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

Started November 30, 2018 by Deleted user

tune

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The shower felt excellent. The heat of the water soothed some of the aches and pains that are still healing and helped me relax a little. I'm so warm now, and some of my stress has washed away, enough that my eyes feel a little heavy. Before sleep though, I should eat and finally have my much-needed pain medication, but that requires me to go back downstairs. I dismiss the thought as I yank a brush through my towel dried hair and produce a long shawl out of my suitcase, which I wrap around my neck four times.

I look again at Jackie’s quilt. It means so much to me to have something of her with me here. Makes me feel like I wasn't just a patient of hers. The weird part is that I have never really told her about anything that happened with either Peter or William. She knew though, she just never forced me to talk about it. I often slept during our hour of therapy. Blissful, undisturbed sleep, and almost free of nightmares. She never minded.

She took me to the hospital the night I came to her and made me take the rape kit. Horrible, horrible experience. Wholly unnecessary, if you asked me. I shiver when I think back to that. Jackie never judged me, but she got through to me somehow. She never pushed me into anything, but she was always there. I can only be grateful for the way she had always treated me because she didn't treat me like a patient and I did not regard her as a therapist. Maybe I should e-mail her, but that means using words. Words I don’t have right now. Maybe I shouldn't e-mail her. She'd understand. Or not. She's not my therapist anymore. The realization nags at my heart.

I'm horrified when I think about the fact that I will have to go to a new therapist here, soon. I don't see why I should, but if Emmy and Nick want me to, I'll have to. I sigh. So much of my life is out of my hands, it’s frustrating.

But for now, I'll have to face my new family again. I take a deep breath, count to ten to gather some guts, and leave the room to go downstairs.

I find Emmy in the living room. Nick is building a fire in the hearth and he greets me with a smile when I cautiously step into the room. Josh is sitting next to Iona on the couch and he looks at me carefully. He doesn't move when he greets me. "Hi Cassia." It's almost a whisper. "I am so sorry I scared you earlier."

I look at him, torn between acknowledging his apology or staying scared of this person. "I'm Josh," he continues, although I know that already, of course. "Um, I'm eighteen and Iona’s boyfriend." I nod once. I know this already, as well.

"Cassia?" Emmy asks softly. "You need to eat something, and take your pills?" Her statement forms into a question. Things like this must be in my file, I'm sure. Is she really trying to accommodate me? I can fend for myself, they don't need to inconvenience themselves for me.

I nod hesitantly. It seems all I can do today is nodding. My fingers suddenly itch to sign, but I clamp my hands shut. Better to be saved from embarrassment.

Emmy leads the way to the kitchen. It's the biggest and most beautiful kitchen I have ever seen. We passed it when I got a tour of the house. Apparently, Iona didn't find it important enough to show me. I look around, shocked. Emmy laughs a little. "Do you like it? Here, let me show you around so you feel at home. My kitchen is your kitchen, capiche? You can take whatever you need, whenever you need it. Just nose around and find your way, okay?"

I nod, my eyes still big as I take in this showroom of a kitchen. The counter alone must be over eight feet long, and a big cooking island is situated in the center of the kitchen. A breakfast bar is attached to the counter, with two bar stools underneath it.

Emmy digs into the fridge and holds out two tiny packets of food. "Which one?" she asks. This time, I shrug because it's astronaut food and it's vile, no matter what flavor it comes in. Unfortunately, I can't swallow anything solid still. Swallowing hurts like hell, period, so I'd rather do that as little as possible. Lucky me, I get to drink these tiny containers of high-energy, high-protein, highly disgusting tasting foodstuffs and I can survive. I should take at least four a day as well as other food that can be consumed in fluid form. Today I've had one so far and it's 6 pm. No wonder I’ve lost so much weight. Surviving apparently, isn’t so easy for me.

Emmy is still looking at me, so I point at the packet that says 'chocolate-orange flavor,' and she puts it down on the counter for me. Then she proceeds to let my pain pills dissolve in a glass of water, so I can take those too. The kicker is that I cannot take them without food in my system first, so I'll have to drink the dreadful food before I can take my meds. The sludge is it's easier to swallow after the meds have kicked in. I frown. Gross.

Iona and Josh bound into the kitchen just as I’m reaching for the carton. They appear so suddenly that I’m startled into a frozen state. They’re closely followed by Nick who looked like he had been trying to stop the couple from walking in. Iona is speaking quietly to Josh and is reaching for the handle of the fridge before she notices that her aunt and I are standing on the other side of the island. “Oh!” she starts, her eyes darting between Emmy and I. Josh looks on apologetically, his hand reaching up to tug on his hair at the back of his neck. Emmy casually breaks the tension by picking up the carton with fluid food from the bar and placing it on the table before me. "You are going to eat now, before you pass out," she says softly, but firmly, fixing me in place with her eyes. Then she steps back, giving me the chance to come forward and pick up the container. There’s no running now.

"What is that?" Iona asks.

"It's Cassia’s food. Now scoot," Emmy scolds her, and Iona reluctantly moves away from the kitchen, tugging Josh along with her, muttering about dinner. Nick remains where he is, and he looks at me inquiringly. "You okay?" he asks softly. I know he doesn't mean that in general. He means right here, right now. In this very moment I think I am. So, I nod, twice for good measure, but still frowning a little. He smiles back at me and then leaves the kitchen again.

Emmy notices soon enough that I won't touch my food as long as she is looking at me, so she turns and gets herself busy in the kitchen. "I thought I'd order some pizza tonight, to celebrate your arrival," she says, still with her back to me. "I know you won't be able to eat it with us, but the twins and Josh, for that matter, really love pizza."

Celebrate?

Emmy babbles away, busying herself with something on the counter. "You have to know that we do not mind that you left the house earlier. It's very understandable that all has been very overwhelming to you so far today. We're happy that you came back. It must have been quite cold outside.” She pauses and looks up at me with a dazzlingly warm smile “I think you are doing great, do you know that?" No false words of comfort. Just plainly stating things. I like that. She's not pitying me.

I listen to her and watch while she works. She's not looking at me, but I cannot see what she is doing. Okay, this is not good either. I want to see her hands. Carefully, I move around the table, with my package of food, and walk around to the breakfast bar. While standing there, I can survey the entire kitchen, and see Emmy's hands. Yes, that'll do. I ponder over her words as I put the straw in the carton and start to drink.

Gah. Gross. I cannot suppress a violent shudder as the awful taste hits my tongue. I swallow with effort, both for the pain and for the taste and texture of the goo that's lying in my mouth. I silently click my tongue in displeasure.

Emmy notices my actions eyeing me stealthily. I lower the package from my mouth. "Is it that horrible?" she asks sympathetically. The corner of my mouth twitches into a smile, and her eyes light up as she sees it. I nod now, still with my half-smile because it is that horrible.

"I'm so sorry for you," she says. "What do you say we go to the supermarket tomorrow and find some nice things for you to eat? I can make you smoothies that can replace at least some of these. Declan had this phase where all he drank were protein smoothies, so I developed quite a knack for making them taste good. " She winks with a mischievous smile and points at the carton that I have put down again on the counter. "Please, drink. I'm sorry I interrupted you." She goes back to cleaning the clean counter again.

I can’t help that my smile turns into a grimace as I take a deep breath and suck in three big gulps of the should-taste-like-chocolate-and-orange drink. I almost gag but manage to keep it down. When the package is reasonably empty, I start to look around for a garbage can. Emmy looks up and gently takes the package from me, so I'm not startled. I can tell she knows it's still filled at least a third of the way, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she gives me the glass of water with my pain meds in it. This doesn't taste any better and it’s chalky, but at least it fulfills a welcome purpose, so I drink it down without a second thought. Then I hesitantly look at the fridge. Drinking a little has made me aware of how thirsty I truly am.

Emmy notices — is there anything she doesn't see? I feel like I’m getting x-rayed constantly — and she opens the fridge for me, gesturing that I can choose for myself what I want, and take it when I want it. I nod, indicating I understand, and peek into the giant fridge. I would kill for some orange juice, but as it is, I think the orange juice would kill me. Citrus tends to burn in raw throats. I settle for milk. It's nice and cold and soothes my sore throat a little. When I'm done, I shuffle to the sink to rinse my glass.

"We have a dish washer, Cassia," Emmy points out gently.

Oh. Would that mean I don't have to do the dishes three times a day? I place my glass in the spacious dishwasher and step back. I'm not so sure what to do now.

"Why don't you peek into the cabinets? Please, I want you to." Her request is almost pleading.

Wow, okay. Tentatively, I pull open the big drawers underneath the cooking island, a big delighted smile breaks through on my face. I can't help myself. There are cooking utensils that would make your average chef jealous. I bite my lip, in awe this time, as I take in the possibilities. Forgetting everything for the moment, I take a second look at the stove, noticing that yes, it works on gas. Then I saunter over to the oven and marvel at this high-tech piece of art.

