breathing, his head slamming hard on the inside walls of a cubicle, head down, eyes at the floor. Eyes on a nail. A sharp nail.
One moment he was just staring at the metal on the ground, next, he was holding it in his shaking hands, sleeves rolled up as far as they could go. The end result was crimson, not a lot of if and not nearly enough for Jake to feel worthy, but enough for a sting. Enough for that pain that granted him the slightest bit of relief. Enough to be grounded.
And despite things going well now it was months later, he still had to pay for the repercussions.
Since then, the newest of cuts on his arms had healed, colour was less vigorous and overall they had lost at least 25% of their visibility.
But that wasn’t enough.
They were still there, still pink, still raised, still a harsh reminder. But it was hot outside. It was going to be a hot day.
So he let himself reach for one of the short sleeved shirts.
He spent the whole commute in trying to come up with an excuse that would be somewhat valid enough to pass amongst his coworkers, most of which he just stole from his nightmare-ish high school years. People at the precinct didn’t know him that well, did they? They didn’t know he was going through this, so maybe they would believe him if he said he had a cat?
The elevator doors pinged as they opened, giving him just enough time to swallow whatever he could, only then realising his mouth was suddenly dry as Amy’s humour.
Legs shaking, he stepped out onto the bullpen, attempting to keep his eyes down as he swiftly walked to his desk, sitting down and letting out a relieved sigh, happy to have made it as far as he did with no comments or stares.
Though the latter was apparently not true.
“Hey.” He hadn’t realised Amy’s head poking round her laptop.
“Morning, how’s the Greene Avenue murder going?”
“Fine.” She replied rather quickly, and he thought he was out of the woods. “Jake, what are-”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
“That’s…good to hear, but I wasn’t going to ask that.” Her gazed lowered, he didn’t need to follow her eyes to realise what she had seen. “Your arms.”
“Yep.” He nodded, meeting her eyes after a few seconds of silence. They looked scared like she had just seen a really fresh dead body.
“What do you mean ‘yep’? Jake, this is serious.”
“Yep…”
“I mean, I’m assuming that, um, you did…that.” She lightly motioned to his arms.
He didn’t bother replying with another emotionless “yep”, so just stayed quiet instead.
“Jake, how long has this been going on?”
He shrugged, “Dunno.”
He did know, he knew exactly how long. How many years, how many months, how many days. He knew. He didn’t want to know, but he did and the answer was too long.
“Well, have you told anyone? This is serious.”
“I know it’s serious, Amy. You’ve only said it twenty times.” Jake snapped.
“I mean, I only said it twice but…”Her voice had gone quiet, barely audible like she was hurt and he felt his heart break the moment he noticed.
“It’s not a big deal!”he stood up, desk chair rolling backwards half a meter or so as he did. “Jesus, this is exactly why I never told anyone.”
“Nobody knows about this?!” Her tone now accusatory; she sounded like it was the end of the world. She followed suit, rising to her feet.
“No!” He cried, taking a step forward in preparation to lower his voice. “No one knows about this.” In the moment, Jake was suprised the whole precinct wasn’t huddled round the two detectives like some middle school recess fight. He only later realised they were in fact all watching, just from their respective desks.
“How are you expecting to keep it a secret any longer? I mean, look at your arms.”
That’s when he felt it. That aching feeling like he’d been shot right then and there by his favourite person. She sounded disgusted.
He was disgusting.
“Crap, Jake, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“S’fine” he rushed, too afraid to meet her eyes, before beelining it to the bathrooms.
He heard Amy chasing after him, her heels clicking with pace on the floor, until he got round the corner and into the men’s restroom.
Breathing frantically, practically panting as he slammed the cubicle door placing his forehead on the cool metal of the door after him, before pacing back and forth in the tiny stall.
He knew Amy wouldn’t follow him all the way into the bathrooms, she didn’t care that much. She thought he was some kind of monster.
The damn short sleeve shirt.
