forum A Thousand Cranes // Rated PG-15 // Eris

Started November 30, 2018 by Deleted user

tune

Edit topic

I do not go downstairs again after Emmy has thanked me. Her words rattle me, and I find myself sitting up in bed, thinking about it, about all. In the house, the James’ get ready for bed. For the first time since I arrived here, I am not overly apprehensive to go to sleep. Although it's only been barely two weeks, I really am starting to believe that I’m going to be okay. Could this really be happening? Could it really be true that the violence is over now?

That's altogether hard to believe. My evil mind cocks an eyebrow and scowls at me. It's only been a short time. Sighing, I have to agree with her, but thinking back on all that has happened, I also think that if they wanted to go bad on me, they could have done it long ago. Nobody did. Not even once.

Emmy thanked me, but for what, I’m not exactly sure. She acknowledged my 'thank you,' and for that I am grateful.

Why I only realize now, I don't know, but indeed, I am staying here. It's not temporary in the sense as it was with Jackie. I am here until I am at least eighteen, and chances are I am staying until I graduate. If they will have me that long. Where to go after that, I don't know. I have no money, no savings. I have never thought about the future before and the entire concept terrifies me. Until I am eighteen, I am somewhat covered, but after that? What if the James Clan kicks me out the day after my birthday? Where do I go then?

Ah. I scratch my head roughly. No, don't go there, now. I will deal with that when it happens. There must be something I can do to make some money.

Long after the family has gone to sleep, I lie awake, thinking and wondering about how it can be that this family seem to see all these things in me I have never noticed in myself. Can what they say be really true? How do I know for certain?

Is all I have blind faith?

I close my eyes and finally drift into a dreamless sleep.

The next day I am awoken by a family that is getting ready for school and work. I sit on my bed, waiting until the noises die down before I lock myself in the bathroom. I turn off the lights and shower, using the strawberry scented shampoo Iona gave me to wash my hair. It’s wonderful.

When I come down, Emmy is not in the kitchen, but the newspaper is lying invitingly on the table, with a note on top of it.

Help yourself to some breakfast and coffee. Emmy. 😊

Yes ma'am. Feeling strong, I make myself some hot oatmeal—with plenty of brown sugar and dried fruit–and have coffee and my daily dose of news as I wake up further at the kitchen table.

Oh my, I am becoming more at ease here. Eerie.

As if she has been waiting for it, Emmy steps into the kitchen just as I swallow my final bite.

"You had oatmeal? Good choice," She beams, and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth in reply. This woman. I blush at the memory of her hugging me, of me hugging her. She said I could ask for it anytime. I don't know if I ever could, and I don't know if she meant it. But here she is, and she's beaming at me, like she is actually happy to see me.

"Did you sleep well? You look so much better," She continues, leaning over the island and dropping her chin into her hand.

I nod, and then nod in her direction with a tilt of my head.

"I slept well, thank you," Emmy answers, smiling. "And thank you again for the note yesterday. It means a lot to me, to us all."

I flush crimson, ill at ease with her words. Can we just forget about it? I look away, down into my lap were my hands rest carefully, so I don’t pull any scabs.

Emmy chuckles, a light sound. "So, what do you want to do today? Do you feel well enough again to do anything?"

Oh, I hadn't really thought about that. It's still so weird to not have to do any household chores. Having time to kill is almost as stressful has having a crap ton of things to get done. How do people do this?

Honestly, I need the distraction from my own head.

"Well, here's the thing," Emmy starts. Immediately wary, I look up at her again. "You need to get back your strength, as you were already underfed before you arrived with us and your stress has not contributed to that. So, you are to eat four times a day. It should be easier for you now you can process solid food again."

Sounds reasonable enough. Just as long as I can eat on my own, I might be able to pull that off. I nod carefully. I can do that.

"Second, I know you've been through a rough start here, but maybe we can now see how you can find your schedule, your rhythm in the house. You will tell us what you need and what you want to do. I do not want to tell you what to do, you are free to fill in your own time." She pauses, thinking. "Except household chores. When I want you to help me, I will ask you."

I fidget finding this hard to accept, but the no-nonsense way in which she is talking to me, makes me hold my peace. So, even though it pains me, I nod again.

"Apart from that, I hope you will find some things to do you enjoy. I have heard you love to read, and Iona suggested to me that you might like to have a rocking chair in your room? That can be arranged, if you like." Her seriousness fades and she’s smiling gently at me once more. She looks so comfortable and cheery that I’m almost jealous.

Almost.

I nod slowly. I really would like a rocking chair, although I'm afraid to admit it. It holds such a promise of comfort. It's a weird connotation maybe, but to me, a rocking chair has a ring of safety to it.

"Good! It's nice to hear you expressing something you'd like," Emmy standing and stretching. "Third, I would love to see if you could try to start on some school work when you feel up to it. I know you are not completely better yet, but once you are ready, maybe you could look into it? Which brings us to the question if and when you think you will be ready for school?"

Oof, I don't know. I purse my lips in thought, turning away from her once more. As soon as possible, ideally, however much I dread the prospect of starting a new school. But being out of the house for a certain number of hours each day sounds very nice indeed.

Misinterpreting my reaction, Emmy hastens to reassure. "No, you can home school if you want to. I could do it, or we can hire a tutor. No pressure, Cassia."

This time it's my turn to shake my head. I really want to go to school, and it's important to me that Emmy knows this for certain. We talked about it before, but I realize that it is important to the both of us that I express that it is something that I want. Very much.

I rest my hands on the table, flexing and relaxing them as I think of what I want to say. I’m not sure if she is expecting an entire speech, because I certainly don’t have enough words for that. Swallowing, I settle for a simple statement. But I do meet her eyes so she knows how serious I am.

I want to go to school.

There.

"Are you sure about this?" Emmy asks carefully, although I don’t really think that she doubts me. I think she wants to—protect me? Baffling. What the hell? "I mean, it would be a lot of new faces, a strange environment… And to be honest, I don't know how everyone will react to the fact that you don't speak."

They'll get used to it. They got used to it every time so far.

But maybe Emmy is right. This is a small school. The type of school where chances are everybody knows everybody by name.

I will be a novelty. Ew. But, once that wears off, I will be able to have classes and soak up knowledge. School has always been my sole distraction and my only joy. I would hate it if my inability to act normal would take that away from me, too.

I want to try.

Emmy shrugs smiles. "I won't stop you. Let’s plan for next week then, okay?"

Yes, I can do that.

"Excellent. Now, what do you want to do next? I have some work to do this morning, so I’ll be in my office if you need me."

Taken aback, I look at her. Damn, getting used to this free time is not my forte. Noting my hesitation, Emmy proposes that I go check out my homework assignments and as such I spend the morning in my room, looking through the textbooks Iona has brought me. I don't know where in the books the students are now, but I am able to mark for some subjects where I left off when I left William. To my surprise, it shouldn’t be hard to catch up. Willow Hills High uses different teaching methods but I must say I like a lot of the books.

After Emmy has called me down for lunch, she asks me to set the table for the two of us. The happiness to finally be allowed to help must show, because she laughs softly as I get to work. However, when we sit down, I look at my full bowl of creamy soup. Emmy picks a slice of bread from the basket and starts to put butter on it. I watch as she dunks it into her own bowl. My stomach knots.

"Declan told me you ate with him present," She says, focusing on her bread. "Maybe you could try it again, with me?"

I'd rather not. But Emmy isn't giving up. She selects a section from the newspaper, slides it to me, and picks up the other part herself. Then she starts to read and eat. She doesn't ask me any more questions. She leaves it up to me, now.

I know it's all a farce, but I'm hungry, too. Declan’s words come back to me. 'If you would take half the energy you spend worrying about what could go wrong, on thinking of what could go right, would that help?'

Would it? As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly.

"Just try it," Emmy hums without looking up. "If you don't succeed, I will leave. But please, give it a shot."

I sigh through my nose. Try. Yea, I can do that. I take a piece of bread and carefully plop it into my soup. My stomach nots further as I raise the bite to my lips. I chew for an eternity, watching Emmy warily. She wouldn’t take this from me… Would she? When I finally manage to swallow, I know that I won't be able to take any more. It's too much. I can't do it–I think my stomach has closed for business.

Emmy finishes her meal and when she gets up, she smiles at me. "Thank you for trying. You don't have to clean up after you're done." What a ridiculous notion. Of course, I will clean up. But I nod to her anyway. With that she disappears into the other room and I can hear the familiar sounds of Dr. Phil on the tv. I sigh and attack my food. I finish in silence and start to clear away the dishes when Emmy comes back into the kitchen.

"What did I tell you?" She scolds, and I am alarmed. Was she really that serious when she told me not to clean up the dishes? Oh no, I'm sorry! Immediately I put down the bowl and spoon and step back. Soap suds still littering my shaking hands. Wide-eyed, I look at her, and await what will happen.

"No, Cassia. Don't be alarmed. I just wished you would leave the chores to me unless I ask you to help. I know it's normal for you to do this all, but in this house, it's normal to not do it all. See what I mean?" She frowns, but it’s not mean in anyway, it’s more like she can’t quite figure out why this is an issue for me.

A frown echoes on my own face. Why doesn't she just let me help? What is so wrong with that? We stare at each other for a moment before she laughs. “I do like your stubbornness. I suppose we are at a stalemate for now, Cassia.” I sigh and shrug slightly, before returning to finish cleaning my dishes. Emmy leans up against the counter and watches me, a thoughtful look crossing her eyes.

"Why don't you go into the library for a bit?" She asks after I’ve wiped my hands and pulled my sleeves back over my fingers. "I am sure there are books there to your liking. You can take them into your room too, if you want to. Oh–! What do you say we try to get the rocking chair into your room? Together?"

