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

Started November 30, 2018 by Deleted user

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Mrs. Addams is a kind woman. Her light hair is cropped into a bob, which emphasizes the roundness of her face. Through bone-rimmed glasses, wide eyes look at me with patience. I get Dame Maggie Smith vibes from her and for some reason that makes me sit up taller and straighter. Although, I’m pretty sure my expression betrays how uncomfortable I am.

I sit in front of her in the living room where Emmy has left us with coffee and snacks, to talk. I fidget, not knowing where to look. I am nervous because I don't want to know what she is going to ask. I am nervous because I am afraid something will change. I am nervous because I have spent the night wondering about my life here with the James’, and because I have come to the conclusion that I'd like to stay here, if possible.

All around, I’m just very nervous.

What’s new?

Mrs. Addams has a long form of questions she needs to go through, but she apologizes beforehand. She doesn't seem to be really bothered by the fact that I don't talk, she just looks up every time to see me nod or shake my head. In fact, she gives me a smile each time I do so.

It's such a relief to be able to answer truthfully. There is no William sitting with me, sending me warning glances and touching my back where he kicked me just before the social worker came, just to remind me I wouldn't play any games, as he called them.

I turn my focus back to the questions of Mrs. Addams. Yes, I like it here. Yes, I am being taken care of. No, I am not in need of anything. No, I have not been deprived of any care. No, I have not been hurt.

Yes, I want to stay.

After that last question, I am strangely relieved I have finally admitted it out loud. Mrs. Addams beams at me and calls Emmy into the room with us. My chest feels light, the rest of me may be made out of clouds for how good I feel right now.

More questions, more glances. But there's no tension here. No threat.

I sit, just experiencing the atmosphere, and when Emmy looks at me, I know we are both thinking back on what happened in the kitchen yesterday.

When she smiles at me, I grin back, tapping the back of her hand gently.

They talk logistics. Emmy tells Mrs. Addams what happened with the box, and the shock on the social worker's face is obvious. Oh dear. I don't like this. I don't fully understand why others can be so shocked about what happened. I mean, it's not like I didn't have it coming or anything.

"Have you gotten new things already, Cassia?" Mrs. Addams asks, face still oddly pinched from the news. She had scribbled furiously on her notepad for a few long minutes before looking up at Emmy and I again.

I nod and shrug. I have some stuff. I'll survive.

"We will go shopping as soon as she feels ready for it," Emmy adds. "Until that time, we have provided her with a basic wardrobe, and we have lent Cassia clothes. Although I do believe she's more comfortable in her own things."

"That's understandable. It can be a comfort to have one’s own personal space and belongings. I think shopping for new items is a wonderful idea as well. New items for a new life." Mrs. Addams smiles at me. "It's good to see you are doing well. How is your health? Your throat?"

I nod to let her know it's okay.

She glances down at her pad. "I see here you should be off the fluid food now. How is that coming along?"

I nod again. I'm good. No pain anymore.

Emmy graciously translates for me. I hadn’t even realized that I had signed it out. Carefully, I tuck my hands between my thighs.

"And your voice?"

At this my eyes fly up to hers, and I can tell she's surprised at my sudden reaction.

After a moment of awkward silence, Emmy speaks very softly. "It works. During her first week here, she experienced a night terror and she screamed."

Mrs. Addams nods after a moment and scribbles something down on her form. The silence is heavy, and I swallow thickly, trying to get rid of the sudden tension I feel. "Very well, my dear. But for clarification, you haven't talked yet?"

I shake my head slowly as Mrs. Addams nods and writes something down again. "Maybe in time," She smiles and folds her hands over her pad. "I think we're done here, Cassia. I would like to talk some more now with Emmy in private."

I nod, getting the message. I pick up my empty mug and disappear from the living room.

When I place my mug in the dishwasher, I can't help but overhearing a bit of the conversation between Emmy and Mrs. Addams. I feel bad for eavesdropping, but my general curiosity wins over my moral code for the moment.

"That box incident must have been cathartic." Mrs. Addams was cheerful before, but now her voice is slightly strained.

"I think it was, although Cassia doesn't want to express it. She shrugs it off. I think… I am afraid she thinks she deserved this. For running from him, maybe?" Emmy’s response is quiet, there is the sound of someone placing their cup on the table.

A silence follows and I hold my breath, waiting to hear what the social worker will say. "This often happens with victims of such traumatic abuse. They often think it's their fault."

"Yes," Emmy replies still soft. "It would explain why she seems to be so confused about our kindness."

"I am not surprised she is. It will take her a long time to start to realize that what she has known is not normal. But she has the wrong benchmarks, so to speak. To her, this is abnormal."

"She's so afraid, it must be exhausting for her."

"I have to warn you, Mrs. James. Children—especially teens–like Cassia may never heal, may never come out of their shell."

Silence.

"I know this may sound silly, but I refuse to believe that. I have seen Cassia develop over the time she has been here and when I compare her now to her first day, I have faith."

"Be prepared for relapses, though. It's a bumpy road."

A soft smile, I can just hear it in Emmy’s voice. "I know. We've seen her relapse, but she is so strong. I know she will continue to move forward."

My heart pounds. I don’t understand, how can Emmy think of me in such a positive light? I’ve completely turned this family upside down. It can be that simple.

"I have to ask you some more questions, Mrs. James, I hope you will answer them for me."

"Ask away."

"First of all, and most importantly, would you like her to stay? Given your history with past fostered children, I can see how it can be tough on you and your family."

Past foster children? The James had others? Where are they? My hands tighten in my sweater. Did they push them out? Send them away?

"Absolutely. Cassia means something to everyone in this house. Marley–" Emmy clears her throat. “Marley needed a home and we gave it to her for the duration of her life. It was hard to recover, but our past makes it so we can provide Cassia with the care and love that she deserves and needs.”

My chest constricts and then relaxes at Emmy’s answer. Marley. I remember Iona mentioning a Marley. But what strikes me is that the James’ didn’t send her away…she had passed away and the James’ had loved her right until the end. And past that. A little light of hope blossoms within my chest.

Mrs. Addams continues, unaware of the enormity of Emmy’s answer has on me.

"Has she been violent? Has she acted out?"

"No, if anything she shies away when things upset her."

I frown. I don’t particularly like that answer.

"Does she mention her past, refer to it?"

"No. She's adamant when it comes to that and she absolutely refuses to talk about it. Nor will she stay to listen when we refer to it."

"That's not an abnormal reaction. Does she let you know when she is uncomfortable?"

I’m uncomfortable now. I shift on my toes and crack my knuckles.

"In her way, yes. Like when her past comes up. She doesn't like to be cared for in general. She gets nervous when we ask how she is. It was most difficult for her to accept that she is and was injured, and to let me take care of her. She often tells me things aren't important." Emmy sighs, although she doesn’t sound peeved.

"That's a common mechanism. She's making herself unimportant so as not to attract notice. Good or bad." There’s a tap tap tap and I think Mrs. Addams is playing with her pen as they speak.

"That makes sense. That makes a lot of sense, actually."

"Is she actively involving in the family life?"

Emmy is silent for a moment before she speaks. "Well, sometimes. She doesn't seem to like to be in the living room when we are here together, but I am starting to think she is not really the type for that or rather, she’s not used to being around so many people. When someone approaches her, she will give them attention. My niece, Iona, for example tries to involve her in conversation a lot, and she tells me that Cassia seems to like it, but that she is hiding it. But Cassia rarely asks for attention, she doesn't really come to us to ask something. She always waits until she is approached before she interacts."

"She's probably seeing how the lands lay. After what she has been through, and I have a feeling that her file shoes only the tip of the iceberg, she's waiting to see how safe she actually is here." Mrs. Addams sighs this time and continues to tap her pen.

I think I am done listening to this conversation.

Shaking after everything I just overheard, I sneak my way past the entrance to the living room and go upstairs, to hide in the silence of my room.

My mind is too full. Flashes of words come flying back to me. Victim of traumatic abuse… common mechanism… waiting to see how safe it is…

The word 'victim' sticks in my consciousness like a fishhook.

I am no victim. Because victims are never at fault. And all that happened, was my fault.

Right?

Right.

Right…?

I push away the uneasy feeling this conclusion brings.

Sitting down at my desk, I decide to read some news on the net first before I start my daily homework routine.

I check my mail as well, and see I have a new one from Jackie.

.

From: Jackie Dwyer

To: Cassia Sinclair

Subject: Tell me more

Hi Cassia, how are you today? I was wondering if you wanted to tell me something about the James family. What do you think about them?

.

Chewing my lip, I reply.

.

From: Cassia Sinclair

To: Jackie Dwyer

Subject: Re: Tell me more

I do appreciate your mails, Jackie, but honestly, I am no longer your case. Don't feel obliged to do this. Please.

.

Can I do this? I click 'send' before I can change my mind. Although I feel fifteen different shades of awful after I’ve sent it and I spend a few moments staring at the screen.

No instant reply follows this time, and I come to the conclusion that either Jackie is not using her laptop right now, or that she has gotten the message and that she'll no longer send me these obligatory emails. To my amazement, the realization of the latter stings more than a little bit.

Which is stupid, as I just literally told her she doesn't need to bother anymore. But still–

I focus on reading more news to distract myself from the weird feeling of disappointment in my guts.

A soft sound alerts me some time later. I have mail. I don’t think my fingers have ever moved faster as they dart over the track pad and keys.

.

From: Jackie Dwyer

To: Cassia Sinclair

Subject: Re: Tell me more

It's called interest, Cassia. I want to know how you are. I do care about you and you know very well this care goes far beyond the legal definition. Now tell me about the James’? Give me your thoughts on them. I'm curious.

.

I pout at the laptop screen despite my chest feeling light as a feather once more. A cruel part of me doesn’t want to get used to Jackie’s emails because I assume they will get fewer and farther in between, until they stop completely. I don't want to be dependent on the one person who I ever trusted enough to ask for help.

Squaring my shoulders, I reply, chewing aggressively on my lip.

.

From: Cassia Sinclair

To: Jackie Dwyer

Subject: Re: Tell me more

The James’ are nice. No violence…. but so far everything is okay. I don’t feel so lonely anymore.

.

That's all I can say right now. I send the mail and turn off the laptop, shoving it to the side to get started on my homework. Any time my brain decides to think back to what I wrote, I find myself a nice, difficult calculus problem to work on.

Emmy comes to get me for lunch, and we talk a bit about Mrs. Addams. Or, well, she talks, and I listen and nod or shake as the situation requires. My fingers have firmly stuck themselves under my thighs. No words from Cassia today.

"She's a nice woman," Emmy observes. "They often are too busy worrying about their case load to pay real attention. I was almost surprised that she even read your file. She'll be back in about three months, to see if you are still happy here."

With that, she smiles at me, and for the second time today I smile back. I want to tell her that I think I will be happy, but I feel too embarrassed to express such a sentiment. Three months will be dangerously close to my eighteenth birthday and I really don’t want to think about that right now.