"You like to cook?" she asks hopefully. I look at her and my face falls. I'm wary now. Yes, I like to cook, but does that mean I will have to make dinner from now on? Not that I’d mind, I just don’t want to disappoint anyone. I'm sure Emmy sees my expression change.

"Maybe we could cook something together someday? I really love to cook, too." She hesitates, and then adds with a gleam in her eyes, "With that said, I'm not going to let you cook every night, if you were hoping for that." She winks at me.

She winks at me.

I'm confused, but for the first time, in a positive way. Did she really just make a joke to take away my fear? I cock my head at her and notice her expectant look. Then I smile at her, but with an incredulous look in my eyes still. It's a careful smile, but it's a smile. Did I really interpret her comment right? How did she know I was afraid I would have to cook every day? Not that I couldn't, or wouldn't, but still? Was that in my file? And does it really mean I'm not required to cook every dinner?

Emmy doesn't elaborate, but smiles radiantly back at me, her eyes alight with a happy glow. The itch to sign at her gets obnoxiously strong. Deep down in the pit of my stomach, a tiny knot separates itself from the big tangled mess of anxiety, unties gently and slides away.

An hour later, we're all in the living room. I am nervous to be in a room with so many others, but I don't dare to excuse myself and retreat to the room I've been given. Although I have not been asked directly, they have made known that they want me in here, and I think it is best to do everything they say. I don't want to mess up again.

The TV is on, some show about funny home videos. I'm sitting in the only chair. Josh and Iona are lounging in one corner of the large, U-formed couch, Emmy and Nick occupy the other corner.

If there is a God, he has a wicked sense of humor.

They are all talking off and on or laughing at what they see on the TV. A cozy fire is crackling in the hearth. It gives the room a very homey feeling, but the atmosphere stays a little tense, formal. It's because I am in the room. I know that. I’m like a dark cloud that is raining on everyone’s happy little parade. I frown.

On the coffee table sit boxes with half eaten pizzas. Everyone else is still munching on them. I haven't even tried. A week from now, I can try to eat solid food again, but the smell of the pizzas makes my mouth water. For the first time in a long while, my stomach lets out a yowl of hunger. Mortified, I clench my arm around my middle and feel the blush creep across my cheeks.

Of course, Emmy hears it – how could anyone not - and she softly says my name to get my attention. "Would you like to eat something?"

Well, no, unless it's this pizza. I'm guessing it will lose its appeal if I put it in a blender.

"You're not eating pizza?" Iona asks. For all her observance I would have thought she'd have noticed that by now. I find like her energy, so I shake my head in response.

"Why not?

Did I say I liked her? Because maybe now I kind of don't.

"I thought we agreed that we would not bother Cassia with too many questions?" Emmy asks calmly, saving me.

Iona looks at Emmy, then back at me. "I know, but I'm just curious. I want to get to know you," she smiles at me sweetly. At this, I know I must look a little worried. I'm not worth getting to know. Seriously, I'm not special at all. I certainly don't feel like explaining why I can't eat solid food. Besides, a week from now I'll be good, or so I was told back in Los Angeles, so it won’t be an issue anymore. Unfortunately, it’ll become a bigger problem when they learn I rather not eat with others around me. It will raise questions, and I don't like the prospect of that. I vaguely wonder how weird it must seem to Emmy that cooking makes my life worth living, while I make such a fuss about eating.

Well, everyone should have a quirk, no?

I tear myself from my musings as I realize that Iona is still looking at me. My hands go to my neck in a gesture of insecurity almost automatically and I look back at her, not sure what to do. My fingers twitch begging to sign out something. She looks like a thousand questions are boiling on her tongue, but she doesn't speak up. She frowns a little with the effort of containing her curiosity. How to tell her that she need not take the effort? I'm a horrible person and I know she'll not be as nice to me anymore when she knows about my past. Iona holds my gaze and once again I feel distinctly as though she is looking right through me. It's my turn to frown now and I look away, uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze.

"How about we all have ice cream for dessert?" Nick then offers inconsequently, to lift some of the sudden tension in the room, I suppose.

Ooh, ice cream. Yes, please. Can I? I mean, should I? Or may I…I'm lost.

"I wish Declan would come home, so he can eat, and we can finish dinner," Emmy says then crossing her arms, effectively interrupting my spiral of thoughts.

"Oh, didn't I tell you, auntie? Declan is staying at Lola’s for dinner. I don't think he'll be home soon," Iona answers.

"That is just rude of him," Emmy huffs.

I search my mind for a face that would go with the name Declan. I attempt to recall the last face in the picture that Jackie showed me, but I’m having a difficult time. I do recall thinking him being the most handsome of them all. What an odd thought.

"It is," Nick states.
"I will have a word with him about that when he gets home."

"Nick," Emmy warns softly, but it's too late.

My head snaps up and I tense up, my arms are wrapped around myself in an instant. My eyes must be big with fear, because I notice the shocked reaction of the others in the room. Shit, I couldn’t even help myself this time. Its instantaneous.

"No, no, not like that!" Nick hastens to clarify. "Never like that, Cassia. Oh, please, do not think like that."

He remains seating. His arm is outstretched to me, but he doesn't approach me. I don't know what to do. He doesn’t mean to punish him? How is that…possible?

From the corner of my eye, I see Iona getting up. "I'm for ice cream," she announces pointedly. "I'll make it in the kitchen. With Josh."

He gets her signal and follows her tensely out of the room without complaint, taking the pizza boxes with them as they go. This freaks me out. Why are they leaving me here? I look back at Emmy and Nick and realize I'm getting dizzy again because I'm not breathing. Again, Emmy reminds me kindly that I should.

I breathe in. Too fast, too deep. My head spins. What do they want?

Nick looks at me before he speaks, to make sure he has my full attention. He looks a bit uncomfortable and smiles a bit awkwardly as Emmy shifts beside him and holds his hand in her lap. "Cassia, I want you to understand this, so I am going to be direct."

I tense up. This is it. This is my third hell. I knew it. I knew—

"We do not… beat… our niece and nephew.” He pauses to make sure I’ve heard this. My eyes, if possible, get wider. “We will not hurt you. We do not use any type of violence. We are not abusive in any way. I understand that it will take you a long time to learn to trust us. We can only hope that you will see that we would never, ever hurt you in any way."

I look at Nick, completely stunned. I blink once to clear my head. Such promises are easy to make, aren't they?

"I guess only time will heal your wounds," he continues. "But we want to help you to build a life where you are comfortable in your own skin and know yourself surrounded with people that care about you."

"We care about you," Emmy adds then, choosing her words carefully. "We'll have to do this together. So, you'll tell us what you are comfortable with, and we'll guide you along the way. Is that okay?"

Something about her words hits me right there where it hurts the most. She's placing the ball in my court. She's effectively saying that they want me to take the lead. I am confused. Nobody has ever asked me what I wanted, except for Jackie, but she got paid for that. I will need a week to think through all that has happened today. I’m overwhelmed. But the fact remains, that I ran away today and I'm still waiting for the price I'll have to pay for that.

"Is there anything you want to say?" Nick asks. "Shall I get a laptop or something, so you can talk?"

I shake my head. Although modern communication methods should allow me to babble constantly, I'm not much of a talker. Never been. I think about signing again. Surely it was in my file that I sign, Jackie knew, so why hasn’t anyone mentioned it yet?

"So, we're good?" he asks.

We? Um, yes? I nod hesitantly and give a tiny smile.

As if on cue, Iona trails back into the room, holding a tray with five giant cups with ice cream, whipped topping, sprinkles and all. She places them on the table and everyone settles to dive in. I look longingly at the ice cream, but I can't move.

Emmy notices. Jesus woman…

She gets up, picks up my cup, and takes it with hers into the kitchen. While she walks, she turns to me and with a very sweet smile and a nod invites me to follow her. To my own amazement, I do. This is dangerous. I'm starting to hope. Behind me, I can feel three pairs of eyes on my back.
In the kitchen, Emmy gestures for me to have a seat at the dining table. Involuntarily, I raise one eyebrow at her. I remain standing behind the chair where she has put my ice-cream on the table. I grip the back of the chair for support and to refrain from signing.

"Did you know this is a real antique?" she asks gently, while sitting diagonally across me. She rubs the table lovingly. "It was a gift from Nick for our ten-year anniversary. I'm fond of antiques. Most of the old stuff in this house is mine. The newer looking stuff I made." She winks at her last comment.

I don't know what to do. I'm not good at making conversation. I never had to make conversation. What does she expect from me? Does she want me to sit down with her? I don't want to eat with her looking at me. I don't want to eat while sitting down, either. Emmy notices my hesitation and deliberately spoons up some ice cream. Her eyes close in delight as she takes a bite. "This is absolutely delicious. It should be, I made it myself." She looks back up at me with a cheeky grin. "Will you not sit down?"

Although it is not a direct order, my body reacts on automatic pilot and I sit down, albeit hesitantly. I sit straight-backed, tense. I hide my hands under the table, as I cannot stop wringing them. This feels wrong in countless ways. My instinct is on red alert and begs me to get on my feet again. It's taking all my might to not move and give in to my urge to run.