The thought makes me nervous, but I don't want to deny her. Nodding, I follow her to the library. It's on the ground floor at a corner of the house and it looks out over the garden and the forest behind it. It has two oriel windows with deep windows seats, filled with cushions. It's a sanctuary. I wonder if they would allow me to come here whenever.

The two rocking chairs are opposite each other near the unused fire place. Emmy picks one and starts to pull it towards the door, over the thick carpet. Rushing to help her, we make quick work of moving the rocking chair to my bedroom, fussing and clumsily moving as we try to get the thing up the stairs.

In the room, I place the chair by the large window, so I can look out over the forest. Emmy stands in the doorway, beaming at me and I realize a slight smile is on my face. Well, I am happy with this chair. Surely, I can let her know I am? With a nod of my head and a quick sign, I thank her, and her smile widens.

"Anything to make you smile like that, Cassia," Emmy says softly. "Anything."

When she leaves, I try the chair. It tilts backwards the moment I sit down in it, and for a fleeting moment I have the horrible feeling of losing my balance, but then my sense of equilibrium settles again, and I can lean back in the chair, rocking slightly. Oh, my. The sense of comfort I thought it would have, it has. Carefully, I lift my feet and tuck them underneath me. Leaning my head back against the high back of the chair, I almost wish I had Jackie’s quilt with me right now. But it's on the bed and I don't want to get up to get it.

The rocking of the chair is lulling and, still listening carefully, I let my eyes fall closed for a moment.

I could get used to this. I really could.

Emmy’s voice startles me as she says my name at the same time she knocks. I wasn't really sleeping. I just didn't hear her approaching, is all.

Of course, I wasn't sleeping. I left the door to the bedroom open, for goodness sake. What madness is this?

"You like the chair?" Emmy asks, leaning against the frame.

Startled, ruffled, and alarmed, but relaxing I can't help but nod.

"Sorry if I alarmed you. My—” She clears her throat softly and her smile turns a little sad. “My sister-in-law often napped in that chair when it was in her own home. Especially, after Iona and Declan were born. It's easy to get lulled to sleep in it, isn't it?"

I gently rub the arms of the chair, touched by the gesture that she would give something obviously so precious to her, to me. I have the urge to ask her about her decease family, just to hear her speak more, but I don’t know if it’s appropriate, nor do I have the words to ask. For a moment, I’m incredibly sad for Emmy.

"Anyway, come on. We're going to the supermarket." And like that, she bounces back. My goodness.

I raise a brow at her as I stand. My question clear. Are we really doing this?

"Yes, let's go. You need some fresh air, and I want you to point out what things you like and don't like to eat. Besides, I’d love the company." Emmy holds out her hand, and before I have time to think or hesitate, I follow her. I must say I like the clarity. She did it too this morning, when she told me what she was expecting of me. Although I don't agree with her, it's nice that she is so clear with me. It provides me with set rules and boundaries which I can keep.

We slip into our coats and Emmy drives us to the store. The parking lot is all but deserted, which is not a strange thing on a dreary Friday afternoon. I did some more Google search about this place. Apparently, there should be about one hundred and sixty sunny days a year in this area of the world. So far, I can't remember seeing even one, so on average, the estimation seems to be wrong.

Gah. I guess sunlight is overrated.

I follow Emmy into the store and as she takes a cart, I walk after her and take in my surroundings. It's not overly big in here. In the supermarket in Los Angeles I knew my way around blindly, and it was easily twice the size of this store. Here, I will have to make myself acquainted again, but it shouldn't take very long to do so. Not to mention that the riot of color makes me smile. I like it.

Emmy gives me clear directions to get something for her now and then. Then she asks me to point out what I'd like to eat, or what I'd like to make. I shrug at that, not knowing how to answer this. There's little I won't eat or make. "Very well. Is there anything you really don't like to eat?"

Seeing my hesitation, I do not fail to notice the tiny frown that flies over Emmy’s face.

"Can you tell me what you would like to make, then? Maybe get the ingredients, so you can cook some time? I know you like to do so." A beat. "I won't use it against you, Cassia. Like I said before; anything to make you happy, to see that smile on your face again."

I stare at her, biting my lip. I’m not sure–

"Come on, pick and choose. Don't worry about the cost." She waves her hand, encompassing not just our current aisle, but the entire store. Looking at her for a long moment, she nods encouragingly and I finally saunter off, browsing the isles and savoring this moment of being on my own.

It's quiet in the store, but even if it were crowded, I wouldn't really mind. I'm usually not afraid outside of the house. It's what happens behind closed curtains that scares the shit out of me.

I find the ingredients to make one of my signature dishes — lasagna. My stomach grumbles as I smile. It’s been awhile since I got to make something so complex and delicious. Although I feel uncomfortable doing this, I don't want to defy Emmy and go against her. I have not seen her mad at me and I intend to keep it that way. Besides, it's getting tiresome to second-guess everything. Let it happen when it happens. For now, the last of my bruises are healing, fading to an ugly yellow color. Even the stains on my neck are as good as gone.

I can't remember the last time I have been completely bruise-free. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and I freeze in my tracks, swallowing heavily. I wish I could ask someone if this is really happening. I wish someone could promise me that this really is what my new life looks like.

I mean, I know it exists. I just never thought it could happen to me. Is it really happening, to me? Could it be?

"Cassia?"

Torn from my epiphany, I see Emmy at a small distance from me, looking worried.

"Oh, you're still with us. That's good. You were so still, I thought something had startled you."

Well, yes, but not something that physically happened. More something that physically not happened. Shaking my head to clear it a bit, I turn to Emmy, my arms still full of produce and noodles. The smile on my face is unmistakable.

"Lasagna?" She guesses after a moment of peering at my arms, and I nod, shyly. "Declan will love you for this," Emmy beams. "Would you like to make it tonight, or another time this week?"

I shrug, indicating it's up to her to choose when I cook. Stepping forward, I hold her gaze for any sign of disapproval when I drop the ingredients in the cart.

"Maybe tomorrow then," She decides, ignoring my hesitation. "I have some things in the fridge that need to be made today. Of course, I am assuming here that you would like to cook for us?"

Finally giving in to something I would like to do, I nod. It's not solely the prospect of cooking for this family, to finally be helpful, but also the prospect of cooking in itself, that makes my smile linger on my face.

Emmy’s face lights up with a broad grin in return. "Anything to make you happy," She repeats. "It's wonderful to see you smile like this. You have a very lovely smile, Cassia."

Slowly, her words register, and my confusion must show on my face.

"I mean it," She says gently, still smiling and winks at me.

"Emmy James, well hello!" A female voice exclaims behind me, and I turn quickly to see who has snuck up on the two of us.

It's a blond woman, good looking, about the same age as Emmy, maybe a bit older.

"Charlotte Zeller," Emmy replies, an odd note to her voice. She almost sounds exhausted with the exchange despite it just beginning.

I step back, walking around Emmy slowly, hoping to God that I can go by unnoticed.

"How are you doing?" The woman—Charlotte–asks. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"I'm fine. Just been busy. How are you?" Emmy replies. For some reason I sense a hint of impatience in her voice now. Oh dear.

I trail further away, looking at the products in the isle, keeping close but, hopefully, under the radar as well.

"I'm fine. Business is going good, but it's hard work as usual," Mrs. Zeller says. "What have you been busy with?"

Now I know what I'm hearing. Now I understand. Mrs. Zeller’s voice is nagging. There is unmistakable envy in her tone as she asks what Emmy has been busy with. Why would she be envious? No wonder Emmy is impatient with her. I'm impatient with her and I've not even met her yet. Not to mention that her eyes keep darting around Emmy. Her clothes, the items in the basket, her face… This must be the town gossip.

"Ah, well," Emmy starts — or hesitates, I will never know, as Mrs. Zeller interrupts her. "Oh, didn't you have that foster girl coming? When did she arrive, last week or so?"

"Give or take," Emmy says, pressing her lips together and shifting her feet. I tense up. So much for staying under the radar.

"Is that her?" My goodness she’s nosy isn’t she?

Well shit.

"Yes, that's Cassia–Cassia?" Emmy asks, and I have to look up at her. Her eyes are pleading… apologizing? "This is Mrs. Zeller. Mrs. Zeller, this is Cassia Sinclair."

"Hello Cassia," Mrs. Zeller says, walking towards me and holding out her hand. Her beady eyes are darting around me as well, taking in everything she can.

Startled, and uncomfortable, I step backwards at her approach.

"Oh?" Mrs. Zeller asks, surprised, pausing in her approach. Thank god.

"Cassia is very shy," Emmy says and she winks at me before she turns back to face Mrs. Zeller. "She's not comfortable around strangers."

Shy, huh? Interesting.

"Oh, that's no matter, dear. I’m no stranger to the James family!" Mrs. Zeller says to me, her tone changing from nagging to, what, cooing? Ew. I’m not a toddler. Emmy seems to agree as she looks down her nose at the other woman for a moment.

"I'm Charlotte. See? Now we're not strangers anymore. I don't think you are going to school here yet, are you? I have a son your age, his name is Brent. You'll meet him soon. He's a very nice guy, I think you'd like him. He’s quite the catch."

Oh, no. I don’t think so. To keep myself from frowning severely at the thought of romance, I look at her blankly, and when I don't respond, Charlotte looks to Emmy for help. "She does understand me, right? Or does she not speak English?"

"She does," Emmy says, and do I hear a hidden smile in her voice? "She really does."

Yes. I really do.

Charlotte turns back to me. "Anyway, we have a restaurant just down the street. Come visit soon. If you come by on Saturdays, you can meet Brent, too. Any idea when you will start school? I’m sure he’d love to meet you."

