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

Started November 30, 2018 by Deleted user

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Warmth.

Touch.

Heart crashing.

Touch.

Touching. Me.

They’re touching me.

Or I them. I—I think I initiated.

Neither of them pulled back.

Contact.

Words being spoken, but I cannot hear. Don’t understand anything over the anxious hum clanging around within the confines of my mind. Overloaded, right now there is only one thing, one sense that registers, the warmth of their skin.

But—

He’s touching me. Declan. That thought flows within the hum. Twisting and forcing its way to the front of my mind. His hand is like fire in mine and every time he squeezes to let me know he’s still there, he’s not going anywhere, the need to squeeze back is almost unbearable.

But I can’t move.

I’m—

I’m so sorry.

And then…Emmy.

Her voice calm, soothing. Promising and reassuring. Just gentle tones.

I have to move, I know. Get up and get out.

I know.

Give me a minute.

Gripping her hand. Her skin on mine, the contact I've craved. One second more, I don't want to let go.

"I'm here, Cassia. You're safe. Can you get up? Let's go home, okay?"

Yes. Home.

But, to move. How to move.

Moving means letting go.

I can’t. I can’t do that. Please don’t make me.

Please don’t leave.

My arm moves, shifted slightly as my grip is gently eased away from a hand. Through the mist I see Emmy getting up.

I blink once, twice, and then a third time. The room around me slowly coming into focus. It’s so droll, bland, colorless….lifeless. It almost sends me into a panic again as I search for something—anything—that looks alive.

Please.

My wild gaze freezes on a shocking shade of blue. Declan. He’s staring at me, gaze as intense as an azure flame. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear the words. With a gentle tug of his hand the intent is clear. He wants to help me up.

Okay. I can do that.

Slowly I stand, hanging onto his gaze and the soft smile Declan is giving me like a lifeline. The hum in my mind in receding and I use it to wish fervently that they take me back home. Something moves out of the corner of my eye, another hand reaching for me, causing me to flinch so hard I stumble into Declan, who automatically goes to catch me. His free hand coming to rest on the small of my back. It’s too much, this is all too much and I flinch away again, a wild gasp coming through my clenched teeth.

I remember. Brent, walking with me. His hand on my lower back, making small circles that travelled a bit too far. His mouth too close to my ear. Talking, I don't remember the words. But his breath is hot and smells faintly of overly sweet gum. Then Gym. Too crowded in the locker room. Undressing.

I can't.

I can't.

Panic.

A low wheeze makes it way out of my mouth and my body starts to sink back towards the floor. Emmy is immediately in front of me, more kind words flooding out of her mouth. Her hands rest just beneath my elbows, not quite touching me, but keeping me from moving further down as her own blue gaze desperately clings to mine.

Please. Please take me away. Take me home.

She nods, apparently understanding my silence. Gently, but with a firmness that left no room for any kind of resistance, Emmy lead me through the locker room and back out into the school hallways.

The long rows of stark white were mercilessly quite as we walked, but the few people that happened to be milling about got a sharp bark from Declan or Iona. Seems they were my sentinels once more.

How will I ever begin to repay them?

Then a car ride. Near silent. Or maybe I still can’t hear what’s being said around me. Emmy’s fists are tight on the wheel. Declan is gesturing aggressively in the front seat, face set in a ferocious snarl. He’s so angry. I really hope it’s not at me. Iona is glaring out the window her own lips moving harshly as she adds to the conversation.

I have no energy to tune in. Instead I turn my gaze towards the wall of green that the trees have become as we speed past them.

Before long I’m standing in the hallway just passed the front door, numbly shucking off my coat.

Can I sleep now? I just want to disappear.

"Do you want to talk about it? Tell me what happened?" Emmy’s comes from my left. I have the feeling that she has been standing there for a while, talking to me. My brain just happened to finally tune in.

I can't react. Can't reply. I'm not ready. Please don't hurt me. I am sorry.

"Cassia?"

No, I can't.

The silence stretches between us almost becoming uncomfortable.

Finally, a sigh from the woman beside me. "Okay. Go and make yourself comfortable, and when you are ready, come find me."

I am alone in the hallway. Fighting to see through the fog in my head, I go to my room, locking the door behind me.

I don't even make it to the rocking chair. Fall to my knees at the foot of the bed and cry.