After lunch Emmy asks me if I want to join her to the supermarket again. Feeding a household that contains Declan, she tells me with a laugh, requires doing groceries more often than not. She mentions getting something special as a treat as well and I’m curious enough to agree.

I go with her, glad to be out of the house again and lifting my head up to the skies in the parking lot of the store, catching a very rare ray of almost-sunlight.

"You must miss the sun." Emmy says softly as she locks the car.

I nod, lost in thought a bit as my mind wanders to a few memories of the beach and summertime. Shaking my head, a little to clear it, I follow Emmy into the supermarket. We don't run into overly concerned neighbors this time and just as I think we are done, Emmy once more guides me to the non-food section of the store.

"Just look around, see if there are things you need." She encourages, shooing me along as she looks at art markers.

I glance along the isles, trying to find a use for the products on display. There are none. I like to live with little personal possessions. It means you can't lose them, either.

Turning back to Emmy, I try to convey there is nothing I need, and she sighs softly and nods. "Just know that it is okay to want things." She smiles. Oh man, I hope Mrs. Addams didn’t pressure her into getting me more things.

This time when we get home, there are no gentle piano sounds drifting into the garage. Much to my bitter disappointment. I help Emmy to carry the groceries into the house and hear Declan and Josh in the living room, probably gaming.

As we put the groceries away, Iona trails into the kitchen. She peeks into one of the bags, probably trying to find some candy. Unsuccessful, she lifts herself onto the cooking island. "Auntie, could I go pooling in the city tomorrow with Tori?"

Emmy stills and looks at her niece. "Are Josh and Shawn going?"

"No," Iona says. "We wanted to shop some, grab a bite to eat, then pool. Girl's night out." She sounds disinterested as she peeks into the bags once more, holding stuff out to me to put away. I know immediately it's a mask. She's dying to go.

Emmy considers and finally shrugs. "Be home at ten and park the car close by the pooling hall."

"Yay!" Iona cheers, making me flinch, and she hops off the counter to give Emmy a fierce hug. I duck by to put items in the fridge, unknowingly putting myself into Iona’s field of vision. "Oh, I'm sorry," She stammers. "Ehm, would you have wanted to come with us?"

I shake my head quickly, almost dropping the fruit I’m holding. No, it's a friend’s night out. Besides, public spaces with many people? Way too stressful.

"Maybe when you are more at ease." Iona smiles then. She starts to walk out of the kitchen but turns just before she rounds the corner to face me again. "Oh, Cassia? I forgot—because of you I aced calculus today. Thank you so much."

With that, she leaves, and I stay standing in the kitchen with a vague half-smile on my face. I helped her out. I did something right.

"You helped Iona with calculus?" Esme is surprised, but I can hear in her voice that it's in a good way. I look around at her and shrug with one shoulder as I nod. Yes, I did. Let's not make a big deal out of it or else I’ll feel more embarrassed than I already do. I duck away to hide my blush.

"That's wonderful to hear, Cassia!" She beams. "I'm guessing Iona appreciated the help?"

I nod, thinking back on our quiet exchange yesterday. Iona’s solemn face as she read what I wrote, and as she tried to work out the things I pointed out for her. The light in her eyes and her bright proud smile as she got it. The pride I felt when she could make the next assignments without too many struggles.

I nod, shrugging awkwardly.

Emmy takes me in and smiles that secret smile I've seen both Declan and Iona wearing before. Those James genes are strong apparently.

When the groceries are all away, I look around the kitchen to see if there's anything else I can help with. Emmy notices me and clears her throat to get my attention. "I've noticed you really do find it very hard to take it easy and not help out," She starts, folding her hands in front of her. "So, I've been thinking, if it helps if you are allowed to do one task a day? For instance, you helping to put the groceries away, is one task. Clearing out the dishwasher, would be one task. Folding the laundry, changing your bed linen, all those things, all one task. Can you live with that?"

I chew on my bottom lip as I contemplate this. It's not nearly enough to ease my mind. But, it's something, and I'll take what I can get. We can move on from there. So, I nod, making a ‘why not?’ face and Emmy smiles in relief.

"This also means your quota is done for today."

Oh, rats. I’ve been bamboozled. I frown.

Emmy chuckles. "Get used to it," She says lightly. "Now, how about some oatmeal? We need to get some weight back on you again. Remember four meals a day."

I nod and stand back with twitching fingers as Emmy prepares the meal, flat out refusing to let me help. She places the steaming bowl on the breakfast bar accompanied by brown sugar and fruit and as I slide on a stool, she continues her business in the kitchen by opening a drawer and starting to pull out every small container to check the expiration date. The ones that are overdue, she throws away. She's not looking at me, keeping herself occupied with the contents of the drawer.

Cunning, Emmy. Very cunning.

With a defiant glare at her back, I stick out my tongue at her and I pick up my oatmeal, taking it up to my room. Where I eat it heartily with hammering heart, enjoying the taste all the same. For some reason, I know she’s not mad at me, but I can practically here her tutting at my behavior. I’m slightly embarrassed, but proud that I was able to do it.

When I go downstairs again to rinse out and clear away my bowl, I stop dead in my tracks when I hear a strange male voice in the house. Sneaking past the living room, I see a man sitting on the couch. He's in a police uniform. His dark skin is just a few shades lighter than Jackie’s, although his face is neutral, almost unreadable. He has big, brown eyes and a mustache like I've never seen on a man.

This must be Chief Andrews.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I rinse my bowl as quietly as possible and place it in the dishwasher. Then I turn and try to collect my guts to pass the entrance to the living room again.

Right then, of course, Emmy steps into the kitchen with the coffee pot, to place it back in the holder. Sneaking in this house is utterly impossible. What the hell.

"Well hello there," She smiles at me with a gleam in her eyes. "I guess my little trick didn't work earlier." She says it so lightly, and there's not a hint of malice in her voice or face as she says it. When she smiles, I gasp out a laugh, looking down to hide it.

Emmy laughs too. "It was worth a shot. You were right to eat upstairs. I’m proud of you sweetie."

These tiny securities, however frail, are such a relief to me.

"Chief Andrews is here," Emmy states the rather obvious. "I forgot to tell you plans changed and he is joining us for dinner. Of course, you are free to eat in your room if you want to."

I nod to let her know I heard her.

"Would you like to meet the Chief?"

I have to think about this. Wringing my hands in my sleeves, my gaze darts around the kitchen. I’m so curious but also so terrified. Which one will win today? Seeing my hesitation, Emmy continues. "We were thinking it might be nice if you met him. Should you ever need him, you know him, and he knows you. Besides, I believe he'd like to give you something."

Oh lord—a present?

"Please, Cassia? If you are really uncomfortable, you can leave. But Charlie is a good friend of ours—and Jackie’s–and he'd like to meet you." She leans a hip against the counter as I fret. Patient as ever.

One day I'd like you to meet a friend, Cassia. I'm sure he'd enjoy you as much as I do…

I swallow rising bile at the memory that washes over me, feeling the blood drain from my face. Emmy looks alarmed at my sudden distress but keeps silent until I compose myself again.

That 'friend' never came. This—obviously–is not the same situation. It really isn't. That’s right, Nick and Emmy will be with me. They promised no violence.

Composing myself further, I nod at Emmy, noting her elated look as she precedes me into the living room.

Chief Andrews stands up as I enter the room. The man is tall, and he has an authoritative air over him that I think is a second nature that being a police officer brings. He doesn't extend his hand in greeting, which makes me think he actually knows and understands that I wouldn't shake it anyway. I wonder if Jackie has talked to him about me.

"Miss Sinclair," He states with a nod, and I nod back at him. "I'm Charlie Andrews." He remains standing, and I am at a loss as I grow more and more uneasy by the second. Bizarrely, I want to make a good impression, but I’m failing miserably.

"Please sit down, Charlie," Nick says softly from my left. "Cassia will sit down when she's ready."

"Very well," Chief Andrews intones equally as soft and he sits back down again, facing me with an open gaze.

I shift my weight and fidget, finally shoving my hands in the pocket of my sweater to hide my anxiety.

Then quite suddenly he smiles and his entire expression changes from ‘stern man’ to ‘everyone’s friend’. I’m thrown but find myself relaxing a bit. "Cassia, I wanted us to meet so you know who I am, should you ever need me. When you feel harassed or scared, please don't hesitate to come to me, and I'll see how I can help."

I don't know how to reply to this, so I hold my peace and wait what else he has to say. I blink and, like Emmy, that seems to be enough information for him.

He nods and he speaks, his voice warming, "Also, when you feel ready for it, I have arranged for you to take some lessons in self-defense in the city. Don’t feel obligated to take the classes right away, I teach them every weekend so feel free to stop by when you are ready. In the meantime, I want to give you this pepper spray. Keep it with you at all times and if you are ever harassed, do not hesitate to use it."

I look at the tiny can on the table with wide eyes. That's something that could hurt someone.

Gah. Yea, no.

Looking from the can to Chief Swan, I shift my gaze to Nick. I don't know what to do with this.

"Take it," Nick encourages. "Even if you never use it, it will give you an effective means of defense should you ever need it. Maybe it'll make you feel safe."

Hardly, but as he nods once again, I gather up the pepper spray and shove it into the pocket of my sweater. Perhaps it’ll be better if I don’t look at it. But it’s heavy and cold in my hands, not exactly easy to miss.

"Just put it in your backpack, or in your jacket pocket." Chief Andrews advises.

I have to fight the urge to tell him that I have never been hurt outside the house. I shift my feet again, looking down and away from his gaze. This is rough.

After a moment of silence, Emmy clears her throat, but Nick speaks first. "Thank you, Cassia. You know how much we appreciate this. We just want you to be and feel safe."

"Oh, I also have my card with my phone numbers," Chief Andrews adds as he reaches in his back pocket. "Call me, or text me I guess, when you ever need me." He pushes the card forward on the table.

I reach to pick it up the moment he sits back, glancing down at it, I see that he has drawn a happy face on it in blue ink. Jackie used to do the same thing. I blink at it for a moment and put it in the pocket of my sweater, next to the pepper spray. I smile slightly, feeling a bit warmer.

"You can leave if you want to, sweetheart," Nick says softly after a moment of silence, and I happily oblige as I shuffle up the stairs to my room.

With Charlie present I don't really feel like getting my own dinner downstairs and just as I am starting to think I should just skip dinner Emmy knocks on my door with a tray of food.

I smile in thanks and wish I could convey to her in any way how grateful I am that she accommodates my weird habits without a word. I sign a quick thank you, but that’s all I seem to be able to do. I pout, frustrated with myself. Wanting to do more, but being physically unable to do so. Before William tried to strangle me and in that process hurt my throat so much, I had to eat fluid food for almost four weeks, I never really appreciated how nice it is to actually be able to eat without pain. Eating in complete ease as I often can do here at the James’ is another major plus. I'm even beginning to notice that my food no longer settles in my stomach like a brick. My body is getting used to normal amounts of food again.