I shake my head. The name Brent rings a bell in my head. Wasn't he part of the group the James kids hang out with? Wasn’t he the one Iona said was a—what was it? A ‘slag’?

"Probably next week," Emmy answers for me in a warm tone, and I have the feeling she's talking to me as much as to Mrs. Zeller. "She needs to settle in for a bit here. It's only been a short time."

"Where did she come from?" And the nosiness returns. I look studiously to the ground, then shift my gaze back to the wall of products beside me. I don't want Emmy to start this conversation but at the same time I have a morbid curiosity to hear what she will say.

"Los Angeles." Now even Emmy sounds dismissive. She shifts her feet once more, leaning on the cart so that it’s inching away from Mrs. Zeller and towards me.

"Well, that's quite far away, isn't it? Couldn't she be replaced closer to home?" Mrs. Zeller covers her mouth in what I suppose is supposed to be sympathy.

"No, she couldn't," Emmy replies flatly, and the message, I think, is clear.

Mrs. Charlotte Zeller doesn't let go. "What's her story? Why was she moved from her old home?" I can feel her gaze on me as she asks this question.

This time. I do glare at her. She looks a bit shocked.

"We would like to keep her back story private, if you don't mind," Emmy replies softly. She’s watching me from the corner of her eye. I bounce one on my toes, very uncomfortable.

"Oh," Comes the should-be-sympathetic-sounding reply. "That bad, huh?"

Emmy doesn't answer, and I am fed up with this conversation. Of course, Emmy won't want to tell others what a rotten person I am. Nosey people. God damn it. Lola was just the same. Are all the Rochester people like this? Because if so, then maybe I should reconsider school. They'd never get off my back. Plus, once they find out about my past, my life will become miserable, guaranteed. I press my hand against my temple, feeling a headache coming on.

"Well, honey, things will get better for you now, I'm sure," Mrs. Zeller tells me. "If you ever need anything, or want someone to talk to, I'm here, anytime" She concludes, and then she turns and wheels her cart away. The picture of a ‘good woman’.

I keep looking at her retreating figure, stunned. Stunned because she told me things would get better. Aghast at her offer to talk to her, 'anytime.' Did she really cal me 'honey'? Honestly? I scowl.

"Oh my," Emmy says once Mrs. Zeller is out of sight and hearing range, then bursts into a fit of silent sniggers. She clasps her hand on her mouth, but still she can't stop. "That woman knows no bounds. I'm sorry we ran into her. Are you okay?"

I nod, slowly, still stunned after this encounter. But Emmy’s reaction has me relaxing. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

"Not everybody in this town is like her," Emmy reassures me. "Charlotte is known to be the main frame of the gossip machine here in Willow Hills. I'm confident that others will show more… discretion."

Oh, that's good. Not everybody needs to know what an awful person I am. Emmy was right in not wanting to tell that.

"God, she wishes you would confide in her," Emmy mutters as she starts moving again. "Then she could 'confide' in the rest of the town." I gasp out a laugh at her words, and Emmy glances at me guiltily from the corner of her eye. "Don't ever do anything you don't want to, Cassia," She says. "I think a lot of people are going to offer you their friendship like Mrs. Zeller did just now. But I want you to never feel pressured into doing things you are not comfortable with, okay?"

Keeping my face forward, I nod, and I know Emmy has seen it. Her words clash with what she said earlier. Why would she think people want to offer their friendship if she knows how bad I am? Surely, she realizes others wouldn't want to know me?

I put this question to the back of my mind to think about it later, when I have time to mull it over.

We finish our groceries and when I lift the heavy bags into the back of the car with ease, Emmy stops to look at me. "You are strong," She observes, almost as if it surprised her. I frown. Well I guess I don’t look it.

Yeah, well, never strong enough though. I don't meet her gaze and fortunately, she doesn't press. I wait in the car as she brings back the cart and we drive home in silence.

What a day.

When we pull up in the garage, Emmy opens the car door first and stills immediately. Startled, I wait what she is going to do. I glance around the garage but see nothing dangerous or alarming. What–? She bends back to face me in the car and pushes her finger to her lips, imploring me to be quiet. Now truly alarmed, I open the car door as softly as humanly possible and step out into the garage. Emmy looks at me over the roof or the car and holds her hand to her ear, indicating that I should listen.

Then I hear it.

Softly, in short bursts, the sounds of a piano playing drift down into the garage.

Emmy closes the car door as quietly as she can, and I follow suit.

"The groceries can wait," She says softly, then precedes me to the stairs that will lead us into the house. The piano sounds get stronger as we come closer to the door, and when Emmy opens it, the full warm sounds of the baby grand wash over us.

"Go watch," She says quietly, so as not to be heard over the piano.

Doing as I am told, but very apprehensive indeed, I walk to the foyer where the piano is situated. I’m almost sneaking, and the thought makes my heart pound in a way I’m not familiar with almost on beat with the notes in the air.

It's a wonderful song. Light, hopeful, it embraces you like a sunny day.

Declan is playing. I can see his profile and his deep concentration even from where I stand. His feet are moving the pedals with gentle ease, perfectly in time with the music.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I start at the whisper beside me, but it's Iona and she's beaming up at me from a seated position on the stairs. "He hasn't played for a long, long time. Then he told me the other day that he wanted to—for you, but I guess he was too shy. I've missed hearing him play."

Hell, with him playing as well as he does, I would have missed hearing this, too! I wonder why he was shy about it though. Although, I figure it’s the same reason why I have not brought out my violin.

Iona hums moving back up the stairs to her room, leaving me standing, enthralled by the music Declan is making. The song is absolutely wonderful. That same feeling around my heart increases until my entire body is flooded with it, but I still can’t put a name to it.

I am frozen, lost in the gentle tones of the baby grand. Declan’s hands dance over the keys and his head moves to the music, scanning the keys without really needing to. He's playing without sheet music. Whatever song he is playing, he is playing by heart.

I realize a moment too late that Declan has looked up and noted me. His fingers do not halt, and he plays on, no longer looking at the keys. He catches my gaze and holds it, and I find myself unable to look away. The music changes fluidly, going from the joyous leaps and bounds to the soft pulls and flows of something gentler, more lulling. My body sways on its own and I can hear the accompanying notes from a violin in my mind. My eyes drift shut as the music continues. My hands coming up to cover my still full heart.

I don’t know how long I stand like that, but when I open my eyes again, Declan is still gazing at me. His eyes fire eyes full of an emotion I cannot name. He's not angry. That I know for sure, but his eyes, all of him, burns with intensity.

He plays and we continue to look at each other, until the song comes gently to an end. As the last note fades into silence, he clears his throat and moves his gaze back to his hands.

The spell is broken.

I swallow and hurry back to the garage to help Emmy clear the groceries away.

I don’t know why my cheeks are burning.

(Staring into the eyes of someone intensely while you play the piano (just for them!) is the epitome of romance and no one can convince me otherwise)
_{(idk if thats where they're going, thats just what my mind went to)}

(beautiful writing Eris)

The sound of Declan playing the piano lingers in my memory. The soft tinkling of the keys echoes and echoes in my mind. I can’t stop thinking about it, or how I would incorporate the long notes of a violin into his piece. I’m a bit disappointed to find that he had left the room when I came back from the garage, arms full of groceries. It’s not like I could have talked to him about the music anyway.

I mindlessly help Emmy put away the food, zoning out further as the music plays and replays in my head. I’m not sure if Emmy tried to talk to me, but I can tell by her concerned glances that she knows that something is on my mind. If only I could tell her that it wasn’t something awful this time around.

Iona steps up to my side just as I’m putting away the last of the dry items in the pantry. I smile slightly at her. "Auntie told me you might want to try and do some homework. Do you want me to help you point out where we are now before you get started on dinner?"

I nod, accepting the offer. I think of all the people in this house, I am least afraid of Iona. Still, I try to keep my guard up. It's dangerous to be at ease. It can all go bad easily still. I have to remind myself of that. I frown realizing that the statement sounds utterly wrong for the first time in my life. I wonder why…

Iona precedes me up the stairs and waits at the door of my room so I can open it. This tiny gesture of respect moves and amazes me. But once my door is open, she flounces in and plops herself into the window seat next to my desk.

I join her and carefully hand her each of my textbooks and some post-it notes.

"Listen, Cassia," She starts as she flips through the books and puts post its at given places. I’m immediately on guard. "I would really love to give you a few things, if that’s okay? You can think of them as gifts to welcome you into our home, despite them being more for necessity than—well—fun. I just want to help you out, you know? You arrived here with nearly nothing and I just want to help you to be more at home here."

I listen to her speech, wringing my hands as she goes through my books. She really doesn’t need to give me anything. I have nothing to give back. I frown slightly, my eye brows scrunching over my eyes. I don’t know what to do. It’s obvious that she wants to do something nice for me—and why should I stop her? It’ll make her happy right? Happy and not upset at me. She won’t begin to hate me… My frown intensifies as I realize that I really don’t want Iona to resent me in anyway. I guess then…I guess then I can accept her gifts. I do love presents after all, despite my recent blunder with them. When she's done, she looks up at me. "I’m sorry I’m babbling…Are you angry with me?"

The notion alone is beyond ridiculous and I think this shows on my face as she chuckles.

"I guess not. That's good to know," Iona smiles, relieved. "I absolutely loathe it when people are angry with me."

Oh, Iona, how can I let you know I do appreciate what you are doing for me? Biting my lip, I decide to go for the obvious. Technically she did give me a gift already. Opening the bathroom door, I gesture for her to look in and when she does, I point out the strawberry scented shampoo in the shower, the face wash by the sink. It’s not much to show, but its important to me. I point to each item and then gently tap my shirt over my heart.