"Do you think you could eat something with me sitting here?" Emmy asks when I don't move. "I can go and do something else if you want me to. I would really like it if you'd try to eat some ice cream."

I look at her, frowning a little I think. I do not want to inconvenience her in any way. It bothers me that she should get up and do something else to let me eat, while her own ice cream is melting away. It's my quirk that I cannot eat with others around, that should not be her problem.
Seconds tick by as we look at each other. Feels like hours, but it's not a tense silence from her side. I think not, at least. I hope not, either. Could I try to eat?

"Cassia," Emmy finally says quietly. It's almost a whisper. "You have to help me out here. I want to make you as comfortable as possible. We didn't get a manual with you." It's not an accusation. It's an apology.

Ha. A manual. As if she would want to get to know me. I'd like to be one of this family, though. They seem…nice. I’ve never known nice in my life. A second look at her face tells me she's serious. Why would she want to know me? She read my file, didn't she? I'm really surprised she'd even want to take me in.

"You'll have to work with us a little," she pleads, interrupting my train of thought. She means it. She is so sweet. So warm. I have not seen a hint of malice in her so far. It unsettles me more than I dare to admit, but I realize that I want to. Work with them, I mean. A little. I've been here for mere hours and my walls are crumbling down. This scares me out of my wits, frankly. I must be careful. Hope is such a dangerous thing. I'm so scared that all this will be a ruse, and that I'll wake up tomorrow only to realize it's all been a dream. I've met more kindness today than I have in my whole life, apart from the two wonderful weeks I have spent with Jackie. I sigh deeply and grit my teeth against the anxiety that just won't leave my body. I am waiting for that other shoe to drop. Already.

"Can you try to take a bite?" she nods at my ice cream, which is starting to melt a little. "I'd be offended if you didn't."

Her voice is playful, and her eyes smile when she speaks, but somehow my body responds to the non-existing threat and I lift my spoon. My other hand is under the table, nails biting in my palm so hard I'm sure there will be blood later. Emmy suddenly is focused intently on her own cup, and she leaves me be as I gingerly lift a spoonful of ice cream to my mouth.

I'm doing it. Holy fuck, I'm doing it. I clench my hidden hand harder.

The ice cream feels cold and sweet and soft against my tongue. If I could have made any sound, I would have moaned in appreciation. This. Is. Excellent. The cool of the ice cream soothes my throat better than any painkiller could do. Before I have time to over think it, I take a second spoonful. And another. And another.

Emmy doesn't look at me, but I know she knows what I'm doing. I'm eating. I wonder if she knows it has been years since I last sat down to eat with another person present in the room.

Back in the living room, my stomach almost painfully full of the most delicious ice cream I've had in my whole life, I look at the empty cups the others have set on the table. I go to collect them and bring them to the kitchen, but Emmy will have nothing of it. "That's my job," she states, and then she gestures for me to take my seat again in the big chair. I sit down, a bit tensely, as I uselessly watch how Emmy brings the dirty dishes into the kitchen. Only when she is done do I finally sit back in the chair again. It's amazingly soft, and my head fits just right in the corner of the headrest. I'm still alert, but my body is getting tired and I allow myself to get comfortable. I'm kind of cold, though, but I do not dare to ask for anything warm. Maybe my sweater is dry again. Emmy had put it in the dryer for me.

"Did you like the ice cream?" Nick asks.

I nod and cannot help a tiny smile.

"It's dangerously delectable, I know," he grins. "Glad to know that you're not immune to it either. Emmy rarely makes it though. I thought I should warn you for that before you get really addicted to it."

"Today was a special occasion," Emmy tells me, smiling. "But if I'd make it every time you wanted it, you'd be having to get through the doors sideways," she laughs and the others in the room chuckle at her joke.

"I'd happily work out more often if that'd mean I'd get more of your ice cream, Auntie," Josh states. Hmmm. Seems that everyone calls them Auntie and Uncle.

"Oh, if you work out more than you do already you will have to go through the door sideways, your back is getting so broad," Nick retorts.

"Ah, do I sense some jealousy?" Josh sits up and leans forward to look at Nick with a wide grin on his face.

"Nu-huh. I like it that people are not naturally afraid of me." Nick’s eyes flick to me as he says this, but he looks away again swiftly.

"I like him this way," Iona says as her hand wraps around Josh’s shoulders which are, in my humble opinion, broader than average by far.

"Of course, you would say that. That's why he loves you," Nick teases.

Iona and Josh both snort at this comment. "I'm not even going to react to that," Iona says, smiling.

Nick grins. "And by that, you just did. But no worries, lil darling. I'm sure your fascination with fashion is high on his love-list as well."

Josh rolls his eyes but doesn't reply. Nor does Iona. She just snuggles closer to him and focuses on the TV again. I look away.

This is new for me. Were they teasing each other? There was no enmity in the room, no tension. This was easy conversation, as far as I could tell. I feel like I've been watching a show. I know nothing about sibling relationships. Heather and Chris never spoke to me, and the few words they exchanged with each other varied between 'idiot', 'bitch', and 'fuck off.' Not very inspirational conversation. I'd rather they shouted than fought, because when they fought William would step in swiftly and put an end to it. Although I was rarely involved in those fights, I always ended up getting a beating too.

I snap the rubber band at my wrist even before some memory can enter my head. I rub the painful skin a little — the bruises are getting ridiculous now — and then pull the sleeves of my long sleeve over my hands.

I'm really getting cold now. Must be my fatigue, on top of my thin clothes. That's going to pose a problem, I think, as I have means nor money to buy new, warm clothing. As it would appear, winter, is actually a season here in New York.

"Are you cold?" Iona’s sweet voice sounds then. She doesn't sound piqued at all after her uncle’s comments. I shiver and nod at her. I am cold.

"Do you have another sweater than the one you were wearing today?" Emmy asks carefully, as if not wanting to upset me. I shake my head, embarrassed — no. I look away from them now. I don’t know how to tell them that I have nothing, come from nothing, am nothing.

"Maybe you can go see if her sweater is dry yet?" Emmy asks Iona. "It's in the laundry room."

Iona hops up and all but dances out of the room. Josh and I both look after her. The girl has endless energy and grace.

"So, um, you really don't speak?" Josh pipes up tentatively when he notices me looking in his general direction. He looks nervous, I notice, as my eyes fly toward him.

"Josh, no need to ask such questions," Emmy scolds him. She’s practically his mother too I notice. I wonder how long he and Iona have been together for her to be so comfortable chastising him like that.

"Why not? Can't I ask that?" He looks at me again. Well I guess he comfortable enough to defy her too. This family dynamic is giving me a headache.

I shrug and move my head in a manner that tells him yes, he can ask. I wouldn't dare antagonize him, anyway. He’s just so large. Also, I want to see
how the lands lay before I start refusing to communicate. I never expected to have to actually interact with others. Even Jackie left me alone most of the time.

"So, you don't speak?"

I shake my head. No.

"Why? Because you won't, or because you can't?"

I tilt my head. Questions like this, I cannot answer of course, unless I sign. Which he won’t understand. I look at Emmy for help.

"She can't, at the moment."

"Wow, why not?"

"That is none of your business," Nick says kindly.

Before Josh can react, Iona bounces back into the room. "Your sweater wasn't dry yet, so I just took one of Declan’s. He wore it only for five minutes or so this morning, so it's clean," she assures me with a wink and a smile. Slowly, she walks towards me, her hand with the sweater outstretched.

Somehow, she seems to know exactly how to approach me. I thank her with a smile. It's my second genuine smile today — the first in days — and I see several faces lit up as they see me.

Not speaking means paying a lot of attention to body language, as I must anticipate how everyone else will move and act. I have to see what people will do, and especially how they will react to me. It can be really annoying to have to explain you cannot speak, without speaking. So, mostly I observe, and I learn. I make myself invisible as much as possible, but I notice how people regard me as well. Although that skill was born from another need, it comes in handy a lot of the time.

I take the dark blue hooded sweater from Iona and as soon as she is sitting down again, I quickly pull it over my head. I drown in it, of course, but I don't mind. As soon as the fabric glides over my face, a scent hits me that is so delicious I want to keep on inhaling to smell it. Is this Declan’s scent? Can a man smell like this? Part of me is alarmed that I'm reacting to a male scent so strongly — all things male are generally quite bad by association to me — but holy hell, I want to keep this sweater with me always.

"But if you don't speak, how do you communicate?" Josh is not done questioning me, apparently.

"So far, everything has been perfectly clear," Iona says haughtily, saving me. "We've not misunderstood you so far, have we Cassia?"

I shake my head, no. They're all very considerate, although they do not seem to notice how nervous this makes me. I do not like being the center of attention and right now everyone in the room is staring straight at me. I look down at my hands that are now comfortably buried in the sleeves of Declan’s sweater.