I guess in time I shall start gaining weight, too. Maybe then I won't always be cold anymore. But there's a safety in being too thin like I am now. It makes you unattractive by definition and that is a benefit I had never foreseen.

In this house, nobody has looked at me in that way. Nobody lifted a hand at me here. Nor have I seen any violence towards the others. Everybody is so at ease. There is no tension. Iona dances through life, Declan is always the epitome of calm and relaxation. Nick is boisterous and kind and Emmy, well, Emmy is the most mom-like person I have ever met in my life.

Not that I know many. But Emmy is top on my list. Next to Jackie.

Somehow, the thank you I gave her is not enough. I need to do something more.

Chewing on my food and my thoughts, I am trying to hatch a plan to do something back. Even if things do go wrong, even if she realizes how horrible I truly am, so far, I have met nothing but kindness. Shouldn’t it be returned in kind?

A soft knock on my door pulls me from my reverie and when I go to open it, Iona is smiling down at me. "Auntie asked me to come and get your plate?"

Oh, my. I hasten to pick up the tray from my desk. I could have taken it…

"You afraid of the strange man downstairs?" Iona jokes when she takes the tray from me. Her banter is not far from the truth and she swallows when she meets my eyes. "Charlie is really very nice, you know. We’ve known him forever. He was my dad’s best friend…" She says. Then, apparently lost for words, she says goodbye and disappears down the stairs with my tray.

I feel like an imbecile.

Instead of closing the door behind her, I slide to the floor and lean back against the wall next to the open door again, to listen to the sounds that come drifting up from downstairs. I hear several different voices, the occasional roar of laughter.

It all sounds so easy.

Soft footsteps on the stairs alarm me and I push the door closed and lock it before I know who's even coming up. I won't be surprised anymore like I was with Declan, when they were playing that game downstairs.

"Cassia?" Declan says my name as he knocks on my door. "Cassia, are you awake?"

Well frig—Speak of the devil. My heart is in my throat immediately and I scramble up as silently as possible, looking at the locked door with wide eyes. I haven’t interacted with him since my awkward departure from his doorway last night. After I’d touched him, his music player blasted out a loud commercial, starling the both of us, and I had bolted to my room, unsure of what to do.

And now—I’m still unsure of what to do. What does he want?

"Iona said you were still up. I, um…" As he hesitates, I unlock the door and open it. He's tall as ever, and his hair is truly all over the place. He's holding his planner.

"Oh–Hi," He smiles, and his entire face lights up as he does so.

I exhale, some tension leaving my body as I see him relax. But then I remember all that has happened, and I tense up again, clenching my jaw as I take him in, waiting to see what he wants to discuss.

He face falls a bit as he sees my reaction, but he clears his throat and holds up his planner. "We got an elaborate assignment for Ad-Bio today, and I was thinking that maybe you'd want to know, so you won't have missed it when you get to school…" He trails off, bringing his free hand to scratch the back of his neck.

Oh. Homework. Right, that is an important thing. I blink at him several times.

We look at each other awkwardly. I’m honestly at a loss—and then I realize just as he says quietly, “Can I come in?”

I step aside and he carefully moves into my room, looking around him as he walks to my desk, where he sits down.

I remain by the door, fidgeting, chewing my bottom lip. Why am I twice as nervous now? I can’t even look at him. My cheeks are burning as I take a few hesitant steps toward him.

He’s doing his best to not blatantly stare at me, instead looking at the items on my desk and nudging them into neatness with his fingertips. He pauses as he sees one of the many cranes I have made. He touches it gently. I can’t see his expression fully, but his cheek appears lifted slightly. I take another few steps forward and plop myself into my window seat.

I look at my hands, at Declan, and back again. He seems to be doing the same. Finally, when the silence between us becomes bizarre, licks his lips in a nervous gesture and clears his throat. "Cassia, are you mad at me?"

What? That notion is beyond preposterous. Why would I ever be angry with him?

Seeing my face, he chuckles that half-smile that becomes him. Well—um. I blink.

"I guess not," He says softly. "It's just… After last night you kinda ran away– and–and the whole debacle with that box, and then I touched you…” He looks bewildered at himself for a moment. “You've been different. Have I upset you?"

That box. That God awful, rotten box. It truly messed up everything. I wish so fiercely that it would burn in hell. But his question still surprises me. Has he upset me?

No. Not even for a moment. But he knows. He knows. Mortification flares and I look down to hide my shame.

"There you go again," He breathes, leaning toward me by placing his elbows on his knees so that his hands hang carelessly and relaxed between his legs. "What are you so worried about? What's wrong?"

I wring my hands, unseen in the pocket of my sweater. My knuckles crack from the force and we both jump. I smile sheepishly in apology, but he looks at me dead on, eyes pensive. Delcan tilts his head a little, lowering it to catch my gaze. "Are you ashamed?" He asks so softly I can barely hear it.

My blush turns crimson and, seeing it's useless to try and hide it, I nod. At least now I can let him know I am not proud of who I am.

"Cassia, you don't have to be ashamed of what was in that box. I sure as hell won't look down on you for it. That wasn't your fault."

My eyes fly up to his, and I'm utterly confused. Of course, it's my fault. I ran from William. I had this coming. I should have seen it coming, too. All the way from Los Angeles.

I wish there was a way I could make this clear without having to spell it out.

We're both lost for words, it seems, and the silence stretches. Again, I don’t feel afraid, instead I feel comforted by his presence. I kind of wish that I could tell him that.

"So, you're not mad at me? Or upset?" He finally asks, changing the subject a bit.

I shake my head. I'm worried it's the other way around and before I can stop myself, I nod in his direction, to return the question. He laughs, a light sound that does more to me than his words have done so far.

"I'm not mad at you either," He smiles gently. "I don’t think I ever could be angry with you. I am sorry that I upset you so, though." He keeps saying that. An image of Declan holding up the belt flashes through my mind and I remind myself once more that he knows the full truth about my past. I drag a hand through my hair, pulling slightly at the ends.

Declan thinks for a moment before he speaks again, eyes never leaving me once. "Listen, Cassia… When you ran that night with the box—to be sick– I got my Aunt and Uncle because I was scared you were going to have a panic attack or something, and since that wouldn't be the first time I caused one," He looks very apologetic when he says this, "I wanted to get help. But then Uncle told me something, and…"

He stops to swallow. Here we go. Crap. I turn away, my jaw tense. From the corner of my eye, I see one of his hands twitches in his lap and I wonder if he is considering touching me again.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you. You didn't deserve it in the slightest. I wish I could say something better than that–I'm not really good with words–But I don't see you any differently, if that's what you are afraid of."

I exhale heavily, realizing that deep down this is exactly what I wanted to hear. I met his gaze once more. His eyes as usual are burning with intensity, but they’re also warm and inviting. He’s smiling ever so slightly at me again. The silence grows, but it’s not uncomfortable. I look at the floor, chewing my lip. He said he didn't see me any differently. But how did he see me in the first place?

"Hey," He says softly to get my attention. When I look up at him, he continues. "I'm on your side. Your past doesn't matter to me. You're here with us now. And we won't hurt you. Haven't you noticed? You're safe with us. With Uncle and Auntie. With Iona. With me. All of us."

Trying my hardest to suppress the feeling and failing miserably to do so, I cannot deny the surge of hope I feel when I realize he is telling the truth.

I grin and his answering smile could have filled the world.

It is decidedly cold when we pile into Emmy's Tesla as we leave for Rochester Sunday morning. I am wearing a freshly washed hoodie, a scarf and the Burberry coat I’ve been borrowing, but my feet are cold in the sneakers that really are made for California weather. I already heat wearing shoes but having to wear shoes and my feet still be cold is enough to put me in a foul mood.

At least it's dry today, although it's so cloudy, the sun light as well not exist, but the skies aren't weeping, as Jackie used to say. It’s the little things.
I spent my Saturday night working on the Biology assignment, going all out and finishing it with ease. Iona was off to the pool hall, and for a bit I missed studying with her. Declan had offered to study with me regarding the few subjects we had together, but I shyly declined, using the time instead to get aimlessly ahead in calculus. I’m still not sure why I said no, but Declan took the rejection with a smile, retreating into his room, but leaving the door wide open so the piano music he played spilled out into the hall and in through my door.

In the safety of my room, my thoughts kept going back to that conversation I had with Declan. About him telling me that I was safe, and I believed him. But as I really don't know what possibly to do with this information, I put it to the back of my mind. I've become proficient at not thinking about things I do not understand or don't want to think about.

But that music… That quiet piano song, the notes almost hesitant in the beginning as the music picked up and it became a soothing piece. Not the piece that he had played for me. I had shuddered away, alarmed by the emotion that song triggered, memories danced just outside the periphery of my mind. It was as if my mind was purposefully blocking them, because I knew that song was attached to a memory. I just couldn't reach it. It alarmed me deeply that one single song out of the millions that I’ve heard played on the piano had such an effect on me. Naturally, I pushed the thoughts away and retreated deeper into my studies.

I was hiding out in the library after finishing Biology in the late afternoon, once more submerging myself in those astronomy books I found, when I heard some sounds outside. Huddling in the pillows of the window seat, I could see how Josh and Declan were in the backyard tossing a ball between the two of them.

Pretty sure I was out of their sight, I watched. They were moving so easily, laughing and talking about things I could not hear. At one point, Josh jumped Declan and although my first reaction was shock and alarm, they both were laughing as Declan bent over forwards with Josh still on his back, trying to get him off again.

I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth to see them happy and careless like that.

But that light mood is far-gone now I am in the back of the car as Emmy pulls out of the garage. We are going to Rochester. To shop.

Ew.

I hope that Iona will ask for so much attention I will be overlooked. I don't want Emmy to spend any money on me. I just need an extra hoodie and I'll be good.

Iona and Emmy keep up conversation the entire way there, somehow including me with an ease that surprises me, and just as I am mentally preparing myself for crowds, Emmy announces we have arrived.

I unfold myself from the back seat carefully and look around. There are definitely more people around here than in Willow Hills. I shift uneasily. I should be okay, it’s really not that many people. I don’t really mind. Much. I frown. Convincing myself to be alright is proving difficult.

"Cassia?" Emmy’s voice pulls me from my stressful gaze, and I look around to face her. "Are you ready?"

No.

I nod.

Both Iona and Emmy pick up conversation once more as we stroll through the mall. Again, it surprises me how they are able to swoop me into the chatter, despite my contributions being simple nods, shakes and shrugs. Find myself smiling a little bit, oddly comforted.

We go into some stores and Emmy encourages me to browse through the things, to see if there are things I'd like to buy. I see some tops and jeans I'd like, but when I check the price tags, I have to swallow my nausea. These stores are expensive. No way I am going to ask Emmy to pay for a pair of jeans that costs as much as my entire wardrobe did back in Los Angeles.

Emmy notices my frequent hesitation and she comes up to me as I look through a rack with hoodies in all sizes and colors. "Warm clothes. Good idea. See anything you like?"