Iona, I think, is stunned into silence for once. "Thank you," she finally says, stunning me in turn. Looking back at me, she smiles. "Maybe, when you are a bit more at ease, we can go shopping together sometime. Or we could go with Auntie, if you'd like that better. I can't believe you can function with so little things. Or maybe—maybe I have to many things!" She jokes.

I have to fight to keep the cynicism from my eyes as I release a silent laugh at her joke. There is remarkable little you really need when all you want is to stay alive. For the first time since it happened, the memory of that last night with William really comes to me. When my vision started to blur, I knew it was bad news. His hands were around my throat, constricting, and I couldn't breathe…

Frowning, I shake my head a little to clear it, my hand traveling to my neck. I had stopped wearing the scarf days ago and it’s still a little weird for the skin to be exposed.

"The bruises are gone, that’s fantastic right?" Iona asks softly. "I mean, you're not wearing your scarf anymore, either. Does it still hurt?"

My neck? No, my neck doesn't hurt anymore. I shake my head, even tapping my skin to show her that it’s all better. Instead of relieved, she looks as if she’s thinking really hard about something.

Swallowing, Iona looks away briefly before she meets my gaze again. "Were you scared?"

Her question takes me off guard and for a moment I can only look at her as I register what she actually said.

Then, finally, I nod.

Yes, I was scared. I was finally scared enough to fight back.

Iona invites herself to do homework in my room for the afternoon. I’m quite pleased with the development, if I say so myself. She takes position in the mound of pillows on my window seat and provides mindless chatter about her day and some subjects as she flips open her books. I perch at my desk, listening raptly and quickly copying some notes that she handed over to me.

I learn quickly that in Los Angeles I was ahead in almost all my subjects. I have little to do here. It’s a bit annoying that not only an I a junior taking mostly senior classes, but also being ahead in said classes. Iona seems to notice this as well as she expresses surprise at a few corrections that I made in her notes.

With a sigh of relief, I recognize the familiar satisfaction that studying always brings me. This, I know. This, I can lose myself in. This is my security, the one thing that is constant in my life, apart of course from the fear. Even that is changing, it seems. Barely two weeks in and my world has been toppled over once, twice, now put back again in some weird angle. I am shifting my feet, trying to regain some balance, a sense of equilibrium in my new life. I have no idea if I’ve succeeded just yet. Or if I ever will.

Emmy calls us—well me—down to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Iona decides to join me, the lingering puzzlement on her face from her calculus homework is a bit amusing. “Promise you’ll show me how to do that magic you did with the numbers?” She groans as we make our way downstairs. I smile and nod causing her to release a ‘whoop!’ when we get to the bottom of the steps.

Even though both Emmy and Iona stand at attention in the kitchen as I drag out all the necessary ingredients, I gently shoo them out with a frown. This is just something I have to do on my own. Thankfully, they leave with almost identical faces of surprise. So, I make the lasagna alone in the kitchen, humming almost silently to myself as I work. Emmy comes to check once or twice as I try to figure out how to cook such a big dinner. She tells me time and again that I will do fine, giving me gentle pointers and tips that will help me cook a dinner for five. I’m not used to making food for more than two and sometimes not even that.

Five.

Crap. That’s four other people tasting my food. Judging it. Crap, crap.

I do not realize I have been biting my lip furiously until I taste the familiar copper of blood in my mouth. Sucking on my lip to hide the bleeding, I place the lasagna in the oven and lean against the counter to wait.

Emmy pops in to check just in time. "Is it in the oven?"

I nod, not releasing the suction on my lip, hoping she won't notice.

"Oh excellent! It already smells amazing. Would you like to come sit with us as it heats?" I look at her, my eyes a little wider in confusion. Sit with them? Why? I can wait in the kitchen until the food is done? I always did so with William, not only to be out of his way, but also to prevent the dinner from burning.

I don't want to know what will happen when I fuck this up. The muscles of my belly are sore, I've been so tense as I was preparing the lasagna. I have told myself I will have to get used to this. I would not be surprised if Emmy asked me to cook more often.

It's how it goes, isn’t it?

"Don't be so nervous, Cassia. It smells delicious, I promise. It’ll be fine cooking away in there while you relax."

I don’t know how to react, so I shrug slowly, looking away.

"Just… Take a deep breath," Emmy says, and I do as I'm told. "Good. Now come sit with us. Please. If it's too crowded, you can go."

It's a direct order and I can't refuse it. I follow her into the living room, where only Iona and Nick are seated.

Iona is on the couch, her head lolling leisurely back against the headrest, and Nick is in the loveseat, one leg draped over the arm rest. They are playing some sort of puzzle game, in which they have to shoot a big, bouncing ball, which will turn in two smaller balls, which will turn in four even smaller balls… Emmy sits next to her husband, picking up what looks like a kindle. I find myself perched in the arm of my usual chair, ready to jump into the kitchen if need be.

The game looks ancient. Why would they play this? Surely, they have the consoles for more… sophisticated stuff?

"Ah, Cassia, you know this game?" Nick asks as he sees me.

I shake my head. I've never seen it.

"It's fun. Retro," Nick smirks playfully at his niece. "And I totally squash Iona with this."

Iona chuckles and I move my gaze to her. "I have to give you something to win, sometimes."

"I just have not as much time as you do to practice my skills with gaming," Nick retorts.

"Do I sense some jealousy there my dear uncle?"

"I do more fun things than just gaming," Nick says dryly, reacting too late in the game and cursing under his breath when the giant red ball squashes his tiny character.

"It's okay. I think I’ve lost enough today." Nick says, standing up and stretching. Iona snickers from behind him. His gaze falls to me and he nods towards the television screen. "You want to play?"

What?

I've never done such a thing before. Back with William, my foster brother Chris wouldn't let me touch his things, and apart from that it could never even remotely interest me. At all. The violence alone was enough to make me nauseous.

"You should try it," Nick smiles, his eyes sparkling. "I know it doesn't look like it, but it's terribly addicting. Here." He reaches out the controller to me, but there is no way in hell I'm accepting that from his hands. I don’t think I can, despite my hands twitching within my sweater sleeves.

Smile faltering, he places the black controller on the table. "Here you go," He says hesitantly. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head, to let him know he shouldn't be the one who is sorry. I’m the one who is lacking.

"Yes, why don't you try to play, Cassia? Against Iona? Or against me, if you'd like that better?" Emmy’s voice is soft, hopeful.

Ah. Crap. My heart rate is picking up and my breathing speed increases as I sit still, not knowing what to do. The telltale first signs of hyperventilation are starting, and I decide to leave before it can evolve into a full-scale panic attack. There are too many questions and too many people staring at me.

"No, Cassia," Emmy interrupts me as she sees me looking to the stairs. "Don't panic. There is nothing to panic about."

I halt in my movements to look at her. Of course, there is reason to panic. I can't play a game. What if I win? What if I don't win? What if I suck? I don't even know how to operate the controller. There are too many variables here that I don’t know the results for.

"We are not forcing you into anything. It's fine if you don't want to play." She says gently. "I'll play you, Iona," She continues, placing her kindle on the table and reaching to pick up the controller from the coffee table. Nick settles on the couch once more. "It's been ages since I played this game."

They play and they both laugh, a lot, as I gradually calm down again. Emmy is 'rusty,' as she puts it, and often is too slow to react on what she sees on the screen.

I sit fully in the big winged armchair once more and alternate my gaze between the two people playing, and what's happening on the screen.

After a good twenty minutes, I start to realize that maybe someday I'd like to try my hand at it, too. It actually looks pretty fun.

I stand up carefully, and Emmy follows my gaze as I walk into the kitchen to set the table. To my surprise, she lets me. I place the plates quietly, listening to the sounds that drift from the living room. I can hear they are ending the game and turning off the TV as I lean against the counter to wait for the oven.

When I hear the buzz that tells me the lasagna is ready, I turn to retrieve it from the oven. Opening the oven door, the hot, but delicious smells waft into my face. It's perfect. I did it.

Picking up the pan holders, I crouch and reach inside the oven to retrieve the enormous lasagna dish. It's heavy in my arms and I feel the heat through the fabric immediately. Standing up, I try to ignore the awkward way that I have to lift the dish, my injured hands don’t like the weight of it.

The front door slams followed by Josh’s deep voice announcing that he’s arrived. I flinch violently and almost drop the dish, having to make an awkward movement to hold it up. I feel the burn on my hand immediately and I clench my teeth together to prevent making any sound. I manage to get the dish on the counter. It clatters out of my hands, thankfully on the coasters I had set out before.

Oh God, it hurts. I dance lightly on my toes, biting on my lip again. Ow. Ow. Ow.

I drop the pan holders and move to the sink, turning on the water to lukewarm and holding my hand under it. It's already red and it's a real burn, stinging deeply into my skin.

I hope it won't blister.

Breathing evenly through my nose and pressing my lips together to hide the pain, I don't even notice Emmy has stepped into the kitchen. "Did you burn yourself?" She asks and my head flies up to see her looking around me, to my hand under the water.

Well, I can't very well say 'no', now can I? Dammit it all to hell.

"Let me see it, sweetie."

No, I can handle this. I shake my head. I don’t want her to think that I can’t even cook without being an issue.

"Come on. Let me see, so I know if I have to get ointment." She steps forward curiously, already reaching for the cabinet that contains all the medicine.

Warily I shake my head again. Please.

"Cassia." Her change in tone registers and reluctantly, I pull my hand from under the water. The sting returns immediately after the cooling ends and I hold up my left hand to show her the pad of my thumb, which is angrily red.

I look away, prepared for the yelling and the lecture.