---

Hiccupping still with the force of my breakdown, I don't hear the knocks on my door at first.

"Cassia? Please open the door. Cassia?"

I can't move yet. It's a miracle in itself I can hear Emmy talking right now. See my hands wringing in my lap, feel the burning in my legs as I have been kneeling down for so long.

"Let me in?"

Those words. She used them before. In the locker room. Why?

"Please, Cassia. Let me help you."

I can't move, and if I don't get up, she will go.

But I don't want her to go.

If only I could let her know to wait for me, please to wait for me. Have patience. I am trying.

Without my involvement my stiff legs unfold forcing me up into a wobbly stand, joints feeling as if sand has been rubbed into them.

The door. My hands tremble so badly I can't open the lock at first. It rattles, and for once I hope Emmy hears. Me. Hears me.

When I finally manage to open the door, I look up in Emmy's ashen face. She looks worried, tired.

That is my fault.

Always, always my fault.

"Can I come in?"

I step back, giving her space to enter my room. She looks around and as I follow her gaze, I see what she sees.

It's tidy. Not a thing out of place, I live here like I will have to leave any minute. The room is not mine. It has been given to me until I leave. Even the decorations that we put up together look so carefully placed, as if this room has been staged to look like someone is living in it. That someone being the terrible ghost girl in the mirror.

Emmy sits down carefully on the tidily made bed. Pats the spot next to her, but I can't move. Breath still rattling, I look at her through swollen, burning eyes.

"What happened today?" Her voice so soft I can barely hear it over the incessant ringing in my ears. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Where to start, and where to end. How to tell her what is bothering me? What can I tell her, when will the anger come? I can't ask her to let me keep skipping gym indefinitely, right? Emmy waits, the silence moving between us in heavy swirls.

"Can I tell you what I think happened?" She asks looking between me and her own hands that are folding and unfolding in her lap.

I swallow, my throat dry as sandpaper. With not eating comes not drinking, and sometimes that has consequences. Ouch.

"I think you don't want to go to Gym, am I right?"

Unable to nod, I can't deny the truth in her words. Besides, I believe that knowledge was settled.

"Are you afraid of being touched when in Gym class?"

Oh Lord, I hadn't even thought of that. I never got that far. Great. Just great. Another thing to worry about.

"Or are you unwilling to undress and change around others?"

Her words hit home like a sharp knife, and I crumble, my body folding into itself as I cannot hide my reaction to her words.

"Oh honey," Emmy whispers, leaning forward and stretching out her arm to me, reaching out but not coming near.

I take gasping breaths as I try to keep the hyperventilation under control, but I feel so miserable, and so lost. Alone. My knees give way and I sink to the ground once more as Emmy's words repeat themselves time and time again in my head. And then they travel further, and I realize as if for the first time, again, that she knows. She knows it all.

"Cassia." Emmy's voice breaks as she gets up and kneels close to me on the floor. When I meet her gaze, hazy with my tear filled eyes, I see that she is crying too. "You can talk to us about this. You don't have to do this alone."

Oh, but I do. I've always been alone. It doesn't matter how many times the James family has reassured me that they will help me, are here for me. In the end, I'm the one that has to bear the burden of my life.

Emmy reaches her hand out, tentatively, seeking the contact I so boldly took earlier. But I can't. I don't deserve it. So I shake my head, my entire body trembling with the force I have to use to deny myself what I so truly, dearly want.

"Whenever you want," Emmy whispers shakily. "Whenever you are ready. I'm here, Cassia. I'm here for you."

For some reason that makes me even more miserable and a sob wracks through my body as I'm shaking with the desire to just be held by her. But my body won't move, and my mind is blocking me, afraid of the pain as much as the rejection.

"You don't have to go to Gym," Emmy says after long minutes. "I'll make very sure you never have to go again."

The relief is palpable, so I cry harder. Obviously.

Long moments pass and outside twilight sets in.

"Cassia, I have to ask," Emmy then says after clearing her throat almost nervously. "Declan thought that something might have happened with Brent…"

I freeze, the only sound in the room my ragged breathing.