I shake my head, letting go of the black hoodie that looks so entirely comfortable to me, it’s soft fabric barely keeps me from plopping my face on it. It's without any print and thick, exactly what I was looking for. But I can buy three of these in a different store for the same amount of money, I'm sure.
"Well, what about this one?" Emmy asks as she holds up the hoodie I've just let go.

I shake my head and step back, indicating that I do not want the sweater.

"Not to your liking?" She asks, and she sounds almost hopeful, as if she wanted me to like the sweater, or at least tell her then what I want. She's trying. I can tell. I think back to the resolve I made before and swallow as I make my decision. If she is trying. I have to try, too.

I lift my hand and rub my fingers together in the universal sign that means 'money.'

Emmy frowns and looks at the price tag of the sweater. "This isn't expensive. Is that what you are worrying about?"

I nod, yes. I can at least let her know I feel bad about needing money to buy stuff. There's nothing wrong with that.

"Do you want to try it on? Then we can decide. I always tell Iona ‘if you don’t love it, don’t buy it.’ Maybe seeing it on will help you decide?"

Horrified, I shake my head quickly. Honestly, as if I would undress in a shop. Just give me a large and I'm good. Besides, it’s much too expensive.

Iona comes striding back to us with her arms full of clothes. "I think I'm going to try something on," She beams. Just as she is about to turn, she stops in her tracks and looks at my empty hands, frowning and looking down at me concerned. "You didn't find anything, Cassia?"

I shake my head as Emmy answers, wiggling the sweater in Iona’s view. "Yes, a hoodie, I think. We’re still debating."

Iona looks at the sweater. "That's boring." She states. It's not said in a judging way, she sounds almost confused as she glances at her pile of color verses the sweater I’ve chosen and the dark colors I’m already wearing. I see a thought spark in her eyes, but her lips stay closed. I’m curious what she thinks, but not enough to ask. I shrug at her words. I'm boring. I like comfortable, loose fitting clothes that don't stand out. Easy. Forgettable.

"It's what Cassia likes, perhaps." Emmy answers for me. She looks at me, seemingly seeking reassurance. I nod at her, once, to let her know that she's right, but I’m still fretting about the price.

Iona hums, that spark still in her eye and she murmurs that she will return after trying on her items, leaving Emmy and I standing at the rack with the black hoodie. "If you want this, Cassia, we can buy it for you. It is that easy. But look this one has a little stitched kitten on it. Much cuter." She holds up an identical sweater to the one I had originally chosen, except it has a tiny stitched kitten over the heart in deep blue thread, it’s almost invisible. But she’s right. The damn thing is cuter.

I shake my head and again I make the 'money' gesture with my hand. I can't pay them back. So why put me in expensive clothes? They can easily use it against me, and I’d rather not have that hanging over my head.

"Honey, we have signed contracts that state that we will take care of you. Several, in fact," she says meaningfully, referring to the non-violence act they signed in my first week here and the numerous foster documents that come along with allowing a mute teenager into your home. "We are required by law to provide you with proper housing, clothing and food. Don't worry about the cost. I told you we don’t hurt for money. Besides, we want you to have good clothes on your back. We want to take good care of you. Is that so hard to accept?"

Taken aback by her speech, I blush at the truth in her words. Looking down, I nod to answer her last question. Why would anyone ever take care of me like the James’ are doing now? I was already happy with the fact that there really seems to be no violence in this household. No need to go spending ridiculous amounts of money on me too. That’s just overkill, right?

The rainbow has to end somewhere, right?

"Please accept this. Don't feel guilty. I want to give it to you. But the kitten one. Not this one." She puts the plain sweater back, firmly. I frown, frustrated with her perseverance—well no, I’m frustrated at myself again.

"Talk to me, sweetie.” Emmy says softly, patiently.

Fumbling with my hands, which have tied themselves up in my sleeves, I give the shortest possible answer, as always. If they haven't started to realize it by now, I probably have to give them a nudge into the right direction. Although, my heart gives a terrible squeeze as I admit it out loud.

I don't deserve it.

That should do. Heart hammering and swallowing hard, I look up at Emmy.

She’s wide-eyed, appalled almost. "Cassia—Honey, what makes you feel you don't deserve it?" She asks, so softly I can hardly hear it over the noise in the store.

Well, isn't that obvious? I mean, look at me. I was a mistake just by being born, and everything else I've ever done I've done wrong in one way or another. Both Peter and William have told me so and had I been a good daughter, I'm pretty sure my mother would not have left me behind, either. I frown at Emmy, my hands falling back to my sides.

"Of course, you deserve it." She whispers. She opens her mouth to say more but thinks again and hesitates for a moment before she finally speaks. "Do I need to say that you haven't done anything wrong yet in our home to not deserve the sweater?"

My shoulders sag a little as I take in her words. I've done so much wrong, but it's not for what I did or didn't do here. The fact that this family is burdened with me is enough, isn't it?

"Cassia, what can I tell you for you to start believing that it really doesn't matter how much money you need to buy decent clothes?" She folds the sweater over her arm, arching a brow at me.

I frown, hopelessly frustrated, but rattled by her words, as well. I mean, her asking what to tell me so I believe her is… a different way of approaching things, at least. But it doesn't negate the fact that the sweater is expensive, and that we've been standing here in this store for far too long over a piece of black fabric I can honestly get elsewhere, too.

"How about this," Emmy starts. "I give you a budget you can use. Will that make it easier for you?"

No. A bit. Maybe. I nod and shrug, carefully watching her.

"Good. You have one thousand dollars to spend at your leisure. Now go indulge yourself." She shoos me with a hand but keeps the kitten sweater hostage.

I can't move and simply gape at her. One thousand dollars? One thousand dollars? Holy shit. No way. I gap at her, horrified. Why—Why so much?

"Cassia…" Emmy closes her eyes for a moment and seems to be thinking hard. When she opens them, I see resolve.

Oh-oh. That's exasperation. I know that sound. That's a dangerous sound. Immediately, I close my mouth and stand straighter, training my gaze on the ground. I brace myself.

"Listen, honey, don’t look away. You are not in trouble. I really wanted this to be a happy, relaxing experience for you. New clothes, new life remember? If you don't want to pick out your own clothes, I can pick some out for you. No problem, but they'll be paid with the same money that I’ve allocated for your budget.” A beat. "I am your caregiver now, Cassia. Please accept that it is really no issue."

Her voice breaks is soft and caring and again I realize she's trying. She's trying so hard. Still, doesn't she understand how hard it is for me to accept this fact?

It's just… Nothing has been unconditional in my life before. I keep expecting they will want me to pay them back. My mind flits back to when I was with Jackie and I had absolutely nothing. I had to accept clothes and toiletries.

It's like a light bulb that goes on in my head. I know what to do. I know how I can pay Emmy back. I did the same with Jackie.

I sign something quickly, my hands moving in semi-sloppy haste in my excitement.

"Chores?" Emmy asks, surprised. "You want to do chores to pay back for the clothes?"

I nod, pleased she's getting my point.

"Will it really ease your conscience so much if you feel you can pay me back in whatever way?" Her brows fly up into her hairline, her blue eyes looking lost, but there is a slight dubious smile on her lips.

I nod again, hoping she will go through with this.

Emmy thinks for a moment, before she smiles fully. "All right. Very well. One chore for each article of clothing." She's smug, ridiculously pleased, but I'm not buying it. One chore, is she out of her mind? That's not enough. I hold up five fingers.

By God, I am actually negotiating with her.

"No, Cassia. Five is too much. Two."

Thinking whether I really want to go with four, I settle on three. Three should do and she knows it. I can do three things for each thing I shall get. It will not ease my mind, but it will at least help me to do something in the house, make myself useful for once.

"Three? That's still too much."

I cock my head. Please?

"All right then, three. Now, this sweater is adorable and you’re getting it, okay? Kittens are lovely." She laughs a bit and turns towards the clothing on racks once more.

I cannot help my victorious smile, but still nod reluctantly for the sweater. It is an expensive thing.

"What size are you? Small?"

I blink at her, alarmed. No, please. No no, no, don't give me fitting clothes. Please.

Emmy looks at me, and I see confusion and dread in her eyes. Carefully, I point at the sweater we've both been holding, size large.

"Are you sure?" She asks softly, carefully. I don't understand her sudden concern, but I nod at her and she nods in return.

As Iona pays for heaps of clothes with her own credit card, I cringe when the sales assistant says the price for my new sweater out loud. Emmy hands over her card without blinking and I walk out of the store, carrying a lone glossy bag, containing a sweater that was an utter struggle to buy.

We buy more stuff to my utter horror, but knowing I get to do something back and agreeing with myself I shall do more than just the three things per item, I give in more easily and buy two pairs of jeans, some other loose t shirts, a pair of pajamas, and a coat.

I'm tired and hungry by the time noon arrives, but I know eating will be a problem. Emmy however insists that we sit down somewhere in the back of a relatively quiet lunchroom and orders for the three of us. I look at my salad, unable to touch it, until Iona breaks through my thoughts. "It's so shitty that you just can't eat with us around. You really must be hungry." She puts her fork down, as if deciding that as long as I won’t eat, she won’t.

My stomach is churning, but fortunately it can't be heard over the noise in the bar. I'm uneasy, sitting down here with so many people around us. I shrug, to answer Iona’s observation. Emmy excuses herself for a moment and I remain with Iona, who looks at me with sad eyes. "You really can't eat? You can put it in your mouth but just can't swallow?"

I nod. No use in denying it. They know I won't eat with others present.

"I’m sorry," She frowns gently. "I wish there was something I could do to make you feel more comfortable. But, how did you do that at school? Did you just go hungry?"

I nod again, to answer her questions. I used to be able to go without food for days. I shift slightly, staring down at the grilled chicken on my salad. It smells so good, but my throat constricts at the thought of eating out in the open.

"How come you won't eat?" Her voice is soft, tentative, but I still look at her pleadingly, begging her to not make me remember all the fuckery I’ve had over food. Peter used to take it from me mid-dinner, or put pepper on it without me knowing it, then still making me eat it. Push my face in it until I felt I couldn't breathe anymore. When I arrived at William’s, I drew the line and simply refused to eat with others present.

Apart from that, food is one of the very few things I can actively control in my life. I can decide whether or not I eat, when and how much if I decide to. It's the same with sleep. It's the same with my voice. These are the three things I can choose to use to my convenience, or not. More often not. It's uncomfortable. But it's the last thread of control I have. As shitty as that is.

"Don't you want to?" Iona asks.

Yes and no. I just want to decide when I do it.

She sits back and exhales. "Should I go for a while? Keep mom with me? Then you can eat. Okay? We’ll make sure that no one bothers you. We got your back, Cassia."

I shake my head, but she's up before I can stop her. "Watch my bags. I'm going to freshen up in the restroom."

She stays away for a good ten minutes with Emmy, and I know they do this so I can eat. It's unnecessary, but nice. I can't deny it. I look down at my salad, looking deliciously green and fresh. Do I try it? I used to eat outside of the house back in Los Angeles a lot.