Emmy brings her hands up, tutting softly and I make to pull back, but she hastens to clarify. "I won't touch you. Just watch." Her hands cradle mine, without touching. My hand stings and I stand, tense, trying to be strong, to not run.

"Aww sweetie. Thankfully it doesn’t look that bad," Emmy says as she examines my hand, then looks at me. "I'll get you some ointment."

As she leaves, I turn back to the tap and hold my hand under the lukewarm water once more, sighing deeply and utterly pissed with myself.

Fuck.

I can't even get cooking right anymore, it seems.

Emmy comes back into the kitchen, followed by Nick. Aw crap. It really is just my luck to live with a doctor. Any injury that my clumsy self is going to get will be fully examined all the time. I sigh deeply once more.

"I have some ointment for the burning, but I would like to have a look at it, Cassia," Nick says, almost apologetically. “I’m sure it’s fine, but let’s be safe okay?”

Looking at Nick and Emmy, I feel decidedly cornered here in the kitchen. I have shown Emmy my hand. There are no blisters. I just need to cool it. I look from Emmy to Nick and back again. They are united against me. I know it’s not for any reason other than my health, but I can’t help but feel incredibly venerable right now.

"Please, Cassia. We just want to see if you need care." Emmy leans against the counter, the picture of relaxation. I’m sure she’s doing this to assure me that there is nothing to be afraid of.

I shake my head, turning off the tap and putting my hand in the pocket of my sweater. The stinging returns immediately, but I manage not to flinch as I face them, waiting. I’m so nervous that my stomach knots.

Will he be mad when he sees how bad it is? My breathing is picking up speed and through the sting in my hand the panic flares. Memories of the recent hospital trip with Dr Loratz swim up, reminding me how horrible it is to be examined. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. No, no. I don’t want to be looked at.

“Cassia…” Nick’s voice is so soft, and I feel something being pressed into my other hand. I open my eyes just a bit to see that Nick has placed a mint green stress ball there. My eyes open wider and I blink at it in surprise. Oh. I give it a squeeze and to my delight it squishes in the most satisfying way. Oh…

I look up at him and the hand he still has stretched out towards me. I believe him. What he has silently told me, by giving me the ball, just as Dr Sue had done. Holding my breath, I pull my burning hand out of from under the water and show it to him.

Please don't be mad at me.

Every nerve ending is on alert as I stand before him.

Nick looks without touching, just as Emmy had done. "I'm afraid it will blister," He finally says looking up at me. "Keep it cool. Take something for the pain if you want to. I’m sure with hoe delicious that food smells, it’ll be worth it in the end."

Of for the love of—Really? A silly joke? I want to be annoyed, but I can’t help the tilt to my lips. Maybe he’s right. His answering grin is cheeky as hell. "Come find me should the skin break, so we can prevent it scarring, okay?"

I nod, unconcerned. What’s another scar?

"You should get it back under the water," Emmy orders, and for once I do react in an instant, welcoming the cold stream on the burning skin once more. "This must be stressing for you. Shall I put the food on the table?"

I half-shrug, half-nod. It's not like I am going to eat it with them, anyway… maybe.

When Emmy returns back after having set the lasagna on the table, she puts a tube on the counter. "Put this on your hand. I am going to call the rest for dinner. Will you join us?"

I hesitate, chewing on my bottom lip. I don’t look at her as I deliberate, because the thing is I want to. I really do, but I don’t know if I can yet. Gently, I shake my head. I’m ashamed of my own weakness right now.

"Very well, sweetie. You can take a plate up to your room or eat in the living room. I understand it is a daunting idea. We can try another day.” She says as she moves out of the room once more, hands laden with drinks. Once again, it's the disappointment in her voice that hits me as hard as a slap in my face would do.

As the family gathers around the table, I stand with my back half turned to the counter, my hand still under the water. I listen to easy banter, flowing conversation, and compliments about the way the lasagna is smelling.

Declan walks into the kitchen and looks from my hand under the tap to me. "Ouch. You okay?" He mouths.

I shrug, tilting my head to the side as if to say, ‘It’s nothing really’. Although the blush that creeps around my cheeks has me looking away from him. He allowed me to look and listen when he was playing piano and I certainly haven’t forgotten how it made me feel.

I can see from the corner of my eye that he has paused by the door and is looking at me. “I hope you liked it.” He murmurs quietly. I look up but he’s already gone.

I decide to leave before I collapse and scooping up the tube with cream I bolt for the stairs, hands shaking as I close the door of my room behind me with a soft click.

I go for the rocking chair, pulling Jackie’s quilt with me as I walk past the bed and I curl up in the chair, letting it tilt backwards and rock me as I put the quilt over my head, leaving it open around my face. My hand stings like an angry sun in my hand and I gently, gently spread the cream around the wound. Hissing as I touch a tender spot.

The gentle rocking is soothing, soothing…

My breathing calms and my heart slows down gradually as I move my upper body with the lulling motion of the chair to keep it going.

A knock on my door has me moving away from the chair. I blow gently on my ointment covered hand as I step up to the door.

"Cassia?" Emmy. Dammit.

I lay my right hand against the wood, head bowed, craving closeness but so afraid to ask for it or to allow myself to want it even. Deep down, I crave the care they just gave me just as much as I shy away from it.

You don't deserve to be cared for, my evil mind sneers. That's a third point of view, come to think of it, just to add to my confusion.

"Cassia, don't shut me out. Please." Her voice sounds muffled through the door and the way she has turned her words catches me off guard.

But I don't know how to let you in, Emmy. I rub the wood, unable to do anything else. It makes an odd sound and from how Emmy goes silent on the other side I know that she is aware that I’m standing here.

"I am sorry you panicked. Please come out?"

Stilling at her words, I let them sink in and gather some meaning in my head. I think back on the hugs we shared when I was sick. It now seems a lifetime ago. The thought of doing that again is scaring me out of my wits. I must have been very weak indeed to even ask for it.

I swallow, trying to convince myself I do not vividly remember the warmth of Emmy’s arms around me. Don't let them come too close. There will only be disappointment. Right?

Emmy waits at the other side of the door and somehow, I think she knows I am standing here, closer than I would ever want to be to another person but protected by the safety of the wood between us. Leaning my forehead against the door, I worry my lower lip.

No wait. I can—I can do this. I can…well shit, I’m not really sure what I can do, but opening the door seems reasonable.

I do so and step back, to see Emmy smiling at me. "Thank you. Will you come downstairs with us? I never meant to put pressure on you like that, with the video game. But you have to understand that we will keep trying to involve you in our lives."

My confusion must show, and Emmy thinks for a moment before she speaks again. "We invited for you to live here, with us, to become a member of our family. You're not a guest, and you are not a charity case, if that's what you think. We have told you this before. We also won't send you back if that's what you are afraid of."

I listen, feeling the vulnerability on my face. I'm still waiting for that catch it seems. God I’m so disappointed in myself.

"You don't believe me," She says, and it's the disappointment in her voice that stings. "That's okay," She continues, but I can tell it's not. "You will see for yourself that I am right."

I tilt my head. Considering her words. We take a moment to look at each other and slowly her smile grows as she realizes that I am indeed staring to understand. Her eyes alight with the knowledge and she carefully folds her hands before her. "Shall I bring some dinner up, so you can eat? It really smells delicious."

Unsure if I will be able to eat, I still gesture my consent, feeling guilt-ridden that I can't get down to fix my dinner myself.

When Emmy comes back up, I am waiting for her by the door. I watch as she sets the plate on my desk. "I cannot begin to image how chaotic and frightening these first weeks must have been for you. I think you have done very well so far, Cassia. I am happy you can make clear to us what you need. Anything to make you at ease here. It’s okay start to feel at home."

She leaves and with that, leaves me shocked to my core. I never thought that maybe I’m the one holding myself back…

Oof. That’s too much to process. I look at the steaming lasagna dish and the usually delectable smell now does nothing for me. Actually, no, that was a lie. My stomach growled loudly, and I sat with a huff to devour the entire thing.

Yum. So good.

Gah. Cooking never before has caused me such stress. I panicked, but when I think back on it, there really wasn't a reason to. Deep down, I know there was no reason to panic. They only wanted to help.

I stay awake until deep into the night, rocking the chair that has no right to be this comfortable. The house is quiet. Nobody comes to visit me. I slumber but am awakened when I hear hasty footsteps in the house. Doors opening and closing, hurried movements muffled by the double layer of doors I am hiding behind. I listen to footsteps going down the stairs. After long moments of silence, I hear a car racing out of the garage.

What on earth is going on?

With a hammering heart I listen as one pair of footsteps comes back up the stairs and disappears into silence.

Who left the house, and why?

My mind is pulled back to that afternoon years ago, when my mother left me. Then too, there where hasty footsteps, rushed movements, and not a word was spoken. What happened here now? Has Nick left? Or, worse, Emmy? Who is stealing away in the middle of the night and who was the second person, that knows what has happened?

Rigid, thoughts tumbling, I stay where I am until the first rays of dawn shine into my room. I really would hate to be left behind again.

The next morning, I am surprised to find Emmy in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the paper. An empty plate stands beside her on the table. I can't shake the feeling she has been waiting for me.

She looks up and smiles when I enter the room. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Ehhhh, I mean I slept well in the rocking chair, but not for very long. I nod anyway.

"Where you woken by us last night? Nick was called into the hospital for an emergency," She says apologetically.

Ah, so that's what I heard. No reason to panic then. No one is leaving me behind. My shoulders relax so much they actually ache to be out of their stiff form. By God, I can almost laugh at this explanation when I think back to all the possible scenarios my mind has conjured last night.