"Must be hard, not being able to talk," Josh muses. "But you have been able to, right? I mean… or are you mute by birth?" Everyone shoots him a quick glare and I’m startled by this. It’s an honest question. One I’ve been asked a million times. I don’t find it rude.

I shake my head, answering Josh’s question, that I have not always been silent. There was a time I did talk…

Josh raises his eyebrows at this. My goodness he’s suddenly quite bold, isn’t he? What happened to the shy guy earlier? He must be one of those people that require time to get used to new people. Like me. "So… you lost your voice for some reason, which is none of my business," he cuts Nick off, who has taken a breath to interrupt him. "How do you cope with that? I think I would lose my mind after even one day."

"Ah, but it would be such a treat for us, having you silent for an entire day," Emmy smiles, lightening the atmosphere a little. My gaze flits towards her and I dare to take a better look. She’s relaxed, her eyes are kind. She is idly playing with her hair. There’s not a single ounce of maliciousness in her form. I’m stunned… She was only joking with him.

"Ha, ha," Josh mocks at Emmy. Then he turns to me. "But, do you use something like sign language? Or a notepad to write things down? I mean, you'll have to make yourself clear sometimes, no?"

No, I don’t since you asked. But sign language? How to answer that? Especially with Emmy now looking straight at me with curiosity in her eyes. Dammit. She knows. I shake my head, frowning a little, and Nick warns Josh again to not pry me with questions that make me uncomfortable.

Josh is not done, but changes tack after a moment of silence. "Do you miss it? Your voice?"

This question does take me off guard. I’ve never been asked this question. Most people get frustrated with my silence after a while and move on. I have to remind myself that he doesn't know about me. He, like everyone else in the room, genuinely wants to know about this part of my life. His eyes are wide and innocent as he asks me this question and although I'd rather not interact with men, or people in general, at all, I feel compelled to answer this question truthfully.

I shake my head slowly, twice. No, I don't miss my voice.

I think everybody in the room is surprised at this. The shock on their faces is evident. But it's been such a long time since I last spoke, I'm so used to the silence now. I don't even remember how my voice sounds or should sound. I don't remember what it is like to talk. Besides, I really can't imagine I could ever say anything someone would possibly want to hear. The one important thing I ever had to say has brought me to where I am now. This is not really a happy place, now is it?

"Wow," Iona whispers. "You really don't miss it? But… Could you speak if you tried?"

"Iona, that's enough," Emmy says softly. "She's supposed to feel at home here, not cross-examined."

I'm grateful that Emmy saves me from this storm of questions. Iona had a valid question, though. Could I use my voice if I tried? I've never tried. Not since… well damn not since I was a child, maybe 5 or 6 years old, because I know that if I did, no sound would come out of my mouth. The thought of trying hasn't crossed my mind in a long time. I reckon it won't again for long if it's up to me.

I don't understand why everybody is so nice to me, and actually want to know things about me. If anything, I had expected hostile behavior. The kindness and patience I've encountered so far today unsettles me more than a cold welcome would have done. Coldness is something I’ve grown used to being in the system. I feel guilty. My new siblings - do I call them my siblings? This family dynamic is still wigging me out - don't know about my past. If they knew, they would not be as nice to me as they are now. I'm such a hypocrite to accept their kindness, knowing full well I do not deserve it. I frown. Why is that fact so painful now? I’m usually so indifferent to how people should feel about me. Something about this family has me wanting acceptance. I banish that thought quickly. I know that I’ll never be accepted for what I’ve done.

"So, what are all your plans for tomorrow?" Emmy asks generally to the room, to change the subject. I vaguely recall Nick telling me in the car on our way over here that they have asked the twins to go on with their usual activities as much as possible, giving me my time and space to make this my new home. I remember being grateful for that. Was that only this afternoon? Seems like a lifetime ago.

"We don't really have plans," Iona says with a tilt of her head. Her wavy hair slides over her face and she absently tucks the short strands behind her ear again. I wonder idly what it is like to be so naturally pretty. She looks like she lept out of a page of a magazine. I’m suddenly aware of my own ugliness and quickly turn my head in the direction of the windows that face outside. "…but we can go out if you like. I have to work on my history paper tomorrow, though. What are you going to do?" She finishes with a gentle smile towards her aunt. It’s obvious that she wants to join in on the plans that Emmy is brewing.

Emmy looks at me. "I was thinking that Cassia and I could go to the supermarket to get some nice things for her to eat. You can get to know the town a little," she continues, nodding at me once I meet her eyes again. "I can show you around, we can drive up to the school if you want to."

She says 'town'. She does not say 'city.' This entire suburb is smaller than my old neighborhood in Los Angeles. The school here has a student body of under 1000, I've been told. I suppress a shudder. One week from now, everybody will know my name.

I am beyond relieved that the conversation stills, and I am not submitted to another round of questions. A movie begins on the TV and they settle in to watch. Something about a Greek wedding. It's a chaotic, fast movie with slapstick jokes and lots of romance.

Certainly not my cup of tea.

But the James’ are finally done with paying attention to me and they watch the movie in silence, laughing at all the right moments. The atmosphere in the room eases gradually, as does the tension in my rigid muscles. I snuggle in the sweater and I don't know if it is because I'm finally warm, and full, with meds in my stomach, and sitting in an extremely comfortable chair, surrounded by people who are too nice to be believable, or because this heavenly, heady scent is all around me, but soon I find myself able to close my eyes. Only for a minute…
~
"I am so disappointed in you," Peter says. His voice is distant, cold. "What am I going to do with you?"

I stand before him, frozen, waiting for what I don't want to happen. My breathing is ragged, and tears spill from my eyes. A faint whooshing sound, and a flat hand that hits my face so hard my head snaps back.

"Stop crying. I hate tears."

My cheek burns like hell. With an enormous effort, I still my tears, but I know it's not over yet. It's just beginning. The hand that just hit me, now strokes my hair. I bite my lip to not cry out. I hate these tender movements so much more than the violent ones.

"Good girl. Come closer now."

No, no, no. Please, no. My body betrays me and scurries forward.

"Closer still."

Again, I inch further towards him. He's sitting on my bed; my legs are almost touching his knees now.

"Come on, closer."

I think I may have stopped breathing altogether. My head is swimming.

"Good girl. Now turn around."
~
"Cassia?" There’s a hand on my arm.

My eyes fly open and all I know is that I am trapped in a corner and someone is restraining me. I gasp for air, thoroughly upset from my dream, and very much alarmed by the situation I woke up to. I look to my left and see Nick’s face. It is his hand on my arm.

I panic. I fly out of my chair and almost fall, but I'm just able to keep myself upright. I back away to the wall, and Nick is coming towards me. I stuck in a deep breath, and another one, and another one. I'm already hyperventilating, and I can't stop myself. I am so scared and now I've run away as well, which means hell, usually. Oh god, here it comes. I want to close my eyes, so I don’t see it coming but I’m so frozen.

Trapped with my back against the wall, I find I don't have the guts or the energy anymore to try and run. I won't fight. It's useless to fight. Fighting only ever makes it so much worse. Behind Nick, I vaguely see the shocked faces of my new family, but I can no longer think straight. My mind is still in the context of my horrible dream.

My body still screams for air, so I breathe in time and time again, without really breathing out. Maybe if I just give up and get it over with, it will be less hard. Still gasping for unnecessary air, I wrap my arms around my head and let myself sink to the floor. I make myself as tiny as possible and I realize I'm rocking my body. If nothing happens or I don't calm down soon, I will pass out.

"We won't hurt you," Emmy says somewhere close by.

Air. I need Air. I claw at the shawl that is wrapped countless times around my neck. I'm suffocating, I cannot breathe…

"Cassia, I am going to remove the shawl," Emmy says softly, but firmly. Moments later, I feel hands at my neck. No, please, no. Please stop. My mind cannot differentiate between the hands that touched me in my dream to the hands that reach for me now. It’s too much. I don’t like to be touched. I can’t be touched. Please, please don’t touch me. Please… don’t hurt me.

I slap and claw at them, desperate to get those hands away from me, but the hands are strong, and I am weak in my panic. I try to get away, but I'm against the wall and I can't move. The hands untie the long piece of cloth and it unravels from my neck. When the cool air brushes the skin of my now exposed throat, I vaguely hear someone sucking in a breath with a hiss, and an "Oh, shit." Another person gasps and several pair of feet leave the room at Nick’s tense request.

But I still can't breathe, I just can't breathe… I claw at my throat now, desperate to tear away what's suffocating me. My eyes are shut tight and my throat is closing even further. Please…god just let it end…

"I want to try and count with you," Emmy offers hesitantly. "Will you count with me, Cassia? Here we go. One: you're okay… Two: you're at your new home in Rochester, New York. Three: you are here to stay with us. Four: you’re safe. Five: your breathing is becoming regular again. Six: your heart rate is slowing down…"

Jackie must have done something right, because although it feels terribly wrong to count with Emmy, it is soothing, and my body reacts, although my mind is still in a flurry. My breathing calms a little. I succeed at breathing out before I gulp in air again. My heart is still crashing out of my chest, but I'm starting to wonder how it can be that her counting works on me.