I know how impossible it is for a stranger to come and bother me while I eat. It seems as if I'm no longer able to suppress my hunger, even though I feel hugely uncomfortable with the knowledge that Emmy and Iona are doing this for me. Taking a deep breath, I devour my salad, eyeing the place I expect the James women to reemerge, looking around me with shifty eyes for any sign of danger, then looking back at the restroom area. I'm almost done when they come back, and Emmy beams as she sees my nearly empty plate.

"Anything to help you out," She smiles. Then she picks up the bags. "I've already paid. Ready to go?"

We nod and set off again, this time for shoes.

I am exhausted watching Iona try on pair after pair, finally setting on two pairs of pumps and some loafers that look comfy, but cold. She had asked my opinion on each pair, in the end choosing the ones that I had smiled for instead of just nodded or shook my head at. I’m quite pleased at the fact.

Then Emmy looks at me. "You need shoes too."

I start to shake my head, but she interrupts me. "If not for convenience, then for warmth. Your sneakers are not made for Rochester weather."
Ah yeah, she's right, of course.

"Go look around," Emmy encourages, smiling down at me. The patience of that woman is sheer unending, it seems. I would have given up on me long ago.

Tentatively, I browse the racks with shoes in my size. I just need some basic stuff. Me in heels is a very bad idea, so maybe some sneakers or something sturdier as well. I'm pretty sure there will be lots of ice to be met once winter sets in fully here. God knows I can barely stand on flat ground much less ice.

"Can I help you?" A sales lady asks me briskly. Her blond ponytail bobs as she bounces up to me.

I step back, startled, and shake my head quickly.

"Anything special you are looking for?"

I shake my head again, and focus on the shoes, in the hope that she will leave me alone. Crap, this is why I don’t leave the house. It’s like I’m a magnet for strangers.

"What size are you? I’ll find you something—well cute." She asks as she steps closer to me and giving me a once over.

Cringing, I step back a little. Frowning with annoyance, I don't look at her but keep my focus on the rack.

"How rude." The girl mutters softly, but loud enough so I can hear.

Well, I don't care.

Just then, Iona comes up to my side, her blue eyes blazing with annoyance. "You know what's rude? Stepping into somebody's personal space and not accepting that she doesn't want help." She snaps at the sales girl, who looks taken aback.

"I'm sorry," She stammers. "Company policy."

"I’m sure. But my sister here doesn't need help. I'm sure we’ll manage. When we need you, we'll get you, okay?" Iona’s tone softens at the apology of the girl, who I really think can't help herself. She looks so young and innocent.

The girl beams radiantly after Iona’s words and nods, before she steps back and goes to pester somebody else.

Then it hits me.

Iona called me her sister.

She came up to save me from the annoying sales girl.

She called me her sister.

I simply look at her and I think my mouth may be hanging open in shock.

"What?" She laughs, confused, holding up a pair of dark sneakers and a pair of fluffy looking moccasins for me to look at. I can see Iona’s mind whirling, thinking back on what might have happened to evoke such a reaction from me. "Oh! Because I called you my sister? Well, as far as I'm concerned, you are. Duh, Cassia. Don’t be silly."

Even my mind is lost for words for a moment. But then my body reacts for me and my mouth curves into a smile, a big ear-to-ear grin, teeth and all.

Holy shit.

She called me her sister.

Iona smiles goofily back at me, her eyes sparkling as she looks decidedly happy. Proud. “So what size are you? Because I saw some boots that will be good for winter time…” She gently steers me towards the aisle she came from, plopping the sneakers and moccasins into my arms. I think I’m still smiling at her.

Perhaps it's time for me to reevaluate my views.

We arrive home in the late afternoon, packed with goods. Emmy had taken us into a home décor shop and had quickly filled a small cart with items to put into my room. I hadn’t bothered to express my displeasure at all the new things, mostly because I hadn’t felt it. Maybe I was still riding the high Iona’s compliment had given me.

Or maybe I was just…happy.

And excited.

In the end, Emmy and I had decided on a more earthy toned theme for my room, after she had seen me admiring a large still life of a vase of exotic flowers. We didn’t get the painting (Emmy said she could do one better) but into the cart went a new bed set, several large candles in pretty glass holders, an incense burner shaped like a waterfall, a wide set of forest themed wall stickers, and a bonsai tree.

I couldn’t stop smiling. None of us could.

And then we passed a bookstore.

I don't have any books anymore. My foster sibling Heather burned them at William’s house to get back at me, although I don't even remember for what. The few books I had left, William has not sent and probably destroyed. But when I saw the large displays of the bookstore, I could not help but stop in my tracks and peer inside to look at the treasure trove hidden behind the glass.

Emmy didn't blink once as she changed her tracks and guided me into the shop, telling me to look around.

For once, I did not need encouragement. I found my way to the literature section quickly and saw that the shop had all the classics in store. Reverently, I fingered the backs of my favorite books — Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, The Count of Monte Cristo, Treasure Island. Even an entire collection of Shakespeare’s works.

When Emmy came up to me, I was a moment too late to hide the excitement on my face. I smoothed it back into a neutral expression and was surprised to see her frown. "Don't hide what makes you happy, Cassia. Please don't. What books do you like?"

Before I could answer, Esme pulled Alice’s Adventures from the shelf. "This one?"

Reluctantly, I nodded.

"This one?" Surprisingly, she was holding Dracula.

Again, I had to confess.

"This one?" The Count of Monte Cristo.

I nodded, praying to whoever, that this wasn’t a dream.

So now I have five books, all of my own, to read and to cherish. They mean so much more to me than the clothes I got.

I clear my new stuff away, except for the decorations which I stack carefully and neatly into a corner as Emmy promised to help me put it all up next weekend. Happy I go downstairs to find Emmy, and to see where I can make a start with the chores I shall do to repay.

Emmy is nowhere to be found, but Iona is in the kitchen, sitting on the counter and sipping from her mug. "My feet are killing me." She smiles, gesturing to her feet which she had propped up on a stool. "You must be exhausted, too. Are you happy with what you got?"

I nod, because I am.

"Good. I am too. Shopping sprees like these are not very common, I should tell you, but I had the feeling Auntie wanted to celebrate that you were out with us today.” She pauses to sip her drink again, watching me over the rim. “You weren't really scared out there, were you?"

I shake my head slowly, afraid of what Iona will make of my answer.

"Maybe you're getting more relaxed in general. I think you are, at least. It was fun to have you with us today, you know." She beams at me, and I smile back. She seems genuinely happy, and that makes me happy, too.

I chew on my lip, trying to decide if I dare to take this next step or not.

Iona finishes her drink and hops off the counter. If she leaves, I'll lose my chance. I quickly pull my phone from my pocket and hold it up to her, in the hope that she will take it. She is surprised, but she takes the phone from me and gazes curiously at what I wrote. I stand back and chew on my lip, hoping she will help me out.

"The song Declan plays?" She asks, confused and cocking her head at me.

I nod. It's all on the note.

I need to know what song he has been listening to over the last couple of days.

"Oh dang, Cassia. I’m not so sure. Classical music is not my forte. Why don't you ask him yourself?" Iona’s lips quirk sadly as she hands my phone back to me.

I look horrified at the notion alone and Iona laughs, but I can see she doesn't mean it in a mean way and her face straightens almost immediately again.

"Too big a leap? I know you’re especially shy around men." She asks softly.

I nod. It's a big leap for me to reach out and ask something, even from Iona, but I really need to know the name of that song. Perhaps then I can get to grasp the memory it holds for me. I feel like my own mind holds it out of my reach and it's starting to annoy me, especially since the notes have been playing over and over in my head.

"All right, I'll ask when he gets home." Iona promises, and I nod in thanks. She leaves me in the kitchen, and I go to clear out the dishwasher before I check in the fridge for something to drink. Just as I pull out a carton of juice, Nick steps into the kitchen.

"Ah, that's exactly what I needed." He nods at the juice I'm holding.

Reaching for the cabinet, I simply take out two glasses instead of one, and fill them up.

He thanks me when I place his on the breakfast bar.

"Did you have fun today?" He asks. "You don't strike me as the shopping type, but I know the girls can be quite fierce when it comes to the act."
I smile at the truth in his words and give a half-shrug. I'm smiling a lot today, it seems. But Nick’s right. I loathe shopping.

"Well, I'm off to a surgery. You're lucky that you don't have to sit through that." He winks but turns back to me right before leaving the kitchen again. "Did you get everything you needed?"

I nod, once more, and then he too leaves me after a softly spoken “Good. You deserve that.”, so that I am alone again in the kitchen. I lean against the counter and put my hands in my pocket.

Then the belated anxiety hits. My stomach cramps up and I'm breathless for a moment as my heart seems to skip a beat. Nick just came in and asked me for a drink, and I gave it to him without hesitation. He thanked me.

Holy Jesus.

It was what I would deem a normal encounter. I didn't panic. He wasn't weird around me. He was very—dad like actually.

My guard was completely down.

I exhale, puffing out my cheeks as I try to relieve some delayed tension.

God what a day. I’m going to need a year to process all this new stuff. I shake my head. Nope, I’m just going to go watch cooking shows. I push myself away from the counter and go upstairs to start the dreaded task of trying on the clothes I bought. To me, it doesn't really matter how things look on me. I just check if they fit and feel comfy. I used to check if the fabric wasn't too raw on my skin. It's a wicked relief to find out that that no longer seems to be an issue.

Everything fits loosely, but I don't worry about that. I don't like tight clothes anyway and I think I'll gain some more weight with the four-meal diet I am still on. Then these clothes won't be so large on me anymore and I won't have to bother about getting new ones, either.

Plus, one for efficiency.

After dinner, I curl up in my rocking chair, huddled under my quilt, with one of my new books. Emmy was correct when she observed I was through my social quota for the day and I was grateful when she told me I could go to my room. I stroke the cover reverently before I tuck my feet underneath me and set to a soothing rocking rhythm. Then I open the book and submerge myself in the unlucky world of Edmond Dantès.

A soft knock on the door goes almost unnoticed and I frown at the intrusion. It's late, must be nearing ten. My body kicks in before my mind can and my heart starts racing as my hands get clammy within the blink of an eye.

Another knock.

I'm just frozen. And in horrification I realize I didn't even lock the door.

Idiot!

The knob turns. Slowly, as in a horror movie.

I close my eyes for a brief moment and brace myself.

"Cassia?"

It's Iona.

Tentatively, she opens the door and peers inside. I'm still under my quilt, looking at her wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?" Her lips turn down apologetically.

Yes, you did, actually.

"Can I come in?"

I nod, wondering what she wants.

"I just wanted to thank you for today." She says as she steps into my room, leaving the door ajar behind her. The bed makes a soft sound as she sits on the edge of it. "It must have been stressful for you, even though you seem more relaxed."

I don't reply to that, as I don't really answer rhetorical statements.

Iona smiles anyway, looking at my sweater. "I guess you're not really one for bright colors, huh?"