"Anyway, we all wanted to pay our compliments to the chef," Emmy beams. "Your lasagna was beyond excellent. We really enjoyed it."

Oh. I shift on my feet, unsure of how to take the compliment.

"How is the burn? Does it still hurt?" Her gaze flicks to my hands but they are buried in my sweater sleeves as they always are.

Absentmindedly I shift my wounded hand. The skin has broken overnight, but the wound is already closing up again. I shake my head to let Emmy know it doesn't bother me anymore and suppress a shrug.

She looks at me closely, then nods in acceptance. “Very well. Coffee?”

At her invite, I go to fill my first cup of coffee of the day. When I turn back to Emmy, mug in hands, she looks at me and thinks for a moment before she speaks.

"Cassia, I want to talk to you about what happened yesterday."

I don't. I feel absurdly guilty that I panicked twice when there was clearly nothing to fret about. I can’t meet her eyes.

"You were obviously not at ease."

Her statement catches me off guard simply because I expected something way worse. She sounds concerned, not angry.

I look down and exhale, trying to convey that such things matter little to me. I freaked out. What’s new? I’m still very annoyed at myself.

"Sweetheart, I want you to tell me what happened yesterday. Why you panicked." It sounds like she folds her hands over the paper, but I still can’t look at her.

I press my lips together; the only way I dare to defy. I don't want to talk about this. I panicked because they care. Of all things. It’s truly frightening to me. I am not used to getting care at all, so to have two adults coming at me was extremely stress inducing.

"Were we too close yesterday? Was that it?"

Torn from my train of thought, I stand motionless and need a moment to process what she just said. Yes, they were too close. Finally, I look at her. I feel so small under her gaze, but she’s only looking at me how she’s always done, with nothing but kindness in her gaze.

"Please talk to me. If you don't tell us what we did wrong, then how can we make it better? We were supposed to do this together, remember?"

Frig. She’s right. I did sign that blasted contract. I sigh.

"Are you not used to being cared for when you are in pain?"

Her question is tentative, shy, even, and somehow, she manages to catch me off guard with it. I blink once, and of course to Emmy this is enough information.

"We care for you Cassia. It would be nice for you to start realizing, accepting it. We care for everyone when they get hurt." She hesitates. "It's… normal to do so."

I blink at her again. Well—I know that… A little.

"You see, I hoping you would want to become part of our family more." Again the disappointment is clear in her voice. Wherever she got these high hopes, I will never know. I am bound to disappoint… maybe it's good she is coming to realize that. It's about time, too. But, god, do I want to be a part of this world, this family. I just don’t know how to open up. I don’t know how to do this. And I really don’t know how to ask for help to figure it out.

In the pit of my stomach, a sting of disappointment flares, too. My eyes sting and I can feel tears creeping up the back of my throat.

I unearth my hands.

It's not important.

Emmy looks at it for a long moment before she looks back up at me. She’s studying me so intensely that I feel the can see my tears despite the fact that I have swallowed them.

"It is, Cassia. You are important."

I blink at her. Has she lost her mind? Everyone and everything in my life before I reached this house of heaven pointed to the fact that I am expendable. I am nothing but a waste of goddamn space, nothingnothingnothing—

I don’t want to talk about it.

The words fly out of me before I can stop them my gestures more forceful than I intended, and I flinch ready for her to start yelling. My chest hurts and I get the odd feeling I just broke my own heart.

"That's okay, honey. I am happy you feel confident enough to let me know you don't want to talk about it. I don't think we are done talking about this, but let's leave it for now." A moment. "Thank you, Cassia."

Gah. What on earth for?

Finally, she moves and gets up to bring her dishes to the sink.

"Why don't you try and do some homework this morning?" She then asks. I think I am starting to learn whom Iona got her randomness from.

Nodding at her offer, Emmy smiles back at me. "Okay then. But first you eat. I don't like you skipping meals."

I swallow at her warning and move to the fridge as soon as she starts leaving the kitchen.

I eat, I do some homework I think that needs to be done. I have an early lunch at Emmy’s request and afterwards I go into the library at her proposal. I find some books about astronomy, a random subject that has my interest, and sink into the window seat to read.

The home is quiet. Emmy doesn't come by to check on me and for the first time in a long time, I feel certain tense muscles in my back relax. From time to time I look up from my book into the garden. Everything is so very lush here, I should think come spring it will look like Eden.

At two, Emmy comes to get me for tea. She has butter cake laid out on a plate on the coffee table in the living room, and two mugs of steaming liquid are waiting for us.

My, how posh. I smile a bit at the fanciness of it all. Emmy really can be a perfect lady.

I sit down gingerly in the chair, anxious for another cross-examination. Instead, Emmy offers me some butter cake. I look at the substance, which seems to be between a cookie and cake.

Seeing my hesitation, she smiles. "You never had this?"

I shake my head. Although, my sweet tooth comes out of nowhere and demands that I eat it with gumption.

"Try it. If you don't like it, you can leave it." She helps herself to the small pile and I must admit it looks delicious.

I take a piece and place it before me on the table. From Emmy’s reaction I can see she is still not very used to the fact that I don't like to eat with others present. Not even when it's low-key stuff like this.

"Are you making progress on your homework?" She then asks taking a bite and I watch as her eyes briefly close in pleasure.

I nod. I can't really explain that I am already ahead and most of my homework I got done within an hour, but I leave it be. Those astronomy books I found are mightily more interesting, though. I hope I will be able to read more in them later on.

"That's good. Studying really makes you happy, doesn't it?"

I nod again, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth now. I just can't deny what knowledge means to me. It's why I am adamant to go to school. I want to learn. Other students be damned, I'll deal with them when it gets that far.

"I am happy to hear that. Did you find something interesting in the library?"

I nod again this time opting to say something. Your astronomy collection is really in depth. I found a few that I enjoyed very much.

Emmy beams back at me. "Astronomy! Wow. You and Nick have a hobby in common. You can go there anytime, Cassia. Please know that."

I thank her and rest my hands carefully on the table.

"So, there is some business we need to go through," She continues after sipping her tea. I sit up straighter, apprehensive and, well, curious as to what she is going to say. "As you have been recovering, the meeting has been postponed, but you have been assigned a social worker here, and she wants to see you as soon as possible."

She waits for my reaction, eyes wide, expectant for some reaction, I presume.

My evil mind snorts out a not-so-ladylike laugh that almost makes it out of my mouth. I had a social worker back with William too. As if she ever noticed anything. She never even looked up from her forms when she was with us, checking the boxes and high tailing her ass back out of the house as soon as she could. I purse my lips.

Esme continues. "Her name is Mrs. Gabriella Addams and she's coming by tomorrow at ten. She'd like to speak with you then. She'll ask you some questions about your well-being here. I won't be present the entire time. I don't want you to feel pressured in any way."

I nod. I know the drill. It’s one thing I’m very much required to do, if I want to stay here and I do. I realize with a weird feeling in my stomach, this time maybe it won't be such a stressful occurrence. I at least won't have to hide anything.

"Oh, and Cassia? Just so that there is no misunderstanding about this — we really want you to stay with us. So don't worry about that, okay?” She extends her hand on the table so that our fingertips are almost touching. I don’t move my hand, although my gaze snaps to it. My face goes blank for a moment as the realization of what her words mean sinks in. From my momentarily blurred vision, I can see Emmy appraise me, but for once, she says nothing. She just smiles.

I smile back at her, too. Somehow, I am very happy to hear her say that she wants to keep me. I lean forward a bit so that the tip of my middle finger touches hers. Similar to how I touched Declan that one afternoon. It makes my chest feel warm, so I linger. Emmy doesn’t say a word, but her smile seems to light up the entire kitchen.

"So, tomorrow at ten, okay?"

I nod once, decisive. Okay.

"Then, there is someone else Nick and I—and Jackie–would like you to meet. He's the Chief of police in this town and we think it's a good idea if you meet him. His name is Charlie Andrews. He's Jackie’s ex-husband."

My mind whirls with all this information. Jackie never told me this. An ex-husband? Wow. She’s from Rochester? Double wow. Well it would explain why she knows Emmy and Nick so well. However, the prospect of meeting a man is not something I am looking forward to.

Emmy seems to notice my hesitation. "Charlie would like to talk to you, Cassia. He wants you to know you are safe here, and he wants you to know him so that whenever you should need him, you know where and how to find him."

Why ever would I need him? What do they expect to happen to me? Gah.

I don't know about this, Emmy. I worry my lower lip, afraid to disappoint but feeling my hackles rise about the idea of meeting this man.

"He's coming by tomorrow after dinner and after Mrs. Addams. Here's the deal. If you want to meet him, you just come to us. If you don't want to meet him, you don't. It's okay if you don't. I'll leave the decision up to you." Emmy’s fingertip is still warm against mine and I find that it really comforts me. She’s holding her tea in her other hand now so that we can stay like this.

I nod. Oh my, but this is scary. I don't like to have to make decisions like that.

We finish our tea and then Emmy gets up again. "Do you think you can find something to do for now?" she asks kindly.

I nod, yet again, but look at her expectantly in case she needs me for something.

"Very good. I am going into my office to work some on my animations. Come and get me if you need me?" She leaves me with a nod and a smile and before her footsteps have died away completely, I am trying the butter cake. It's so sweet, and before long I’ve devoured another one.

In the silent house, my eyes are drawn to the television and I think back on the game I have seen Iona and Nick play yesterday. Should I…?

I am alone now, but a quick look at my watch tells me the others will come out of school soon. I stay in the living room and watch the forest outside the house until I hear the cars approaching, then leave up the stairs to find refuge in the silence of my room.

