She puts the things she has taken to eat on her bed and then kneels on the floor to help tidy up.But something is wrong. She looks all the time, sadly at one spot on the floor, she doesn't move her gaze even as she starts to pick up the pieces.
"Stop. Stop it, you're going to cut yourself," I say, but the first bit of blood is already flowing over her fingers. "Leya. Stop it. You're bleeding," I warn her, but she doesn't listen.
So I get up, lift her off the floor and put her on her bed.
It seems as if she is still not aware again of what is happening around her.
I take her hands in my hand to see where exactly she is bleeding. Meanwhile, she looks me right in the face, but she remains silent.
"Come on, let's go to the bathroom," I say again and am about to go out when she doesn't move an inch again.
I take her by the waist again to stand her up.
In the bathroom, I clean her hands and put a plaster on her cut.
"Can I ask you something?" "What", she replies. "Who is that in the picture?", I ask her cautiously. I don't want to hurt her any more than I already have.
It takes her a little while to answer me. "My father and my little sister," she suddenly answers coldly. I was about to ask her something else when she beat me to it.
"They are dead. Both of them. My sister gave me the picture frame for my last birthday," and again there is not a single emotion in her voice.
Are you saying I broke a gift from her dead sister? Shit. How am I ever going to fix this?
"Shit. Leya I'm so sorry." I take her hands in mine and look at her.
"I'm not mad about it. But could you maybe leave me alone in here for a few minutes?" she says and I nod and leave the room.
I look again at the broken picture frame and pick up the individual pieces, wrapping them in a bit of paper so that nothing more happens to them.
I have been trying to talk to her for 10 minutes, but she doesn't answer. She has also locked the door so I can't get into the bathroom.
When she still doesn't open the door after another 10 minutes, I decide to leave. I'll probably regret leaving her alone afterwards, but if she doesn't want to talk, I'll leave her alone.
I take the pieces wrapped in paper and leave her room and then finally the house. It's a good thing I didn't run into Sandra. Explaining all this to her would certainly not have been very pleasant.
On the way home, it's raining cats and dogs and I can't stop thinking about what I've done wrong again.