"What happened, Cassia? Did he touch you?" Emmy’s voice is hardening. I don’t think she realize that it is happening, but it hits me like a tidal wave. I jerk away, shuddering. She makes it sound like Brent touched me as William had, when in truth it wasn’t nearly the same. My reaction to this entire situation wasn’t helping in the slightest, I know this, but I can’t….I don’t know how to make this all go away. I don’t know how to be normal.

"Inappropriately?"

I shake my head now, suddenly understanding where this is going. Even though I dislike Brent with a fiery passion, I am not stupid. What he did was not wrong in normal terms.

"Cassia, where did he touch you? I have to know." Her voice is hard as stone now, almost commanding. I lift a stiff arm and reach towards the small of my back.

"Just your lower back?"

I nod, my eyes still closed with the force of my breathing and my hammering heartbeat. There’s no need to mention Brent’s travelling, searching, fingers.

Emmy exhales. "Are you sure? You can tell me if something else happened."

I shake my head. Nothing else except from all the bullshit he kept spewing into my ear about how he'd noticed me right away and how I seemed like such a nice girl, and how he would like to get to know me better and…

Bile rises and I sprint towards the bathroom where I vomit my guts out since there is nothing in my stomach that my body can purge.

I hear Emmy behind me, and as always, I know that she understands all my unspoken words.

---

I stay in my room, too exhausted to come down. Emmy reassures me that it's okay to stay here, but she also tells me that she'll be back with Nick later. She tells me he won't be angry, but I am too tired to worry too much.

I feel like a train wreck.

A week in school has built up to this. I'm pretty sure they won't allow me to go back now.

Curled up in my rocking chair, it's Iona who comes up to bring me dinner.

I eye the tray she is holding wearily, not feeling fit enough to eat.

"Auntie said, if you manage to eat half, it's okay. But you have to eat, Cassia," Iona pleads. "You must be exhausted."

She puts the tray on my desk and then walks back to the chair, where I am huddled under Jackie’s quilt, shivering with a cold that won't seem to leave my body. She kneels so that she is not towering over me. Her gaze soft and worried. "Are you better now? I hope Auntie makes sure you won't have to go to Gym again."

I nod to answer both of her questions. The smell of the food is filling the room, making my tired stomach coil in protest.

"I'm so sorry you panicked," Iona continues softly. "Just take it easy, okay? Come find me later if you want to do something fun for distraction." She slips from the room and I look over the back of the rocking chair, eyeing the steaming food on the tray with disdain.

I have to eat. I've been losing even more weight over this week. Not that I've seen any scales, but my clothes are getting bigger and bigger on my body. And I'm pretty sure that Nick will be true to his word and make me take the fluid food again to regain strength.

It's the fear of that which makes me eat about half of the meal, before my stomach churns uncomfortably, letting me know it's quite enough. I know I have to bring the tray back down, but I can hear everybody downstairs, and I really don't have the energy to face them right now. If it were up to me, I'd disappear right here and now.

Too bad I can't. Even I know that running away is not an option.

Not that I would. If I am truly being honest with myself, I’ve come to feel safe in this room, it’s a den I can escape to now.

At around eight o'clock, I hear a knock on my door.

"Cassia? It's us, Nick and I. Will you let us in?" Emmy. She speaks softly, as if thinking I may already be asleep. Damn. That would have been a great way to put an end to this day early.
Swallowing, I get up to face them, unlocking the door and looking up at my foster family.

"Hi," Emmy smiles, relief for some reason evident on her face.

I focus on Nick however, trying to read his face, figure out if he is angry or not. His face is neutral, so perhaps he's not. Or not yet.

"We'd like to talk to you about something, can we come in?"

Panic flares. What do they want, coming together to my room?

"Don't worry," Nick says. "No need to be afraid. We just want to talk about what happened today and run something by you."

That sounds… ominous.

"Would you rather go somewhere else? The library, perhaps?" Emmy asks.

From downstairs, Josh’s boisterous laughter sounds. If we go downstairs, I'll have to face them, and I don't want that. Best to do it here then. I suppress a frown as I stand back and let them both into my room. Nick turns to close the door a bit, leaving it ajar, much to my surprise and relief.

"Why don't we sit down?" Emmy asks and she pulls the desk chair towards the bed. Nicks gets comfortable in the rocking chair and I keep standing, unsure what to do.
"Come sit here," Emmy points at the desk chair. "Is it okay if I sit on your bed?"