~O~

I have opened my bedroom door and I'm sitting on the floor beside it, leaning against the wall with my elbows on my knees. I am listening to the sounds in the house. Faint music spills from Declan’s rooms and in Iona’s room, I can hear her talking with Josh on her computer. Well, I can't actually hear them, but sometimes the tones of their voices drift out.

I like the white noise that they are creating. There is something comforting in the sounds of a home well lived in.

Sighing I decide I might as well boot up the laptop and finally do something with the emails Jackie has sent me.

There are five in total and I read them all, messages of concern and reassurance. Although my evil mind tells me she is emailing me out of professional obligation, my heart does remember how she cared for me when I showed up at her door. I asked her for help, and she helped me. She did so much for me. Even if she did it out of plight, I might as well give an answer and end our relationship, or whatever it's called.

But I miss her. A lot.

The last email she sent contains a downright pledge to send something back. I click 'reply'. Jackie has to know she can forget about me now, I guess. I'm amazed she even contacted me after she dropped me with Nick and Emmy.

.

From: Cassia Sinclair
To: Jackie Dwyer
Subject: Re: How are you?

I'm okay here. Don't worry about me.

.

The reply comes almost instantly.
.

From: Jackie Dwyer
To: Cassia Sinclair
Subject: Re: How are you?

I am so happy you have let me know you are okay! Emmy told me what was in the box William sent you. I am so sorry you had to go through that. I didn't want to go through your stuff without your permission, but I never wanted this to happen.

.

Gah. That again. I’d rather not think about it. I type what I've said before.

.

From: Cassia Sinclair
To: Jackie Dwyer
Subject: Re: How are you?

It's not important.

.

Again, the reply is swift.

.

From: Jackie Dwyer
To: Cassia Sinclair
Subject: Re: How are you?

I think it is, and I am not the only one. Please consider pressing charges against him?

.

I blink at the screen. Pressing charges? Why? All he did was my own fault. I don't like all that happened, but pressing charges? For things I did wrong? Isn't that a little far-fetched?

I don't reply to the email, since I don't know what to say, and shut the program down. Since I Googled the shit out of everything even remotely interesting over the last days to distract myself, I find I am momentarily out of subjects to read about on the net.

I don't feel like watching television, and I don't want to lie on my bed, being useless. It's four o'clock. This is why I need school. I’m utterly bored. Maybe I can help Emmy with dinner.

Trailing down the hallway to the top of the stairs, Iona comes out of her room with a stack of books in her hands and pokes her head into my room. "Hey, stranger," She smiles, eyes radiant. "Your lasagna was excellent yesterday, just so you know."

I flush involuntarily at her compliment and look away. Jesus, what's wrong with me?

Iona giggles. "You better believe it. I'm going downstairs to do some homework. Want to join me?"

Oh. Do I?

"Come on, I won't bite," Iona smiles, and she looks up at me with nothing but open honesty. "It will be nice to have some company again."

There is no way in which I can refuse her offer, when she looks like this. It's a scary notion, but I go into my desk to retrieve some books and follow her down the stairs, where we settle at the kitchen table, opposite each other.

Iona gives me a quick run down of the most recent lessons and tells me what actual homework assignments need to be done. I do some reading for Advanced Biology and then move to Calculus, a subject that's clear as glass for me.

Working along, I notice that Iona is huffing every now and again, scratching out things on her paper and then raking a hand through her usually immaculate hair. It's easy to conclude that she's not getting the material. Carefully looking over at her paper, I see how much she has scratched out already.

I press my lips together, not knowing how to approach this, or even if I want to. But finally, Iona notices my stillness and she looks up at me, looking curious. Biting my lip, heart hammering, I look from the paper to her, then back to the paper. Iona looks down at the chaos she's written down, before she looks up at me.

Then, very carefully and slowly, so she can stop me anytime she would want me to, I pull her notebook towards me. Iona keeps looking and for once, she's quiet. Slowly, she shifts her chair so she's coming to sit at the head of the table, closing the distance between her and me.

I pick up my pencil and carefully point at the assignment she is stuck on, waiting until I am sure she sees what I would like to do. Then, I start to write. Iona leans in as I write down the formula she needs to use, pointing out on the paper and writing down why she needs to use that formula, and not the one she's been working with.

It's elaborate and slow, but I wait every time until she nods and after a while, she seems to be catching on. We sit in silence as I point and write, and she starts to write down things as well. When she makes mistakes, I try to point them out to her without making her feel like she's stupid and explain the formula from a different angle.

It takes about twenty minutes, but then her face lights up like a Christmas tree and she goes to work on a new assignment excitedly, confident she can do it. I set to work on my own homework again, until she very softly says my name.

"Cassia, I think I'm stuck again. You’d think that being into architecture and wanting to go down that career path, math would be easy for me, but–" She flops her arms in a manner that is hilarious to me and I can‘t help the silent laugh that escapes me. She smiles moving her notebook for me to see and after some encouraging looks from her side, I go over her figures, spotting the mistake and trying to explain why she went wrong.

Numbers just make sense to me. I can't help it.

Iona sighs in relief and finishes the rest of the assignment without any trouble.

When she is done, she sighs happily and looks up at me. "You know, you are the first whoever succeeded in making me understand Trig and you didn’t even say anything." She winks and gives me a goofy smile at her own joke.

Well, it's not that hard, really.

"I mean it. Teachers never have patience with me long enough to explain it like you did."

I frown, and flush, uncomfortable.

"Oh right, I forgot you weren't used to getting compliments," Iona smiles, leaning back in her chair. "Hey," She then changes the topic, "Shall we go out on Sunday? Maybe go to the city or something?"

Caught off guard, I hesitate. I loathe shopping, and I don't even have any money to spend. But seeing more of the city…

"I think that's a good idea," Emmy interrupts as she walks into the kitchen. "You need some things, and it's good if you pick them yourself."

"That's settled then," Iona decides, smiling.

"She hasn't agreed to come with yet, Iona," Emmy says kindly. "Cassia, what do you want? It would be nice to get out of the house for a bit. Would you like me to come along?"

Pff, too many questions at once. I must admit I'd like the thought of going out with Iona, but it makes me nervous as shit, too.

"Think about it," Emmy smiles. "Get back to us later. It’s not Sunday yet."

I nod, grateful for her understanding.

Wait. Grateful? For her understanding?

Whoa.

It's like my brain can't process this. Error. Does not compute. Abort, Ignore, Retry?

Ignore.

Ignore.

Ignore.

I do more homework with Iona, until Emmy wants to set the table for dinner. I want to help but am refused to do so. Instead, Iona gives me her planner so I can take over the homework assignments that are relevant for me.

"You should have Declan’s, too," Iona muses. "He has subjects you have, which I don't. Wait, I'll get it for you."

Before I can figure out how to stop her, she sprints up the stairs. I am left in the living room, my planner in my lap, biting my lip.

There’s a slam and a “Hey! What the hell Iona?! Get out!” followed by a “It’s for Cassia, asshat!” before she gracefully thunders down the stairs again with a truly mischievous grin on her face.

"Hey, I'm only trying to help," Iona says as she steps back into the living room. She's fanning herself with a booklet, which must be Declan’s planner, successfully stolen. Iona opens it without further ado and flips through the pages. "I can't make any sense of this," She finally says. She hands me the journal and without thinking, I accept it from her. "See if you can understand the way he writes things down. Else you'll have to ask him." She shrugs but there is a twinkle in her blue eyes that I can’t figure out.

I arch a brow at her, not sure what she’s playing at, but turn my attention to the planner. I see that not only is Declan’s handwriting is beyond immaculate, he has a clear way of noting homework assignments, too. It's no effort for me at all to copy them. So why couldn’t she understand it?

I close the planner as soon as I'm done, not wanting to see what else is in that book and feeling I am invading his privacy by even looking at it. I put it on the coffee table and go to fetch my dinner, which I will once more have in my room.

After dinner, as per usual, I go to bring my tray back down again. Emmy asks if I have eaten enough. I nod in answer and gently pat my stomach. She nods in return and finishes making coffee.

When she turns with a sudden whirl to say something, I flinch so badly in shock that I lose my grip on the empty wooden tray and it clatters out of my hands, onto the kitchen floor.

The sound is horrible and I my mouth drops open as I look from the tray to Emmy, shocked to my core, heart hammering.

"I'm so sorry," she stammers. "Oh, Cassia, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you like that."

It's the shock on her face that has me fumbling for any kind of thought. Her eyes are wide, and she looks pale. She stands rigid but even from here I can see that her hands are shaking. "Cassia, I wasn't going to hurt you."

Oh. Oh, I see. My lungs are burning and the need to breathe makes itself known. Gasping in a too big gulp of air, with a heart that is hammering out of my chest, the adrenaline starts coursing through my body in a way that makes me shake.

I sink to my knees slowly to pick up the tray, hoping to God it's not damaged. But when my knees hit the ground, I find that I cannot get up again. My body isn’t listening to me. Shocked to my core, I’m still scrambling for a thought. Any thought, but my mind seems to have checked out. I don’t know if I’m even scared right now. All I can process if Emmy’s worried face.

Huh. Weird.

Vaguely, I register that Emmy is kneeling, too, so that she's at eye level with me. "I am sorry, Cassia. I didn't mean to scare you like that."

When I can finally focus on her, I have to double check.

She's crying.

I blink my own upcoming tears away to look better, and sure enough, tears pool in her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

"See how it upsets me to see I've startled you like that?"

I swallow as my mind goes in a full-on frenzy. I can't process this. Is she telling the truth? I can't comprehend that, at all.

Taking a shaky breath, I try to get my bearings together. When Emmy turned, I thought the moment had finally arrived. But when I flinched in anticipation, nothing happened. I reacted when there was nothing to react to and now she's upset because she has startled me.