I shake my head, looking down at the infamous black hoodie I've decided to keep on after I tried it. I just don't want to stand out.

"Do you like your books?"

This time, I nod with more enthusiasm, realizing too late that I've lost my books once and that it could happen again.

But Iona just smiles, and there is not a hint of malice in her voice when she speaks again. "It's good to see you happy like this. I know you've been through a lot and I'm guessing that you force yourself to keep calm simply just to cope with things. But you're really welcome here, and I meant what I said in the store today. I consider you my sister already. I hope to get to know you even better."

I'm stunned after her speech and her words trigger something in me. Forcing myself to keep calm just to cope with things? That's so completely right it's scary.

I thought I was less obvious than that.

She considers me her sister.

It's too much to comprehend.

Iona just smiles at me. "Anyway, good night. I've a sleepover with Josh so we're turning in early to watch a movie."

Ah, Iona, I so didn't need to hear that. My blush lights my face and I hope she doesn’t notice it. I mean, I know that normal couples do it but honestly, I don't want to know. But I nod at her to bid her goodnight and she leaves my room again.

Forcing myself to keep calm simply just to cope with things. Huh. She really is right.

I find I can't concentrate on my book anymore after she's left and I move to my desk to check my email. As usual, a message from Jackie is waiting in my inbox.

.

From: Jackie Dwyer
To: Cassia Sinclair
Subject: Re: Tell me more

Of course, they have left you alone so far. They will never do anything to hurt you or be nasty with you. It's good to hear you are starting to realize that. But tell me more. What have you noticed about each of them?

.

She wants detailed accounts. She always wants detailed accounts. Tell me more. God, she's such a therapist. This fact doesn’t seem to bother me anymore.

.

From: Cassia Sinclair
To: Jackie Dwyer
Subject: Re: Tell me more

My view on each of them? Nick is kind but a man and large…so scary. Emmy is patient and kind. Iona is a bunch of energy, she comes to talk with me often, which I have enjoyed actually. Declan is intense and quiet but plays a lot of the same music I like, even the piano.

It’s…nice.

.

I click send and turn off the laptop again, deciding I can try to watch some TV. I know already though that sleep won't come. My head is too full of everything that happened, everything I realized, all the words that have been said.

But I find it impossible to relax and just trust them, even though I really do believe they are sincere. I honestly dare to hope that things won't turn bad around here.

Yet this doesn't solve the problem of me being a horrible person and I'm still waiting for them to find this out and turn their backs on me.

Declan said though that he didn't think any different about me, and that he was on my side. What side was he talking about? Why does he refuse to see what's really going on? He's been so utterly nice to me, and he really has no reason to. He apologized for scaring me on my first night here over and over, and I can tell he felt really bad about that stupid box.

I can't make any sense of it. It's so different from what I know, and it's hard for me to believe that my life really has changed this much.

When I got here, I was fully prepared for harsh words, clear rules, a beating when I fucked up. Perhaps nightly visits. I shudder in voluntarily, despite the happy contestants on the show bragging about their cupcake recipes. Or then at least I would have thought they would have expected me to make myself useful; clean the house, cook, run errands.

I never thought they actually wanted me to become a part of the family, and I find the notion a scary one. I don't know the rules of social behavior. I don't like to communicate with others and I never know what others expect of me. I'm always scared to screw things up, as I've done so many, many times before.

It's why I'm quiet. It's why I prefer to be alone. Then I can't disappoint or be disappointed.

I don't know yet how I'm going to do it, but when I grow up, I want to live alone forever and have a cat or some other animal that doesn't require me to go out.

Maybe I can write. It's ambitious, I know, but maybe I can try to write. Before I fled William, I would spend hours at night to make up stories in my head. I've numerous plots, characters, ideas. Maybe I can try to start writing in time and maybe I can try to get it published. I'd be one of those mysterious people that don't do face-to-face meetings and all communication would go by email.

I chuckle silently once, shaking my head at my silly dreams, and go to lie on the bed after I've locked the door and shut off the tv. I don't even bother to undress. I know I won't be able to sleep.

By two a.m. I decide it's been enough already, and I venture out into the quiet house, going downstairs on socked feet. I pull my coat from the closet and after I slip into my old sneakers, I unlock the porch doors to go outside and sit down on the top step.

It's crispy cold, but I like it. It clears my head. I hope Emmy won't mind that I'm outside like this, but with the kitchen light on you should see me sitting here. It won't be as if I ran away or something.

Apart from it all, I don't want to run from here. I like it here. I have my own room, I've not been disturbed. Emmy goes out of her way to find food I like, to make sure I eat, to make sure I have decent clothes. She's never been angry with me, even when I am frustrating and childish, even when I burned myself. Even when I simply shut her out. Her patience is uncanny.

Although I realize I've been trying it time and again, I also realize that I've been thriving on it. She gives clear boundaries, even though I don't always agree with her. The freedom to say no is addicting to say the least. She has a way of showing disappointment or disapproval by just words. Emmy gets the message clear, all right. When she startled me in the kitchen and I thought the time had finally come, she was so shocked herself she had been crying. She wouldn't have been crying had she wanted to hurt me for whatever reason.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

I lose my balance with the force I turn around to see Declan towering over me. I gasp audibly, cursing myself immediately for making a sound, and start to scramble up so at least I'll be standing on my feet.

"Whoa, I didn't mean to scare you like that. You really were lost in your thoughts, weren't you?" A beat. "Calm down," He laughs, holding up a hand between us and smiling enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. "Honestly, don't panic. It's just me."

As I take a shaky breath, I take him in. I can very faintly make out his figure in the gloom of light that emanates from the house. He's wearing a coat, too, and he's holding two mugs precariously in one hand.

Following my gaze, Declan explains. "I made you some tea. I boiled water and everything."

Oh.

His smile is disarming, as ever.

"May I join you, Cass?”

Taken aback by his question—and the nickname–he invites himself and before I know it, he's sitting down on the porch with me. Thank fuck he's keeping a safe distance from me, but I turn to face him and lean back against the railing just so I can keep a better eye on him.

"Relax! I just thought you might like some company." His words rattle me. He's exasperated, but not impatient, in fact he’s still smiling kindly. He's not angry. He places both mugs on the porch floor between us and mirrors my position, sitting back against the opposite railing.

"I didn't put anything in it," He says, nodding towards the tea. "I figured, since you drink your coffee black… It’s my favorite blend. Mint, with orange, lemon, and honeysuckle. It’s really good."

I nod, hoping to indicate that it's okay. His chatter is just as comforting as Iona’s, maybe more so since his voice id deeper and raspier.

He made me tea. It's such a kind gesture and all I can think about is what he would want in return or how I could do something back for him.

"So, did you enjoy being out today? You've been cooped up in here for a while." He looks into the forest after he asked his question and I have the feeling he doesn't really expect an answer from me. Instead, he picks up his tea and blows off the steam before he sips it.

"We're both bad sleepers I guess, huh," He observes into his mug. "Wanted to come outside to clear your head a little?"

This time I nod to answer his question. He nods in return. "I sometimes feel like I can think more clearly in the night. It's pretty shitty that we have to be at school so early every day, but during holidays, I'm often up until four in the morning."

Huh, that sounds like me. I used to sleep after school, before William got home. Then I'd be awake at night, waiting to see if he was coming for me or not.

But somehow, I'm guessing that Declan doesn't stay up out of fear. He's just not a morning person. Him oversleeping not so long ago bears testament to that.

When Declan gets quiet again, I pick up my tea too and blow off the steam before I sip it. I really like the taste of it, so much so that a happy hum comes up out of my throat.

We look up at each other in surprise, then look away in embarrassment.

We sit in silence for a moment and I let the tea warm my insides as the cold wind clears my head. I listen to the soft rustle of the trees around me and realize that I've become quite relaxed around Declan James.

"Oh, before I forget. Iona asked me about the song I've been playing?" He states it like a question.

I look at him expectantly, all of a sudden both scared and excited of what the name of the song will trigger in me.

"Did you mean that piano song you walked away from twice?" He looks down and taps his mug with his fingers.

I flush at his observation. I did leave quite suddenly. I hope he doesn’t mind. I nod to answer his question.

"That's Fantaisie Impromptu, by Chopin. I'd like to learn how to play it on the piano, so I've been listening to it to get to know it, you know?" He mutters something else under his breath, but I don’t question him further.

Ah, but that does make sense. I do the same with a violin piece that I want to learn. I am disappointed, though. I had hoped that the name of the song would do anything to me. But… nothing.

"Do you know the song?"

I nod before I can stop myself and I look down to hide from my mistake. Don't ask me why I know it, please.

"Then you have good taste." Declan grins.

I stare into my tea, not sure what to do.

He rakes a hand through his hair and takes a breath, but in the end doesn't speak. Instead he exhales slowly, relaxed, and stares off into the invisible woods again. "I like to come here to think about things," He says quietly after long moments of silence. "In a family like this you can rarely be truly alone."

I make that little humming noise again in agreement, so silent I wonder if he hears it, but I can see the slight lift to his cheek. God, I think I like this guy, if only for what he says at times.

We finish our tea and then we both get up. Somehow, I don't want to stay here on my own when he goes inside. He reaches out to take my mug from me and after a moment of hesitation, I hand it to him. He accepts it with a smile, gently brushing his index finger against my own as he takes my mug, and then precedes me into the house. I lock the doors behind me and go to hang up my coat in the closet. Declan comes up behind me to do the same and I step back, watching him with a furrowed brow.

I can’t figure him out.

When he's done, he looks at me and winks. "See? No danger. I’m as harmless as a mouse. Good night, Cassia."

He goes upstairs before me and I turn off the last light as I go up behind him, to my own room, where I lock the door. I don't bother to undress when I slip in between the covers and fall asleep immediately.

I dream.

Soft piano songs drift through the back yard. I know this song. Mommy has a tiny radio and she plays this piano song often. She says she likes it. I like it too, because she likes it.

Mommy is in the hammock. She has her favorite sundress on. She wears it often the day after grandpa has been angry again. She looks at me and reaches out.

"Come to me, my Cassia. Lie with me in the sun?"

I climb into the hammock with her and she helps me. Then I snuggle up and hide my face in her neck. Mommy always smells like sunshine when she is in the hammock.

*She caresses my hair and hums along with the song. *

"I met a man, Cassia," She says softly, only for me to hear. "I am going to leave here and go with him. He promised me he will look after you, too. He will be good for me. For us. We can live happily ever after. His name is Peter. When we go there, he will become your daddy. Would you like that?"

"Yes, Mommy." I say this because I know she wants me to.

"We will leave without a word. So, don't tell grandpa or grandma, okay? They don't need to know. We can leave like girls on a secret mission."

I smile at her little story. Yes, we should not tell grandpa. He often shouts at Mommy. Calls her names. I don't like him. I'm afraid of him. But he never hurts me. Because Mommy always goes to stand in between when he comes for me.

"Would you like that, sweet girl? To leave here and never come back?"