I nod and walk around them. But — oh, shit, now they are between the door and me. I can't run if I want to. Did they do this on purpose? I decide to be careful and brace myself, just in case.

"Please have a seat," Emmy coaxes, and as she sinks down on the bed, I copy her and sit down as well.

"First of all, let me assure you that you won't have to go to Gym again. You will probably have to do an alternate assignment, but there is no chance that you will have to join in that class," Emmy starts.

I exhale quietly, infinitely relieved about this.

"Also, we want to stress the fact that you can come to us with these things, Cassia. I can't imagine how much stress this must have cost you. We are not angry about this. We would not have been if you had come to us beforehand. We disapprove of you skipping classes, but we understand you had good reason to do so."

"We are learning here, as are you," Nick continues, leaning forward a bit. "If in the future there is something you feel you can't do for whatever reason, please come find us before you move to measures that could in fact give you a bad record in school."

He knows these words will hit me the most. I need school, I can’t afford to have my record tarnished.

"We will explain to the teacher and the principal that you cannot attend Gym class and we will make sure your individual education plan is adjusted."

I nod in understanding.

"I am curious, however. How did you manage this in Los Angeles? Did you do Gym there?" Nick asks, sound a bit more than baffled.

I shake my head slowly. I just never went, and because the school was big and poorly organized, nobody ever noticed. At least I was never called out on it. Nor was my school record ever effected negatively.

"You skipped?" Emmy asks softly, and I nod again adding a quick shrug to show that it wasn’t that big of a deal.

"Apparently it was a rather large school that she went to," Nick muses to Emmy. He puts a casual hand on her knee, preventing her from saying anything else on the matter. "Perhaps she was able to fly under the radar there more easily. Now, Cassia, if there is anything else you think we should know… now you know we really won't be upset — is there anything else?" Nick’s voice is infinitely patient.

I shake my head because truly, there isn't. Both of them give me a long look and I know they are referring to Brent, but I can’t move, can’t—won’t—say a word.

"Okay, okay…do you think you will be able to go back to school?" Nick asks finally breaking the silence. I think for a moment, worrying about the looks of students. They all saw me crashing down, and the gossip will explode. But it will also die down again, and everyone will soon forget the quiet weird girl. Yes, I want to go to school. So I nod.

"We trust your judgment on this. You're the one that knows best how you feel," Emmy says kindly. "But we ask that you consider carefully. We will not think less of you if you decide you want another form of education."

I shake my head harshly. I know what I want.

Yet another silence falls, and I wait for what is to come.

"Cassia, there is something else we wanted to discuss with you." Emmy and Nick look at each other for a moment, before Nicks its forward, leaning his forearms on his knees.

I tense up because conversations like these are not likely to go easy on me.

"We have been thinking about therapy for you."

I blink at Nick, stunned. Why–? Why would he say something like that?

"Perhaps not immediately, because we want to give you time to get used to the idea, but we really think that therapy would benefit you."

I am so surprised and upset by the notion of therapy without Jackie and the fact that Nick thinks I would need it, that I sit back, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. Defying them. I won’t do it. Not without Jackie. No.

"The fact that you don't talk, for one," Emmy says softly, undisturbed by my actions.

Bullshit. My not talking is my choice, and no therapy will change that.

"Or that you can't eat with others around."

Again, that's my choice. Right?

"You can't bear to be touched."

So?

"Your past, Cassia." Emmy then tries, and now I frown.

What happened to me in my past is my own fault, and I don't think a therapist can help me with that.

"Or your reaction in school today." Nick adds, and this time I don't have a response because it was involuntary, but it was caused by what I knew from my past, and my past was my own fault. Right?

Right.

…Right.

So no, no therapy for me, thank you.

"Cassia," Emmy says carefully, probably noticing my defiant glare. "You need therapy, even if you maybe think that you don't. We would appreciate it if you would at least give it a chance, since it is unlikely to work unless you cooperate."

I frown, my heartbeat getting heavier as I am starting to realize there is no way out of this. I am going to a therapist. Nick and Emmy are apparently putting their foot down as my caretakers.

I'm suddenly nauseous.

What do they expect me to do in therapy? How can a therapist possibly help me?