This can only mean she never turned to hit me in the first place.

I exhale heavily as this realization settles in.

She wasn't going to hit me.

Oh, my God.

Sitting back on my haunches, since I can't keep myself upright anymore, I look at Emmy, wide-eyed.

I think she sees how the epiphany sinks in with me.

Finally, when I am starting to calm down again, she smiles through her tears.

"Shall we get off the floor?" She asks and as she gets up, she reaches out her hand to me. I get up myself, picking the tray up as I go. I check if it's still undamaged, but Emmy takes it from me before I've seen it all.

"That thing is as old as time," She mutters. "Besides, I am the one that startled you, so if it's damaged, I only have myself to blame."

She continues to make coffee as I rinse off my plate in the sink. My hands are still shaking, but something changed. Although I am still vividly aware of Emmy being in the kitchen with me, it's just that. The fear is diminishing.

And then

It’s gone.

Exhilarating.

I take a deep breath and for the first time, it feels as if my entire chest fills with air. I feel so light, like I could just float away. I never realized how deeply that fear held me in place. I’m almost dizzy I’m so relieved to be rid of it.

So when Emmy asks me if I want to join them for coffee, I can’t say 'no' and I follow her to the living room, where Iona, Declan and Nick are.

"Ah Cassia, how nice of you to join us," Nick says.

"Did you leave the kitchen in one piece?" Declan jokes, probably referring to the noise of the falling tray.

"It was just your granny's tray," Emmy says as I tentatively take a seat in the winged chair. I smile sheepishly at the joke and at my own clumsiness.

"Oh, that thing?" Iona answers. "That thing could go through the apocalypse and come out unscathed."

"Or through one of your tantrums," Nick says drily.

"Which equals the apocalypse," Declan adds under his breath, but loud enough for the rest of us to hear, which makes Nick and Emmy laugh, and Iona scoff.

I can't help the growth of my own smile, either. Perhaps it's a good thing Iona doesn't notice it.

Nick flicks through the channels on TV until some game show appears on the screen. The contestant can win a lot of money by answering questions that increase in difficulty. I love these shows. I always play along and imagine the money I could win if I ever competed.

Maybe I’d buy a boat. Just to have one.

The James’ like this type of entertainment too, apparently, because they settle in to watch, mugs in hand, butter cake within reach. We watch the game, until I decide to try to drink something. Reaching out with my left hand, I am more than a little startled when I hear Iona’s alarmed voice. "Holy shit, what happened to your hand? Is that from the burn from yesterday?"

Glancing down at my hand, I hastily pull my sleeve over it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I mean, it honestly, doesn’t look that bad, Iona just happened to make it seem like it was falling off.

Biting my lip to distract myself from the here and now, I hear Nick’s voice as through a daze. "Is it that bad, Cassia? Would you mind if I looked again?"

I shrug and keep my hand hidden from sight. If I must, I must. All eyes are on me now and it makes me beyond uncomfortable. I shift in my seat, unable to prevent a frown.

"All right," Nick agrees after a moment. "Will you then at least tell me whether the wound is closed?"

I nod. Yes, it's closed. Maybe it won't even scar and if it does. I indicate that I’ve been putting the ointment on it and Nick nods, although still looks concerned. "Very well. But I want to stress that you can come to us with these things, Cassia."

I look at him dead in the eye for a moment and remember the epiphany I had in the kitchen with Emmy. Slowly I nod. Actually, yea. I believe him… He seems to understand my revelation as well and smiles again while leaning back into the couch once more. Emmy turns to hum something into his ear, and he nods again, eyes sparkling.

Trust is such an odd thing.

"That must have hurt," Iona whispers, leaning over Declan to talk to me. He looks faintly annoyed with his twin. "Does it still hurt?"

I shake my head, no.

"You are one tough cookie." Declan grins, dimples appearing in his cheeks. There’s a hint of pride in his voice that makes my cheeks tingle. I have to look away.

"It doesn't take much to be braver than you are," Iona snickers, still leaning over her brother, but I’m sure she’s doing it to be annoying now. "You would have screamed like a girl with that burn."

Declan looks offended for a moment and even mutters, “Dude what the hell?” softly at her with the utmost betrayal on his face, but after a moment of staring at each other they both burst into cackles. Declan even throws his head back to laugh. "Yeah, you're probably right," he admits.

As the others are back to watching the game, the conversations fall silent and I get to finally pick up my coffee, this time with my right hand. Sipping, I answer the question on the screen in my head. On the couch, Nick answers out loud.

We are both right.

Soon all are answering the questions, but it's early in the game still and we are often all right. I have not missed one question as yet, and I must say I am quietly smug about that. That is, until Nick answers the question differently than I would have done. The contestant on the screen gives the same answer as Nick, and unconsciously, I shake my head.

"What do you think it is, Cassia?" Nick then asks.

My head whirls around to look at him, wide eyed. Oh man, I had no idea he was paying attention to me. The everyone turns to look at me curiously.

"It's all right," Emmy encourages when I hesitate. It's her smile and the epiphany I had with her in the kitchen that makes me give in.

I put up three fingers, indicating I would have gone for answer 'C.'

"Let's see who's right then." Nick says with a gleam in his eyes, and for a moment fear washes over me as I think of what might happen if I lose this tiny game. Or if I win it. Which would be losing too, in a way.

And this exactly is why I don't like games.

The answer appears on the screen before I can worry myself into a full frenzy.

It's answer 'C.'

Nick laughs heartily. "Well done."

I blink at his compliment and focus on the screen again, keeping a visual of him in the corner of my eye.

This is… new. Peter would make tiny bets with me, or games. He'd always make sure that he'd win. He'd just change the rules to make sure he'd win. I frown to push the memory away and search for the still-not-there rubber band around my wrist briefly. I have to find a new one.

We watch until the end of the game and Iona announces that she won by a landslide. Everyone chuckles and begins to disperse. Apparently, that is the end of family time. Although there is no tension in the room, I find that I am not at all at ease with just Nick and Emmy present despite my epiphany with both.

Plus, they'll want some time together or something, right? Since he had to go out last night?

Making to get up, I get no response. I look over to Emmy, who nods gently. "Go to bed," she smiles. "It's been such a long day for you. Shall I wake you in time for your meeting with Mrs. Gomez tomorrow, or will you set an alarm?"

I hold up two fingers and Emmy nods. "Very well. Good night, Sweetie" The sentiment is echoed by Nick.

I nod once in return and reach to pick up my mug to bring it to the kitchen, when I see Declan’s forgotten planner on the coffee table.

Oh, I should give that back to him, right? Since I borrowed it? I think for a moment and finding no issue with leaving it by his door, I walk upstairs, planner in hand.

My heart is hammering by the time I am on the second floor, and it's not because of the stairs I've just taken. Declan’s door is ajar and soft piano music drifts out into the hallway.

I hum. I adore the song he’s playing.

I walk towards his room tentatively, insecure. I am vividly aware of what happened when I opened the box with my stuff in his presence, and although I can't really read him, logic states that anyone would stay away from me and the 50 pounds of baggage I have.

As long as he doesn't get nasty, I’ll be fine. Oddly, some part of me whispers that it is not in his nature to be nasty.

When I reach the door, I am not so sure if I even want to knock or let him know I am there. Maybe I can just leave the journal on the floor by his door. He'll find it tomorrow.

Yes, that's for the best. Stay out of his way.

Taking the final step to his door, I am just about to bend down when—

"Cassia?"

Shit!

"You can come in, you know."

Looking into the room I can see Declan sitting at his desk, the computer screen lighting up his face from the side. How he ever knew I was here is beyond me. He must have seen me or heard me, although I can't imagine that's possible over the music that is still drifting from the stereo.

I know this song. It's distracting as it pulls on my need to play my violin along with it.

I push the door open further carefully, until I can look fully into the room. To my right there is a dresser against the wall. Holding up his planner so he knows what I am bringing, I place it on the dresser tentatively.

"Oh, right. Thanks. Did you get all you needed?" He turns in his chair so he is facing me all the way.

I nod.

A quick glance around the room shows that he's not overly tidy, but the room is not an utter chaos like Chis’ always was back at William’s.

"Any idea when you are going to school with us?" He reaches up to run a hand through his hair. His gaze following the path mine just took. For some reason his cheeks and ears tint.

I’m not sure how to answer his question, since I’m going to try to go next week. I frown thinking about how to convey that to someone who doesn’t sign. I’m about to reach for his planner again to point to next Monday’s date, but he interrupts me.

"Cassia, about that box…I am so sorry I convinced you to open it. Auntie told me I should have left you to do that with her. I didn't know—I didn’t know it would be like that…" His other hand joins the other in his hair and he looks distressed as he tries to get out what he’s thinking.

He's… He's not referring to what was in the box. The conversation I overheard comes rushing back to me. 'Her foster father?' 'Yes, Dec, her foster father.'

He knows. Shame and humiliation wash over me, and my face explodes in a crimson blush.

I have to get out of here.

He knows.

He knows.

I don't know why I didn't fully register that before.

Oh my God.

I turn away, fighting the tears threatening the back of my throat. My hands wring in my sleeves. What do I do?

Declan jumps up from his chair and approaches me. “Hey—Cass—Don’t leave. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do to make you believe me. I just wanted to see you smile and I completely butchered it. Please—” He reaches for me and his fingers catch on my sleeve and stay there.

I’m—I’m not afraid.

“Forgive me.” He whispers fiercely. As if this is the most important thing he will ever ask for.

I can’t stop staring at him. Something in those eyes catches me and instead of falling I feel more stable than I ever have been.

Slowly, I nod, tapping his fingers that cling to my sweater with my own.

Once.

Twice.

And a third time for good measure.