I nod into her neck and sigh happily as she holds me a little tighter. I want to leave here if Mommy wants to. Mommy is often crying, and I don't want her to be sad.

She swings us in the hammock and hums to me along with the piano song until I fall asleep, warm in the afternoon sun.

I remember her face now. She had brown hair, like me. Brown eyes, too. She was soft yet detached. I remember her holding me. I remember her arms around me and how I would crawl into her lap willingly, but always on her terms. Her affection was won after many battles, and easily yanked away.

I don't remember her name.

I do remember the tiny house we lived in, the cramped space that always felt like there was not enough air. We lived there with my grandparents, but I don't really remember them much. I’m not sure I want to, either as faint memories of screaming fights echo in my mind.

I sit in my rocking chair for hours before I finally feel I am able to go to bed. Just swaying gently, huddled under Jackie’s quilt and looking into the darkness. I feel strangely neutral, and it takes me a long while to realize that I am actually relaxing. Slowly but gradually, as if consciously, I feel my tense muscles uncoil, until I am leaning drowsily against the back of the chair, my head lolling a bit with heavy exhaustion.

It feels nice to let go and my mind drifts.

Declan made me tea. With the kettle on the stove. Then I remember an earlier nightly meeting we had in that same kitchen. He didn't even know how to ignite the pit then. Last night on the porch, he said 'I boiled water and everything.' Then how did he make tea beforehand?

Oh my, did he nuke his water in the microwave? I shudder involuntary at the thought, smiling. That boy, I can’t seem to make any sense out of him. I don't know why he would be nice to me like this. But now, he made me tea, twice. He boiled water and everything. For me.

I can’t make sense of the warm feeling within my chest either.

When I can't keep my eyes open anymore, I set the alarm on my phone and get ready for bed. It still feels almost unnatural to wear satin pajamas and slide in between cool sheets, knowing there's a good chance I will be able to sleep undisturbed.

It's unbelievable.

Sleep washes over me like a thick blanket and for the first time in a very long time, I sleep deeply, without dreams.

The next day starts as usual, but different. I sit up in bed and listen to the household getting ready for the day, as I often do. But this time I am rubbing my face, feeling disoriented and groggy with the heavy remnants of sleep that won't seem to leave my body, my head. I feel fuzzy, and strangely alive. It has been ages since I had such a good night of sleep. Usually I am more alert and wake up several times during the night. I step out of bed and stretch languorously before I shuffle into the bathroom to get ready for my day.

My first day of school.

I pause waiting for my muscles to tense in stress, but it seems not even the tight anxiety over the upcoming meeting with the principal and thought of rowdy teenagers that looms can pull me from this fuzzy state of mind.

Arriving in the kitchen, full dressed and ready, a hot coffee and a newspaper await me, as usual. I fix myself some cereal and sit down at the table, eating and reading, and feeling strangely relaxed.

I don't even startle that much when Emmy steps into the kitchen. "Good morning, Cassia," She says on a yawn. "How are you this morning?"

I give a slight smile and a nod to let her know I'm okay, and then point at her with the hand that holds my spoon still.

"I'm good, thank you. Did you sleep well? You still look a bit tired, sweetie." Pot calling the kettle black, as she yawns again, but she is smiling.

I smile to myself, not sure if it shows on the outside or not. Of course, I look tired. My eyes still feel tiny and my body still feels like it's half asleep. But contrary to what Emmy thinks, I slept very well. This makes me feel so content I look up at Emmy and smile at her with my half-closed eyes, a dreamy look certainly still on my face.

"Oh," Emmy says, breathing out a laugh as she speaks, "I take it you slept very well?"

I nod at her now, and her smile grows. "It's such a wonderful feeling to wake up after a really good night of sleep. I'm glad you slept well. Let me put some laundry in the dryer while you finish breakfast, and then perhaps we can talk a bit about the meeting with the principal?"

I nod in confirmation, although I'm not sure what Emmy would want to discuss. It should be pretty straight forward, no?

I finish my breakfast and rinse out my bowl before I put it in the dishwasher. Then I pour two mugs of coffee and wait for Emmy to return so we can talk.

She returns shortly after and looks pleasantly surprised when she sees the steaming coffee waiting for her. "Thank you, that's sweet of you." She scoops up her mug, frowning ever so slightly, and I follow her warily with my eyes as she walks to the table and sits down with me.

I pull my hands out of my sleeves and wrap them around my mug as I wait for Emmy to start talking. This conversation can go into a thousand directions and about 999 of them are bad, so I will myself to sit still and listen.

"You're tense," She observes. "Take a deep breath."

I do as I'm told and as always, I'm surprised that it actually helps to calm me down somewhat.

"Do you want to tell me what you are nervous about?"

My gaze fixed at my coffee, I shake my head in tiny movements.

Please don't make me say it. Please don't get mad because I am tense.

William would get so angry when he noticed I was more tense than usual. It would irk the shit out of him. Which he would act out on me, of course.

"Are you nervous about going to school?"

I nod, releasing my mug so I can speak. Yes and no. First day jitters. I'm nervous about the new people.

Emmy nods and shrugs, but it's a half-hearted one. "I think you are more than a little bit nervous about your first day. But that's okay. That's why we are doing it this way. Just so you feel more comfortable."

Chewing my lip, I try to think of a way to tell Emmy I don't want attention. I just want to move under the radar and follow my lessons. Studying, in itself, to me is pure bliss. As such I really want to go to school. Six hours a day of gathering knowledge and having a sense of purpose in doing my homework. Six hours a day of being away from the house, of minding my own business. Six hours of relaxation.

After the novelty wears off, that is. I doubt that starting school here will be easy in terms of attention.

After long moments of thinking I manage to order my thoughts. It's nice of her to go talk with the principal before I start, but I have to be clear about this.

I'm not a special case.

Emmy looks from my hands to my face and I swear I can see a disagreeing look flit over her fair features before she composes herself. "Do you mean you don't want any special attention?" She asks neutrally.

I nod.

"Considering you don't speak, I'm not sure how this will work…" Emmy says softly, honestly.

I’m touched by her concern but annoyed all the same.

I managed fine in Los Angeles.

"That you did," She agrees, taking a sip of coffee. "But it mustn't have been easy for you to start there, right? Or did you start class at the beginning of a semester?"

I shake my head. I started school in Los Angeles in the middle of the semester. It was a big school, with crowded classrooms and overworked teachers. Within a week, they learned to ignore me, and they certainly couldn't complain about my grades.

"Cassia, please. You may find it hard to accept, but I am worried for you. I understand you want to go to school, but I also want you to be at ease there." She waits a moment, probably to see if I understood her words. I bite my lip. "What will you do if you get a panic attack?"

My eyes fly up to hers and I can see the worry etched on her face. I shrug, not knowing how to answer her question.

I mean–if I get a panic attack at school, I'll just slip into an empty classroom to sit it out. It really is that simple. I’m sure…Kinda. It should be.

Emmy sighs softly, not in an exasperated manner but more as if she doesn't know what to say anymore. "I don't want to push you, Cassia. I'm really just trying to think along with you."

I'll be fine. I just don't want attention. I give her a shrug. I’m confident that this all should work out. Well, confident enough.

"If you say so. I think the attention bit can be hard though in the beginning. Students and teachers alike will be curious."

I nod. I know. I'll get over it.

She doesn’t look terribly convinced and a small part of me is offended. I can handle this. I’ve done it before. "Please know that you can come to me anytime, if you have any questions or if you change your mind."

I nod, but I know Emmy knows full well I'm not planning on asking anything.

"Do you understand why I want you to meet the principal first?"

I nod slowly. In my view, it's more for Emmy than for me, but alas, she seems insistent, so I'll tag along. It's better to be cooperative. It always is.

"Very well. Let's go then. Perhaps we can arrange that you won't have to introduce yourself in front of the class." Emmy says by way of joke, but then she sees my hopeful face and laughs. "I'll tell him. Any other things?"

I shake my head, biting my lip again. I still have one big sorrow, but I don't know how to voice it. I'll deal with it when it comes, I guess
.
Emmy leads me to her Tesla, and I look out the window as we drive, still amazed at how green everything looks around here. I try to keep my worries at bay and take on a distant demeanor, knowing full well that if I panic today, Emmy will never let me go to school.

"Just so you know," Emmy interrupts my thinking as we pull up in the parking lot of the school, "I won't blame you or think badly of you if you decide after today that you don't want this. It's okay if you're not ready. Just let me know and we'll arrange home schooling, online schooling, or you can just relax for a while longer. No consequences, okay Cassia?"

I nod at her words, but I know that I can do this. I’m anxious, but confident in my ability to dissociate. I never thought that would be a good trait to have.

Go figure.

Emmy nods back at me, her eyes looking searchingly into mine as ever, and exits the car. "Alrighty then–Let's go."

The lot is as good as deserted and considering the hour I'm guessing a new period has just started. Emmy guides me inside the main building of the school, walking purposefully through the empty hallways. Following her, looking around and taking in my surroundings. It's just like any other school, except perhaps smaller. The same type of dusty floors, blank walls, dull light. Nothing special.

We stop at the administration office and Emmy steps in without knocking, holding the door open for me.

"Mrs. James," the woman behind the desk greets her. She's middle aged with a round face and looks up over her half-moon glasses. "You are here for your eleven o'clock appointment?"

"Yes," Emmy nods.

"The principal and vice principal will be ready momentarily. Take a seat."

Emmy steps back from the counter, then turns to me. "All well?"

I nod, although I must say I'm more tense than I'd like.

"You sure?"

I do a double take at Emmy and a smile twitches at the corner of my mouth. She's right, of course, I’m not sure, but I’m nothing if not stubborn. She smiles in return. "Remember, you're the one in charge here. If at any moment in time you decide you don't want this, just let me know."

I nod at her. I really hope I will be able to pull this off. I don't like to have to give up on things and it would be nasty if it turned out I couldn't handle it, when I have asked for this myself.

No. I can do this. I will have to.

Just as I finish that thought, the receptionist looks up at us. "Mr. Beck and Mr. Greene will see you now."

Emmy turns to me. "Are you ready?"

No.

Let's do this.

She opens the door for me and lets me walk into the principal's office first. Mr. Beck, the one I see to be the principal, is sitting behind a big desk. He’s middle aged-a bit younger than Emmy maybe—and has a kind smile to go along with his fine set features. Mr. Greene on the other hand, is already standing as we enter, tugging on his ill-fitting jacket. He's also middle-aged, balding. I shy away from him instantly, hesitating just past the doorway and waiting for Emmy to come into the room with us.

"Mr. Beck, Mr. Greene, thank you for seeing us. How are you both? It’s been some time since I was in here last—thank god." She says, warmly, walking forward with a hand outstretched in greeting.

I believe I get to see some true James charm in action here.

Both men extend their hands in return, Mr. Beck laughing slightly at her joke, and Mr. Greene looking somewhat grim. Mr. Beck sits and smiles at me with a small wave, but Mr. Greene reaches out to shake my hand as well, but I'm still against the back wall and as I don't come closer, his hand hangs suspended in mid-air for a moment until he frowns, clears his throat, tugs on his jacket again, and gestures to the two chairs in front of the desk.