"Seven: the tension is leaving your body. Eight: your mind knows there is no threat. Nine: you are grounding again. Ten: open your eyes."

I do. I look into two extremely worried faces. They are close to me, but strangely I don't really feel threatened by them now. This is new. The counting has worked. It's like a drug to me. My limbs are heavy and all I want to do now suddenly is sleep.

No, I desperately want a hug, but I'm so scared to ask for anything, especially for love. I'd rather not know what it is, than have it and lose it. I want it, though, this force that has been absent for so long in my life. It's strange how I can crave something that I don't really know. It's like my subconscious does know what I am missing, and she's begging me for it. I push her away. I don't deserve love.

"You okay?" Nick asks softly after a while. He's sitting beside me, about three feet away. One shoulder leans against the wall as he is turned towards me. His legs are pulled up and one elbow is resting on his knee. The room is empty aside from the three of us. I vaguely remember Nick’s request for them to leave after my neck was exposed.

My breathing has slowed a little, although my heart is still going a mile a minute. I can feel the pain pulsing in my throat. I nod and swallow thickly. Those stupid panic attacks make my throat tighten up and it hurts more than usual afterwards. Gingerly, I bring my fingers upwards to touch the bruises. I've always bruised easily, and the purple hand prints on my throat have only just begun to fade. I'm guessing they all have seen the marks. I don't like that. They must know now that I've done horrible things to deserve this.

Nick slowly picks his phone out of his pocket. I eye it warily "I know it's supposed to be photographed every Sunday, but do you mind if I took the picture now? Then you won't have to tomorrow."

I nod and close my eyes against the flash of his camera phone. The bruises need to be photographed weekly, to show how badly I've been hurt. My other bruises that are remnants of the last fight I had with William, had been photographed for the last time last week. It's to collect evidence for when William’s case will serve. If his case will serve. I have not pressed charges yet. Maybe I won't. Surely, I would not have been treated this way had I been innocent of any wrongdoing. So why should he be punished?

"Thank you," Nick says as he puts his phone back into his pocket.

Emmy, who has been gone for a moment, returns with a glass of turbid water. "Pain meds," she states by way of clarification as she holds it out to me. She sits down on the ground in front of me, about two feet away, which is dangerously close, folding her legs underneath her body.

I push the thought away that it could be other drugs in the glass and take it from her. I grit my teeth and then gulp its contents down, frowning with the effort it takes to swallow. I do it as quickly as possible, nervous with both Nick and Emmy around me. My eyes never leave them as I drink, but pain meds are much needed and I'm willing to trade. I think they know what an effort this takes me, because they don't move at all and look away as I'm drinking. This is unbelievably considerate of them, I realize. What have I done to deserve this? When will they stand up and laugh and point their fingers at me, sneering, "got ya! You didn't think this was all real, did you?" I wouldn't be surprised at all if that happened.

When I'm done drinking, I carefully place the glass on the ground in front of me. I frown and touch my throat with my fingertips, wondering how long I will feel this pain.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Emmy asks softly.

My eyes are wide when I look at her. Why would she care? I nod in confirmation. It hurts like hell. I want to apologize for my behavior. I've done so many things wrong and they have been so understanding. I want to tell them that I'm a fast learner, and that I don't expect them to go easy on me. I know I am a horrible person. I look at Emmy pleadingly, hoping to convey my apologies through my eyes. My hands have reburied themselves in Declan’s sweater and I don’t have the energy or confidence to bring them up to sign to her.

Emmy surprises me by hugging herself. "I know you don't want to be touched, but I want so much give you a hug right now," she whispers. A single tear escapes from her eye. I am thoroughly confused. How could someone cry over me? Slowly, tentatively, I reach out a sweater covered hand to wipe the tear from her face. My brain catches up with my sudden move my and it blocks my body mid-motion. My hand falls back down in my lap. I don't want her to cry over me. The thought alone is bizarre enough.

We sit like this for what feels like ours, but I think it's minutes. Still, it's an endless moment and slowly but surely, some of the tension seems to be leaving my body, and the room. It's beginning to seem like all hell will not break loose. Not yet, at least. I heave a deep sigh and let a little more anxiety evaporate with my breath.

An itch on my cheek makes me lift my hand and to my amazement I find my own cheeks wet with tears. I really hadn't realized that I was crying myself.

Nick gets up slowly. I cower as he is now towering over me, and he steps back immediately. My anxiety is back full force again. "I'm going to check on the kids," he says after clearing his throat. His voice is thick. Is he crying, too?

I could laugh, for all my fear. It's so ridiculous that they would be crying. Surely, all that happened to me is my own fault? I still don't understand why they are so gentle with me. I'd hate anybody with a record as bad as mine instantly. Yet they are showing so much kindness and shed tears over me… How could I ever have such influence over anyone so as to affect their emotions?

"Cassia, I plan to tell them that your foster father is responsible for the bruises on your neck. Is that okay with you?" Nick pulls me out of my confusing train of thoughts. I was distracted, again. How can it be possible that today of all days, in a completely new and threatening situation, I so often let down my guard? What is wrong with me? I must get my bearings together.

I have to answer Nick’s question. Dilemma. I don't want him to tell them, because then they'll know what a horrible person I am to have deserved this and they will make my life a living hell. On the other hand, they deserve to know whom they are going to share a house with.

Emmy starts me out of my reverie by holding up a small notepad and a pen for me. "Please, talk to us."

I stare at it for a moment then look down at my useless hands. All it would take would be for me to relax them and bring them up to my chest to sign. But I can't. I cannot talk about what happened, don't they understand that? I look at the notepad in panic, my heart rate is picking up again. The thought of communicating about this scares me out of my wits. The one time I even considered it, the consequences were so horrible, so horrible… it was all my fault. My mother…

A sob escapes my throat, almost tearing it up in the process, or so it feels. I slap the notepad away, and it flies from Emmy’s hand across the room. The next moment, I realize what I have done, and I look back at Emmy’s startled face, shaking my head furiously in shocked apology.

Now you've done it, you stupid failure. God, can't you do anything right?

When Emmy doesn't move, I prepare myself for the worst and wrap my arms around my head again in protection.

"Cassia, I won't hurt you." Emmy’s voice breaks at the last word. "I really won't. Are you afraid I am mad at you because you flung a notepad across the room? You have good reasons to be angry and scared. I will not hurt you. Look at me."

The sudden sternness in her voice makes me look up all right. "I will not hurt you. Ever. Do you hear me? You have nothing to be afraid of here."

I look over her shoulder at Nick, who is still near the door. He nods in agreement with her. I want to believe them, but this a promise has been broken on me one too many times. I'd only have to look the wrong way once and the rules would change.

"I'm not angry with you," Emmy whispers.

"Neither am I," Nick agrees. "You've been through a horrible ordeal and it almost seems like you blame yourself for it. But it's not your fault."

Yeah. That's why it happened twice. No, that makes perfect sense.

"I'll leave you now." Nick finally backs out of the room. I hear a flurry of concerned voices speak up the moment he enters the kitchen.

Emmy is still with me, on the ground. "It breaks my heart to see you like this. It seems no words of reassurance will suffice for now. I guess time will have to teach you that you are in a safe place here."

When I don't react, she continues. "How about we call it a night? You must be exhausted. And then tomorrow we can try again."

Try what again? I follow her like a dog, again, when she leads the way up the stairs to my new room. She leaves me swiftly, after placing some cold medicine on the bed stand, in case I want to use it. I lock the door behind her and stand in the middle of my room, staring at my suitcase. I don't have pajamas. With William, I'd wear sweats and a sweater, or anything thick. I slept in a big t-shirt and yoga pants of Jackie’s when I was with her.

Here, I have nothing. I didn't even think about bringing something. Not that it matters. I don't plan on going to sleep tonight, however exhausted I might be. Best not to get caught by surprise tonight.

I look back at the door. Should I even lock it? If I lock it and someone wants to enter, will all hell break loose? If I don't lock it, will anyone enter?

I'm torn.

I hug myself. I'm still wearing Declan’s sweater. His scent has evaporated now, or I've become used to it. No, it must have evaporated. This scent didn't hit me as something I could ever get used to.

After a moment of hesitation, I walk back to the door and unlock it. I open it a crack. Downstairs, I can hear my new family talking. I can't make out what they say. I hope Nick and Emmy are not talking about my past with their children. I've asked them not to do that, but promises are easily broken.

I close the door again and turn off the light. Then I position myself at the large window. I keep the curtains open. The moon is out a bit and the forest is illuminated by an eerie glow. It's breathtakingly beautiful. I remain standing and settle myself for a long, long night. I release my fingers from their sweater prison. They’re aching to hold and play my violin, but I don’t dare bring it out. What if the noise disturbs them? They would take my only joy from me.