In previous years, he had lasted whole summers with his arms covered when things were especially bad and new injuries were popping up every week. Hell, he felt horrible and sweaty all of the time, but he did it nonetheless.
Why did he think things would be different now?
Tears began to fill his eyes, clouding his vision. He couldn’t cry, not here, even if he was alone.
He needed to leave, to get home, maybe even quit his job. He could transfer right?That could be arranged?
Then, the main door to the bathroom squeaked, shoes shuffled across the floor making him stop in his tracks. Maybe if Jake stayed silent, they would go away.
“Boo?”
That wasn’t Amy. That was Gina.
“Amy said you ran in here looking all bleh. She said something about being worried, blah blah and also something about her not wanting to go into the men’s bathroom.”
Jake let out a soft exhale. He wasn’t surprised, Hitchcock and Scully spent practically the whole day in these bathrooms and the risks of being in there the same time they were outweighed the pros.
Jake didn’t reply. Gina didn’t need him to. Minutes passed, Jake didn’t move. Neither did Gina.
“Ames told me some other stuff.” There was another beat of silence and Jake knew what she was about to say,
“Is it happening again?”
click Jake unlocked the door of the stall and stepped out, a few stray tears had fallen and had trailed half way down his cheek, his body had hunched in on its self and he practically fell into Gina’s arms as she walked over to his small frame.
Gina knew about the self-harm, she had known about it since they were in high school and were in the same gym class. She had her suspicions that he had continued the habit into adulthood, she saw the white, thin old lines all over his limbs. But these were different. Longer, thicker and they had colour. They were more recent.
“How recent are they…the scars?” She pulled away from the hug when he did, allowing him to brush away a few loose tears.
“Couple of months.” He frowned, “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no apologising.” Gina took off her jumper, it had purple and green stripes running vertical with the occasional patch of sequins. It was hideous. “You can take this if you want, but, I really am proud of you for trying without long sleeves. Ignore what Santiago said.”
“It’s like a billion degrees, why is the aircon not on. Isn’t it officially summer?” He laughed nervously and stared for a moment at the jumper, greatful it didn’t have a giant wolf on the front of it. He could let her keep it and accept the scars or he could wear it, and hide because humans are judgemental whether they want to be or not.
Jake grabbed the jumper and put it on and somehow it was massive on him. Gina’s immediate reaction was to laugh at how ridiculous it looked on him, then she muttered something about oversized sweaters being ‘all the rage’.
“Thanks. I’ll grab a jacket from my locker and give it back to you in a bit. I just have to do something first.”
“You know, people staring at you, at your arms…they’re not judging you, Jake. They’re worried about you. We’re worried about you.” The corner of her mouth twitched and Jake felt an instant pang of guilt. That wasn’t his intention at all. He just wanted everything to be normal. “You gonna be okay? If you want to go home, I’ll make up some excuse to tell Holt.”
“I don’t know, I don’t feel great but…” his voice trailed off.
“You don’t trust yourself at home?” He shook his head. “Why don’t you come and stay with me for a bit?”
“Gina, you don’t need to do that, plus I’ve been clean for months now.” He pleaded.
“You just said you feel like crap.” He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He was out of excuses.
“Thank you.” He smiled, “Seriously, thank you.”
-
“Hey.” He smiled, walking slowly over to her desk.
“Nice jumper.” She joked, and he breathed a sigh of relief that their dumb, childish rivalry hadn’t been affected.
He spun around in place, showing off all angles, Amy laughed. “You got a sec?”
“Look, if this is about before, I’m really sorry, Jake. I feel terrible.” Her eyebrows furrowed and he felt another strike of guilt.
“No, it’s okay, it’s my fault, I’m stupid.” He let out a weak laugh which came out as more of an exhale, Amy’s expression remained concerned.
“Jake, no you’re not. You’re struggling, that’s not something to be ashamed of and you definitely shouldn’t feel like you have to hide. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.” She motioned to Gina’s fugly jumper that was practically swallowing him, sleeves far too long. He looked like an idiot.
“Thanks, Ames.”He smiled, and this time he meant it.