"Have a seat, ladies."

Emmy shucks her coat and sits, then turns in her chair. "Come join us, Cassia." Her look is almost pleading, and I know that if I want to be able to try school, I will have to go and sit down in that chair and face this meeting.

I told myself I would do it, so I will do it dammit. Pull yourself together, Cassia.

Clenching my jaws, I undo the buttons on my coat and sit down next to Emmy. I want to hide my tension, but I know it must be rolling off me in waves. It's like everything depends on this meeting. Both Emmy and Nick have told me repeatedly that they won't mind if I decide to not go through with this, but I'm not so sure. That's also, apart still from the fact of how disappointed I would be in myself if I wasn't strong enough to pull this off.

"So," Mr. Beck starts, "It’s nice to meet you, Miss Cassia Sinclair."

I wince at the sound of my full name — I can't help it. Emmy notices, and comes to my aid.

"Just Cassia."

"Cassia," Mr. Beck repeats. "Very well, Cassia. My apologies. I try to have a close relationship with my students. Makes everything a bit easier and trustworthy. It’s important that we all feel safe here.” He’s speaking softly and I get the impression that he knows about my situation already. I cut a glance to Emmy and she looks a bit smug.

How the hell do I thank her for this?

“You want to go to school here?" Mr. Greene on the other hand–He looks at me now, his expression blank, uninterested.

I look at Emmy quickly, taking in her encouraging smile, and then nod. My hands are twisting in my lap.

“Excellent!” Mr. Beck smiles widely again, folding his hands on his desk. “We’d—"

Mr. Greene sighs, interrupting. "But she doesn't speak." His words are directed at Emmy now.

"She doesn't," She says calmly. "But she communicates quite effectively."

Mr. Greene's eyes flick over to me before he looks at Emmy again. Mr. Beck does the same, but I can tell that he looks more curious than annoyed. "Really?" It doesn't even sound like a question.

"Really," She repeats, undisturbed. "She went to school in Los Angeles and that went perfectly well, as you can see in her school file. Cassia doesn't need any special care." She continues when she looks at me, and I realize she refers to my note from earlier. "All there is to it, as that she likes to be left to do things on her own. You just need to take into consideration that she doesn't speak, and I can assure you that this does not have to pose any problem."

“Ah! She’s independent. That’s hardly a problem. I can see from your testing scores along with your grades that Mrs. James—Emmy—is quite right.” Mr. Beck speaks to me this time and I nod slightly. What he said was correct, no need to be silent about that.

"Mrs. James, I have a hard time believing that. How do you know her muteness not plain stubbornness?" Mr. Greene is unimpressed, and I think he does what I've encountered often before —by trying to irk me indirectly he wants to get me to say something.

“Robert—” Mr. Beck starts, looking peeved. I get the sense that they have already talked about this at length before Emmy and I arrived. He gestures to a file on his desk, containing my school documents. I wonder idly, how much else is in there. I frown. God, must the entire world know about my life?

"It's not." How Emmy keeps her patience, I'll never know. I would have left already.

Mr. Greene exhales slowly, hiding his annoyance behind a professional mask. "What do you expect of us?"

Emmy speaks as Mr. Greene asks some questions. I listen as I look at my hands, carefully keeping my emotions numb. Mr. Beck seems to agree with Emmy and I, although he is concerned about the effect my presence would have on other students and how his staff would react to someone who’s mute.

It’s understandable really.

"It's really not much, Mr. Greene. Cassia is very bright, you've seen her grades from her school in Los Angeles. She just wants to be able to finish schooling as a normal teenager."

Normal. God, what a word.

"What makes you think we can offer Cassia all she needs?" Mr. Greene fires back.

For once, Emmy is taken aback. "Needs?"

"I think what Robert means here, Emmy is that he thinks my teachers won't have time to pay extra attention to her, to treat her differently." Mr. Beck says, again stepping in to be a buffer between Emmy and Mr. Greene.

"But she doesn't want to be treated differently," Emmy argues calmly. She seems very convinced of her point. She even arches a brow at the two men.

"Then you tell me how you think she will participate in a class without speaking. I'm sorry Mrs. James, but I'm afraid we won't be able to accommodate Cassia here." Mr. Greene has made his decision it seems.

I frown severely. Mr. Beck holds up his hands. “Wait a moment, this decision is up to me and Cassia in the end here. I won’t make a decision based on prejudice.”

"She participates in our family just fine," Emmy says, somewhat ignoring Mr. Beck to stand up to the other man. "Mr. Greene, I don't think I understand you. We all talked about this on the phone and then you were willing to cooperate."

"Yes, Mrs. James, but that was before I knew the scope of her needs. Surely, a girl this traumatized would be better off when home schooled?" He rubs his face, exasperated.

There it is again. Traumatized. I can't make any sense of that concept. I almost think he’s talking about someone else.

Mr. Greene continues talking. "Or perhaps a more specialized school? I really do feel that her not talking can become a problem."

"I can assure you it won't," Emmy says. "Her not speaking has never been a problem ever since she arrived with us. Cassia has asked repeatedly to go to school, and I really do believe it would do her good to do so. She loves to study, it's what makes her happy. She can take care of herself. Besides, there are two other children in this school who know her too and who can help her should that be needed."

She's referring to Declan and Iona. Would they really help me?

Mr. Greene hesitates and Mr. Beck pounces.

"Now that we’ve calmed,” A pointed comment to Mr. Greene. “I personally, don’t see much of an issue here. Cassia is no different than one of our shier students. There will be a learning curve, yes, as our teachers adjust to having a student that doesn’t speak at all. But it is not like she has any behavior issues or any other challenges. As you stated, Emmy, Cassia is extraordinarily bright. My main concern is that she will be bored here! But, I digress, why don't we ask Cassia what she wants?"

The principal blinks, then looks at me with another kind smile. "Do you really want to go to school here?"

I nod, carefully, but eventually with more gumption. It’s easier to speak with him than the other man.

"And you think you can manage it? Because honestly, Cassia, I don’t think you need someone to hold your hand. Am I right?"

I shake my head as he talks, hoping to make clear this is not the case. The only thing I want is that teachers won't let me answer questions in class. But surely, back in Los Angeles it all worked out just fine. I really don't understand why this meeting is needed.

I look at Emmy, frowning, wiggling my fingers at her, hoping she understands my meaning. I wouldn't put it past her anymore. She can practically read my mind.

Interpreting my searching look right, Emmy turns to face me more, smiling that she is ready.

If I wasn't so wired up, I'd smile too.

I want this. I won't be any trouble. I don't need anything special. Promise. It’ll be like I’m not even here.

Emmy translates my signs, although she leaves out the last part with a cutting look at me. She didn’t like that statement apparently. She prefers I not get ignored.

The men both look surprised. What, did they think I couldn't communicate at all?

"See?" Emmy says, proud. "Cassia can communicate excellently. Now I know that not all—perhaps none—of the teachers here can use ASL, but it’s not like Cassia cannot write." She finishes off her sentence with another eyebrow arch. There is faint annoyance there.

"So it seems. So, you just write things down when you want to say anything?" Mr. Greene asks me directly, finally addressing me.

I nod.

"And this works for you?"

I nod again.

“So, you will cooperate in communication when asked to?" Mr. Beck is already convinced, I’m sure by his expression, but he’s asking for his colleague’s sake. Everyone in the room seems to be annoyed with him.

I nod. No need to tell him I only answer questions that are worth answering.

"And my teachers won't have to learn to read sign language?" Mr. Greene again. For a moment I'm appalled at his question. I wouldn’t force anyone to do anything. Besides, ASL was just something I picked up. I shake my head, with conviction this time.

"Very well," Mr. Greene exhales, and Emmy looks at me with a victorious smile on her face. I smile widely this time. Basking in my win.

Thank god.

Mr. Beck excuses Mr. Greene from his office and I am instantly more comfortable. Something about the principle reminds me of Chief Andrews, which puts me at ease.

For the next hour, we talk about school schedule, school rules, code of conduct. Mr. Beck asks what I need, how teachers should approach me. Emmy explains that I'll do fine in written tests, and that teachers should not ask me questions in class.

I kind of tune out, since Emmy and I already discussed my class preferences and such before arriving. She answers all the questions for me, and I am absurdly grateful. That is until—

“So, Miss Cassia, one last thing. You have enough academic credits, but it looks like we are lacking a little in the visual performance arts.” Mr. Beck looks up at me as he shuffles papers around on his desk. I blink, wondering where he is going with this. I’m about to tell Emmy to tell him just to stick me in an art class when he speaks again. “I see that you were in orchestra in your school in Los Angeles. Ah- second chair violin? I'm not sure If I got that right–”

My stomach plummets. Oh shit. Emmy whips her head around to look at me in surprise. Mr. beck doesn’t seem to notice and plows on. “Now we don’t have much of an orchestra here at Willow Hills, because we’re just too small unfortunately, but! As luck would have it, we specifically teach four instruments here, violin included. But uh—well, I’d like to stick you in the highest level we can offer, since you’ve been playing for so long, it may be boring for you, but it’ll get those credits we want.”

I’m staring, not sure what to do or how to react right now. Emmy is looking from me to Mr. Beck and back again.

“Violin?” She asks softly.

Mr. Beck, damn him, has no idea what he just did. “Yes! According to the record here, Cassia has been playing since she was practically in kindergarten. There’s even a note from her last teacher saying that it would be ridiculous for her to stop playing because she’s a natural.”

Oh. My. God. Stop talking!

Emmy looks at me and I really don’t have the courage to face her. “We had no idea.” Her voice is still soft and lovely, but is she mad under all that? Will she punish me for keeping such a secret? I just wanted one thing that was still my own. Shit, I’m so stupid to think that there would be no record of my playing somewhere in my files.

My fingers are knotting and shaking in my lap, I can’t meet wither of their eyes. I want to play, but I don’t want it taken from me.

“Cassia?” Emmy asks, leaning into my line of sight. “Sweetie, I think you should take the class. If it makes you happy you should keep playing, of course.”
She’s sincere.

I am able to stare at her now, my mouth open in shock. Wait—really? I can play?

“Of course, silly! Why not?” Emmy laughs, waving a hand to Mr. Beck and he quickly types it into his computer.

Without thinking, my hand flashes out to grasp Emmy’s free hand in her lap. She looks at me completely lost for words, but I squeeze it gently in thanks. What a gift. How do I make this up to her? I’m smiling hugely, not a speck of anxiety or stress in me. I get to play my violin, but more importantly—I don’t have to hide it.

I’m free.

Emmy turns her hand over in my grip, gently threading her fingers through mine, she’s not looking, actually speaking to Mr. Beck again about some kind of concert that the school puts on at the end of the year, but I can tell that she is very aware of what she is doing.

She’s holding my hand.

I’m letting her.

I’m holding her hand.

She’s letting me.

I feel very warm indeed.