I never dared play when I lived with William either. My violin stayed safely at school, where he could not take it away or worse… smash it to pieces like he did some of my other belongings. Like my cranes…

I'm crying again, I notice. I let myself this time, getting it all out now so I do not show this weakness again to my new family. Besides, it feels good to rid myself of these overwhelming feelings. My eyes are sore, and my throat feels thick. My head is throbbing. It seems no decent amount of painkillers is going to help with that today.

I stand at the window and wait.

My mind wanders.

All I've ever known is pain and distrust. Nick and Emmy and Iona seem nice enough, and I've not seen any signs that there is punishment when someone does something wrong. I want to believe them. I want to believe that they will not harm me. That this time, it will be right.

I think back of Emmy in the kitchen. She has made me eat my ice cream, sitting down, in the kitchen. She was sitting not four feet away from me. She asked me to, of course, and I cannot refuse direct requests, but still… I didn't bolt. I didn't run. I ate. I ran to the forest, though. I still don't know what I was thinking — if I was even thinking. I knew I would have nowhere to go, but I couldn't control my instinctual run. I really needed some time alone to process the day. At that moment, I was willing to risk anything just to be able to be alone for a while.

Then Iona came out to get me, and she wasn't mad. Nobody was mad, and Emmy didn't blame me for running. No, she said she was sorry I felt I had to run. Interesting choice of words, indeed. I felt I had to run. So, it was my fault. No, not my fault. My… choice, maybe? She made me feel like it was her responsibility that I ran. That I felt I had to run. What could she have had to do with that? I was scared shitless by that Josh, who stalked towards me with his hand out and I knew damn well he just wanted to introduce himself.

I know damn well that not everybody means wrong, but it's damned hard to not react like they will.

Iona is very kind. In some miraculous way she convinced me to come back from the forest. With a shock I realize that she was right. She said nobody was mad, and nobody was. There was not even a hint of suppressed anger in the room. This kindness… I will not deny that I like it. But I am not sure I deserve it.

No. I'm sure I don't deserve it.

I'm such a horrible person. Everything that has ever happened to me is my fault. I’ve been told that enough times by enough people to know that it is the truth. I wouldn't move in time, or I would behave too boldly. Both Peter and William have used these arguments against me, and they were right, weren't they? I'm ugly, I'm in the way. I'm taking up much-needed space on this planet. I'm good for nothing. I'm not bright, or sweet, or gracious, for that matter. I'm a mistake. A mistake that they got stuck with.

When they hauled me away from Peter, I was sure it was my fault. Peter said so himself. That was in Portland. Then social services placed me with William and Marie in Los Angeles. They were nice, in the beginning. The atmosphere was tense always, but the rules were solid and didn't change overnight at first. Then Marie got depressed and William did the same things to me as Peter had done. It was worse in some ways, but in others, it was easier. William was blunt, direct. I knew what was going to happen with William, so I could brace myself. To him, it was not a game to catch me off guard. It was a game to catch me. I knew that if I let him, it would hurt less.

So, after a while, I no longer ran. I shut down my mind and got it over with.

Jackie has told me time and again that it was never my fault, but I don't believe her. If such things happen twice, it is no longer a coincidence.

At around midnight, I can hear Josh leave and Iona coming to bed. An hour later, Nick and Emmy follow. I can hear the typical sounds of people preparing to go to sleep — a flushing toilet, the use of a sink, doors opening and closing. Footsteps walk towards my door. I tense up.

The footsteps stop at my door.

This is it. The other shoe is about to drop. I take a deep breathe in preparation, but my heart is racing so loud I bet he can hear it on the other side of the door.

"Her light is off, I hope she's sleeping well," Nick says softly. There’s an equally soft hum in response that I assume is Emmy.

They walk away again.

Then it is quiet.

I wait.

At 2am, I'm getting hungry. Although I'm usually quite skilled at ignoring it, right now it's hard to neglect the queasy feeling in my stomach. I need to eat.

Shit.

At 2:30, I can no longer hide the fact that I really need some food. I grit my teeth and move my weight to my other leg.

At 3am, the hunger is starting to hurt. I need to eat. Badly. Tentatively, I walk towards the door of my room and open it a crack. It's quiet, dark.

What do I do? Emmy told me that I could eat anytime, even in the middle of the night. Would she be mad anyway if she caught me? As if on cue, my stomach growls again. Let's risk hell and eternal damnation, because I am hungry. I need food.

Slowly, I walk out of my room and feel my way towards the stairs. I manage to make little sound, which surprises but pleases me. I find my way down the stairs, into the kitchen. Every few steps, I listen carefully if anyone is awake.

I turn on a small light in the kitchen and open the fridge myself for the first time. Although I really hate the fluid food, it's instantly gratifying as it kills the hunger quickly and effectively. Although I'd rather indulge in the chocolate pudding that calls to me from the top shelf of the fridge, or some more of Emmy’s ice cream, I know it's better to eat something that's a little more nourishing than candy or dairy. Maybe it is easier to drink if I put it in a glass. I shuffle around the kitchen and prepare my drink. Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all. It looks and smells and tastes like something that no sane person should want to eat. Still, I need food. I'm queasy and my hands are shaking. Besides, it's easier for me to eat when I know nobody will interrupt me. I take a deep sigh and brace myself for the onslaught on my throat drinking will take. Just when I'm about to put the glass to my lips, I hear a voice behind me.

"Who are you and why are you wearing my sweater?"

Declan

I was not in a good mood when I came home at about 3 in the morning. I had been over at Lola’s, my girlfriend of four months. A very long four months. To be honest with myself, I wasn’t all that interested in dating at the moment. Or maybe at all. Well that actually wasn’t 100% true. I just wasn’t interested in the female population that made up Willow Hills High School. Maybe because I wanted something that looked at simple and easy as what my aunt and uncle had. Or what my sister had with Josh. Any time I looked around my school or around my life in general it just didn’t seem like the girl I would have that instantaneous click with was around here. Or maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic like Iona says I am. Lola was pretty enough, with blonde curls and big hazel eyes. She was happy enough to be in a relationship for the both of us, which was a nice advantage. I’d rather be like me, though, than some of the other guys I’m friends with who are really just
into it for a quick bang.

Seems I still don’t have quite the understanding of my generation’s need to be overtly sexual in all things. On top of that Lola turned out to be annoyingly jealous. As soon as some girl smiles at me, she sees red and looks green in her jealous rage. I end up spend a day or two apologizing for nothing I've done wrong and then finally she comes back, pouting and petulant, and I spend another couple of days reassuring her and telling her she is the only one or whatever she wants to hear. She's quite easy with that — she just asks me rhetorical questions that are easy to answer with a simple 'yes' or 'no, of course not!'

I stay with her, as it is becoming increasingly annoying to see my family cuddle up respectively every evening leaving me to be the awkward fifth wheel. I don't quite understand however how they can sit on the couch together quietly for hours on end, because when I am with Lola, I find that more and more often she gets under my skin and I am in a hurry to be away from her again. I know relationships really shouldn’t be that this. That I should just end it, but the aching loneliness and restlessness that comes with it being just me in my head is starting to become too much for me to handle.

Lola and I kiss, a lot, as that seems to be the only thing she wants to do. I would like to get to know her mind, to talk with her about everything, anything, like music or movies or any other topic that holds her interest, but I think the only thing that gets around in her head is wind. That and the knowledge that she is dating me, and she refers to me as 'the hottest guy in school.' I'm not so sure of that. I don't consider myself “the hottest”, at any rate. Iona helpfully supplied that I was “attractive enough for a doofus” and I take her opinion to heart.

But tonight, with Lola had been no different. In the afternoon we had walked through the forest after some serious begging on my part and the entire time she had kept asking me questions about how many girlfriends I had had before her. I didn't really want to talk with her about that, as Lola definitely was not my first and I was seriously starting to wonder if this was really what all the fuss was about. Maybe dating just wasn’t for me. Then she'd gone on about 'experience' and she told me how she and Brent Zeller had felt each other up in a closet once upon a time.

I really didn't want to hear that, actually.

Then, during dinner with her parents, who were nice enough but made me feel uncomfortable as hell with their scrutinizing looks and their 'so, what are your plans after you graduate this
summer, James?'. Lola kept shooting me those glances that made me more uncomfortable still. After dinner I helped with the dishes, to avoid being alone with her. Alas, when the dishes were done and gone, there really was no excuse anymore and I let her tug me up to her room.

Her room was horrible, although I would never say that out loud. It was messy, and pink, and so extremely girly-girl that I always wanted to run away as soon as I stepped in. I felt like I myself might turn pink should I touch anything for too long.

She all but threw me on the bed and started kissing me. Although I know it's not very polite of me, I started thinking then about when and how I could break up with her in a way that would not hurt her too much. I was torn out of my reverie when I felt her pulling my shirt away from my jeans.

I stopped her by placing my hands on her shoulders and pulling her back a little. "What are you doing?"

