<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #80FF80">Carlos Delgado</span></span></span></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i1343.photobucket.com/albums/o793/Galvin_Fugazi/75418b36-82bd-4b2f-bdff-d44eb7e2deaf_zpsb78abdde.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">Carlos had feared that she would sniff another line, but when she returned with the bucket, he could see that she had not, which already was some good sign. But her cleaning the carpet remembered him that something was off with Lea. Something he couldn't grip yet, but he knew that she had some problems. More than one actually. Patiently he waited for her to finish the cleaning, but when she returned with the medkit, he pulled her to himself.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">"Lea, what is wrong with you? It is obvious that you have problems, always had problems probably. But seeing you like that makes me worry. And it is not about you sniffing coke, although you know how much I hate drug users. Did you ever have some therapy you told nobody? Do you have some medical problem? Or..." </span><br/><br/>He grabbed her arms and turned them around, so that he could look at her inside. There were no needle-marks in the elbow, she wasn't using heroine or she wasn't doing it at the usual places. His eyes followed her arms and then his breath caught when he saw the marks on her wrists. Four, five parallel lines, old ones, newer ones, some still slightly rosy. His eyes darted to her face in alarm. <br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">"When did you try to kill yourself? Lea, answer me!"</span><br/><br/>He was shocked, more than he would ever admit. He could see that she had changed from the time in force, he had to admit too, that he had never believed her to be a junkie, but suicide? That brought it to a totally new level...</div>