She looked at me coyly — or at least I think that's what she was trying to do — "I thought that tonight was a good night to start moving on to second base."

The thought made me nauseous. Yeah, I definitely had to break up with her. How to explain to her that I really didn't feel like having her — ice-cold — hands on my body? But then again, if I refused, I would come across as a prude, and I wasn't a prude. I just wanted to do things like this with the right person. At that moment, I knew that Lola was not the right person. She would never be.

"Really?" I hedged. "I was thinking that these transitions should be more romantic. Like, you know,
I'd take you out to dinner first and then we'd have the whole evening to cuddle up."

Damn me to hell, but right now I was sure glad I'm a skilled liar. Gently, gotta do this gently.

She bought it. Her eyes went all gooey and she looked at me with a silly smile on her face. "You would do that? Oh, Declan, you would do that for me?"

I didn't want to lie to her again, so I just pulled her against me and let her kiss me again. I don't know much about these things, but I'm pretty sure that Lola is not a very skilled kisser. I'm not saying that I am, as it takes two to tango, but still. It didn't turn me on. Not anymore, at least. Let's leave it at that. I could feel the restlessness churning in the back of my mind. I wasn’t into this and it certainly wasn’t fair to her to keep this going on.

I convinced her to watch a movie with me and repeatedly caught her hand as it was snaking its way underneath my clothes, telling her that some anticipation could be a good thing. She would sigh with a shiver, and I felt more horrible every time.

When at 11 pm it was reasonable for me to go back home, I pried her fingers away from me and said goodbye. Internally, I was fuming. I needed to end this, fast. She was getting on my nerves and she surely did not deserve me treating her like that. Maybe I should go over to her house tomorrow and finish it. I would not do it over the phone. I can be an ass sometimes, but I can't live with myself if I don't tell Lola in her face that it's, well, not her, but me.

It is me, too, I know that. All the guys in my class keep on boasting about all the things they've coaxed their girlfriends into doing. As said, I don't really understand what the fuss is about. My first time was nice enough, but I felt that I had wasted it on someone I didn’t care about and wasn’t really an experience that I had wanted to repeat. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Or maybe I am a prude. Either way, whatever I do going forward, it won't be with Lola Coley.

On my way home, I remembered with a shock that our new 'sister' would arrive today. I had totally forgotten about that and in my current mood, I really didn't feel like meeting her. I had been kindly asked to stay away from the house when the girl arrived, that's why I'd been away. Then I'd forgotten, like an idiot, and stayed until late at Lola’s. I think my aunt and uncle knew I would eat at her place, but maybe they expected me to be home earlier in the evening? Well, they could have called then, could they not? I know Emmy would find me rude for staying away. I hated disappointing Emmy. The frown that was already permanently etched into my face deepened. Shit.

Nick had talked to us about her almost daily over the last week. It had all gone very fast. The girl, Cassia, was badly traumatized and needed a home, soon. She had been living with her therapist in Los Angeles. That alone screamed red flag at me, but Nick and Emmy had seen her case and felt very strongly that her new home should be with us.

I wasn't all too sure about that. I really did wonder why my aunt and uncle would have a 'traumatized' girl in our home. Our family was had been hurt enough with the last foster child we had taken in and surely there were other families that could pick her up and fix her? Damn.

I couldn’t help the pang of sadness that speared me though the heart as I thought of Marlie. She had been the perfect little girl. So happy, silly, and creative to boot. Emmy and Nick were working on adopting her as their own. She was the final piece that our family unit needed. A perfect little sister to both Iona and me. But happiness had always been a fleeting thing in our family. I had been teaching Marlie how to play the piano one afternoon when she suddenly collapsed. After rushing her to the hospital and waiting countless hours while Nick and other doctors did their tests, the diagnosis of leukemia had rocked us all to our core. There had been no question of taking care of her during this time. She was a James, even if not on paper, and we loved her like no other family would. Marlie had passed away at 7 years old, only 6 months after being diagnosed.

It had been a horrible experience to go through as a family and as an individual. My parents had died in a car accident when Iona and I were only 2 years old, so I don’t have many memories of their loss. Emmy, on the other hand, knew this pain, had experienced this devastating loss before. It had taken her so long to come back from Marlie’s death, it had taken all of us so long. When we did come out of the grief Emmy and Nick had put their foot down on bringing in anyone else into our family. I had sworn to myself that I would protect my family from that kind of pain and make sure that they would never have to go through it again.

Which is why I was so bothered by this recent development. Why bring her here? What about her had made my aunt and uncle go back on their promise from five years ago? What was worse was that they would not tell Iona and I why she was traumatized. They refused to tell us what had happened to her. She had asked them not to. I thought it kind of required information, to know how to handle her. I was afraid she would be aggressive, or annoying, or not altogether there. It made me nervous and apprehensive. I would not let this new girl hurt my family. No matter the cost.

They also wouldn't tell us why she was taken out of the care of her own family. I guessed it had to do with neglect or something along those lines. That's what I knew from movies — when neglected, children got picked up by social services and placed into foster care. Why was there no foster family over in Los Angeles to take her in, I had asked. I got no answer.

I must confess I spent a night wondering how it must be for her, to have lived through something horrible, obviously, and then being transferred to the other side of the country, to a new family, a new home, a new life. I could not begin to imagine it.

There were certain ground rules concerning the girl. The first was that she couldn't speak. Nick would not say why, just that she didn't. But those were two different things, weren't they? Either she couldn't speak, or she didn't. Was she a mute or something? How would she be able to communicate? Would we all have to learn some sign language? The good part about this was that maybe no screaming fits were to be expected then, right?

The second rule was that she would probably be frightened and skittish, and that it would take a while for her to be at ease with us. I just rolled my eyes at his ambition. There were special homes for girls like her, where they would know exactly how to make her relaxed and at home. Here she would barge into our lives and upset everything. I vowed to myself that I would ignore her as much as possible. It wasn't very kind of me, I know, but if I was honest with myself, I couldn’t handle another heartbreak. I’m sure none of us could, but I would be the only one not willingly wearing my heart on my sleeve for this girl to take and destroy.

To be completely honest, if she was as traumatized as my aunt and uncle had warned us for, I was a little worried about the well being of my baby grand piano. What if she was destructive? Not that I played anymore. I hadn’t even really looked at it since Marlie collapsed… I stretched my fingers against the steering wheel of my car, trying to ignore the sudden itch to play. It just seemed so wrong to do something she loved so much without her.

I sighed forcefully and refocused on the clock in the dash. It's about 12 pm now. I don't want to go home and meet this girl while I'm still so worked up over Lola. Iona always says my emotions are so strong they radiate off me. Although I'm not sure about that, I know that whatever I feel is always intense. Best not meet new people now if I want to make a good impression.

I drive around town and then to downtown Rochester and back in my beloved Camaro until I am calmed down somewhat. It is getting late. I am getting tired.

I find myself turning for the driveway all too soon. The small digital clock in my car tells me it's almost 3 am. I don’t bother to park my car in the garage. The noise of the garage door would probably wake the whole house and I will get hell if my aunt and uncle find out what time I'm coming home.

As I walk into the house, I notice that there is still a light on in the kitchen. Someone must have forgotten to turn it off. I make my way over, grumbling as I do. This is not an unusual occurrence for me to come home to find lights still on. As I round the corner into the kitchen, I see a girl. No, not a girl. The girl. Cassia. She's pulling a tiny package out of the fridge. It's the astronaut's food that Auntie had bought for her some days ago. She wouldn't tell me why the girl cannot eat regular food. Another mystery.

The girl is tiny, with wavy long, long deep reddish-brown hair and a heart shaped face with a small chin. Her entire demeanor seems to be focused inward, it's like she's trying to make herself as small as possible. I don't know why, but I am mesmerized by her immediately.

Her lips are pretty and full but chapped. She bites her bottom lip and winces as she looks around for a glass, I can understand why. It must hurt her to keep gnawing her lip like that. She looks tired. There are dark shadows under her eyes that indicate it's been a while that she's had a decent night of sleep. Her eyes are a little puffy as well. I gather she must have been crying a lot today. I can understand why. Must have been really overwhelming for her to start a new life again. As I said, I cannot even begin to imagine what this all must be like for her.

She's wearing my favorite sweater. I remember having put it on this morning, but then deciding against it as I did not want to associate this sweater with Lola. I left it in the laundry room then, too lazy to bring it back into my room. Why is she wearing it though? Did she take it herself, or was it given to her? In a wicked way, I like seeing her in this sweater. Although she literally drowns in it, it becomes her in a certain way and the blue looks stunning against the paleness of her skin.

She is not plain in the slightest. She’s actually quite the beauty. There is an air of intelligence and innocence around her. So much so that looking at her I feel the need to protect her from anything that may come down to hurt her. What is so striking about her? I can’t look away. Is it her eyes? From where I'm standing, I can vaguely see that they are big, and a soft tawny color.

All my earlier reservations considering this girl have fallen away. She doesn't look aggressive, or dangerous. She looks damaged, hurt. She looks like she could really use a hug. Actually, like she desperately needs a hug, or some kind of affection. She looks like she’s been starved of it since the dawn of time. Although I do not know her, it hurts me to see how carefully she is moving, like she is alert for danger constantly. With a pang I realize that that is exactly what she must be — alert for danger. She is traumatized, after all.

I feel can watch this girl for hours without getting bored, but then I remember Nick saying she's skittish and we need to make our presence known around her. Although I'm still on edge from my evening with Lola I opt for a light and joking introduction. "Who are you, and why are you wearing my sweater?"

(good and bad strangled noises.
Cause like aw declan is sweet
but also like nooooo buddy that is probably not gonna go over welllllllll)

(Declan)

The reaction I get is certainly not what I bargained for. She turns around so quickly her hair swirls around her face. The glass she has been holding slips from her hands and shatters into a million pieces on the floor, the contents flying in every direction. Her eyes are huge, and I've never seen anyone look as frightened as she does now. Hell, she frightens me with it. She gasps and looks at the mess on the floor, then back at me. Her hands go out, palms towards me, in an apologizing gesture and then they move in such a way that is strange to me. It takes me a second to realize that she’s signing something at me. She repeats the motion twice before stopping and looking back down at the ground panic flying across those tawny eyes.

I'm stunned. Somehow, 'sorry' doesn't seem to be able to cover the weight of this situation, so I keep quiet. My body frozen in and odd stance, my hands reaching out to catch a glass that has already fallen. When I don't react, because I have no idea how to react to this, her hands reach behind her head to pull my sweater off. Her hands are shaking so badly that it's a miracle she even succeeds at doing it. When the sweater is off, I can see she's wearing at least three tops on top of each other underneath it. I can also see that she is painfully thin. A long scarf that looks incredibly out of place is wrapped countless times around her neck. Her whole body is shivering now, and I get the feeling that it is not only because she is cold.

While looking at me in a heart breakingly pleading way, she folds the sweater and places it on the breakfast bar, where she shoves it towards me in what I can only call a demeaning manner. She's shaking harder now as she signs something again. It’s almost as if she’s unaware of the fact that she’s trying to tell me something. I'm still stunned. Why in earth's name would she be this frightened? Traumatized or not, she looks like a deer in the headlights. Even if she hadn't heard me come in — and by now I think she really didn't — there is no reason at all to be this scared. Do I look that threatening?

After she's done with placing the sweater on the breakfast bar, she does something that freaks me out. She sinks to the floor and makes herself as tiny as possible. I can hear the shattered glass crunch as she kneels down right in the middle of it. With her bare hands she starts collecting the shattered glass around her. Oh my god. Wait wait…

I stalk towards her quickly and kneel and put my hands on her shoulders, in order to get her to stop before she hurts herself. She goes rigid in an almost violent manner, her breathing stopping completely for the moment. Her eyes lose focus just before her arms wrap around her head as she rolls up in a ball in all that glass and now she's hyperventilating herself into a full-scale panic attack.

What. The. Fuck.

She tenses up further like she's made of brick now. I put my hands on her arms and try to pull her up. "Hey, you okay? No need to be scared, you know. Just… Just move away from the glass. I won’t hurt you." My words sound silly and too loud as she clearly doesn't speak. At all.

She doesn't move. She breathes so rapidly and sounds so panicked I can feel my own heart rate speeding up.

"Um. Cassia? Please get up?" Oh fuck… I’m realizing I may have made the biggest mistake of my life here.

She tenses up even further, hyperventilating at an alarming rate. If she keeps this up, she will faint. This is ridiculous. I grip her arms and hoist her to her feet. My god, she weighs nothing and she’s so so small compared to me. Her eyes are closed tightly now, and her body is still rigid. Her arms wrap themselves around her waist so tightly it must hurt.

I want to comfort her. Her fear is unnerving, and it hurts me to see her this way. It's like she's extremely… breakable. That protective instinct from earlier kicks in. So, I pull her against me and try to hug her, take her fear away. "Shh, Cassia. It's okay. It'll be okay." I put one hand on the back of her head and bring it into my chest, the other I have wrapped around her back supporting all of her weight.

What she does then is certainly not what I bargained for.

She lets out a gasp that sounds like it's her last breath. Her legs just give way and she starts to slide to the ground again. I try to hold her up, but I don't have a good grip on her and all I can do is slide down to the floor with her in order to keep her from falling to the tiles. The glass crunches underneath us. Then the next oddity happens. She just shuts down. Her face goes blank and it seems she's stopped breathing altogether. Her eyes look dead, which is very disconcerting. I’m alarmed to say the least. Her arms, that have been wrapped around her mid-section in a vice-like grip, go limp and fall along her sides. Her mouth is slack, and when I shake her a little to break her out of her stupor, her head bobs dangerously.

I'm starting to panic myself now. Clearly, I've done something terribly wrong. It is not normal for a human being to act this way. What scares me the most maybe is that she didn't even try to run, or fight. She was so scared, and people tend to either flee or attack when they are as scared as this, but she is just shutting down, like she is retreating into herself.

Although I really don't want to leave her here like this, I need to do something. As I let her go gently to get up, her body crumples again and she rolls up in a ball, her arms once more wrapped protectively around her head. My God, I don't know whatever happened to this girl before she got here to make her act like she does, but it is at least a hundred shades of horrible. This is not an act. Nobody can fake fear like this. This is very much my fault.

"I'll get help, okay?" Again, my voice is too loud in the silent kitchen. I hurry to the stairs, take them two at the time and bolt for my aunt and uncle’s room. I burst through the door, panting.

(Declan)

"Emmy, Nick, I'm so sorry, but I think I've done something wrong." My words come out rushed. As soon as I've spoken, I realize that I have indeed made some critical mistake. It was because of me that she is so terribly shocked, and it was certainly because of me that she is now catatonic on the floor in the kitchen, in the middle of shattered glass. Fuck. I hold on to the doorpost to steady myself. What have I done?

"What? Calm down, Declan," Emmy says sleepily, sitting up and blinking against the light that pours into the room from the hallway. "What time is it?"

"Never mind that. It's Cassia. I met her in the kitchen and she freaked out and I tried to get her calm, but she went all weird. I don’t know what happened. What I did. Help please. She needs… help." I'm breathless with my own agitation.

My aunt and uncle are on red alert instantly and Emmy whooshes out of the room without so much as a second glance at me. Her robe billows behind her and the air she shifts with her movement hits me like someone has slapped me in the face. Maybe a should be slapped. Tonight, I’ve just fucked up everything. I debate slapping myself.

Nick stops at me and puts his hand on my shoulder. I know it's taking him an effort to keep calm. I feel it in the force of his grip on my shoulder, and I can see it in his eyes.

"Tell me exactly what has happened."

I recount the story to him as quickly as possible. I tell him about my failed joke and how she was so shocked that she broke the glass. I tell him about her panic attack and how she reacted when I hoisted her to her feet, and then how she just shut down.

My uncle looks so anguished, now I'm very certain I've blown things up. "However, much I know you tried to do the right thing, Declan, you have probably done exactly the opposite. What we didn't know beforehand, and what you couldn't know, is that Cassia reacts violently to people who try to touch her. From your story I'm guessing you wrapped your arms around her?"

"Fuc-sorry…I did. I'm sorry, I didn't know that. I startled her and just wanted to comfort her. You know, wrap an arm around her, like you do when…" I interrupt myself. "Why can't she stand touching?"

What Nick says next makes my blood freeze in my veins. "For Cassia, I think touching is associated with pain."

I swallow thickly and feel my entire body tense with rage, but I remain calm. "What." It's not even a question. Forget a hundred shades. Make it a thousand.

"I'm not going into details, Declan, because Cassia has asked us explicitly to not do that. It will suffice to say that she comes from a violent past. She will need a lot of time to heal. I was hoping to provide that place for her. It's a pity you weren't here this afternoon. I know you have not been keen on the idea of her coming here."

"I wasn't," I agree. I feel the blush stain my cheeks and creep down my neck.

"But maybe now you have met her yourself…"

I know exactly what he means by that. Nick’s right, I wasn't keen on having a broken girl in our home. There is something about her, though. Like you would give your right hand, and do it gladly, just to see her smile, if only once.

So, I was wrong. She's not just some neglected girl whose parents forgot to care for her. But then again, if that were the case, my aunt and uncle would never have taken her into their care. Our family is still fragile from Marlie. This girl, Cassia, is something special.

I look in the direction of the stairs, where the soft tones of Auntie’s voice are trailing upwards. I can't make out what she is saying. "Should I…?" I'm not sure what to do. It seems to me that I've screwed up royally and that I should not show my face any time soon again, but I want to apologize as well. Tell her I never meant to scare her like that and that I did the exact wrong thing when I wanted to help her.

"Let me check," Nick says softly, squeezing my shoulder once before moving towards the stairs.