"Please give it a chance," Nick says. "If you have tried it a few times and decide that you are not ready yet, we can try again later. But Emmy and I both feel that you should try it therapy. Jackie has stressed that once you were settled in here, you should continue it."

They already spoke to Jackie about it? And she agreed? But why would she want me to do something like this without her? Does she not understand that I can’t?

"Think about it," Emmy says. "You don't have to start tomorrow. We were thinking, after Thanksgiving?"

I look at Emmy, unblinking.

"Get used to the idea, and when you have questions, just ask us. We don't expect you to start talking or eating after the first session, but wouldn't it be nice if you got less fierce panicked reactions when something happens that upsets you?" Nick continues softly, gently, as if trying to reason with a wild animal.

Is that what I am?

"Just think about it, okay? We'll talk about this later." Emmy gets up, indicating the conversation is over. She walks to the desk to get my half-finished meal and compliments me on having eaten.

I'm starting to feel ridiculous here. Compliments for eating? I’m—I’m not a damn child.

"Cassia," Nick says then. "You have had a rough day, and your body is tired. Your stomach is probably still very upset. If you want to, I can give you something to calm your stomach, and also something that will help you sleep."

I shake my head, wary. I don't need his pills. I don't know what he puts in what he says he's giving me.

"Try to rest," Emmy says gently. "Come find us if you want to and know that we're there for you. You don't have to do this alone." She repeats, not unkindly and then they leave me alone in my room once more.

---

Of course I can't sleep. Of course memories haunt me as soon as I close my eyes. When I finally sink into slumber, I dream of that Brent guy, holding me down to the bed and whispering that he'd like to get to know me better.

I bolt awake, sweat trickling down my body and my heart crashing nearly out of my chest. I take a few deep breaths, trying to dispel the memory from my mind's eye. Perhaps I should have accepted whatever Nick offered me to help me sleep. It would have been welcome right now.

I stumble out of the bed to the bathroom, splashing cold water in my face before I look in the mirror for a second.

The ghost girl is still staring back out at me.

A pale face, dark circles under my eyes. The face of a failure. I'm ugly, and I truly wonder how anybody can stand to be look at me.

I divert my gaze and crawl back into the bed that is still damp with my sweat. Tomorrow it will be Saturday. At least I won't have to go back to school, but I will have to face the James’ again.

Right now, I'm not even sure which is worse.

I wake early, grey light seeping around the heavy curtains into the room. My entire body is stiff, still sore from my panic yesterday.

The house is quiet yet and when I look at my watch I am not surprised — it is not even six yet. I slip out of bed and into my clothes. I'd like to shower but I am afraid the running water will wake the others.

Arriving in the kitchen, I make myself some hot oatmeal, comfort food that will hopefully calm my upset stomach for a bit. I pick up the paper that is on the porch already — I hope the delivery guy gets some serious extra money for coming down this driveway every morning — and settle at the breakfast bar, feeling better with the slightly higher position it provides.

Reading and eating, I hear some vague sounds in the house. It isn't until I hear distinct footsteps that I realize somebody else is awake.

Josh steps into the kitchen in sports clothes, his curly hair still damp. I blink in surprise. I didn’t know that he was allowed to spend the night. The implications of that make me blush and I have to look away. Apparently, he and Iona’s relationship was a lot more intense than I originally had figured.

That and Emmy and Nick are much more liberal in their parenting.

"Good morning," he greets me pleasantly as he walks over to the fridge to make himself some breakfast.

Eggs, milk, some bacon. He's making omelets.

"You're up early." He observes as he puts butter in a frying pan and lights the stove.

He can cook.

Why this surprises me so is beyond me, but I'm looking in awe as he melts the butter before he puts the bacon in the pan. It hisses and spits and Josh stands back a bit as the first reaction of the heat to the meat dies down.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asks, looking at me.

I nod, pointing at the empty bowl in front of me.

"Okay. If you want some of this, just let me know."

He breaks the eggs into the pan, fishing out a piece of eggshell carefully and adding some milk. The transparent egg white starts to turn white immediately and I watch in fascination.

Josh chuckles and I look up at him, busted by my staring. "You are looking like you never saw an omelet made before."

I shake my head, denying his assumption. Of course I can make omelet. I used to love them.

Josh cooks with practiced ease, chopping up some tomatoes and pouring two glasses of juice. He places one before me. "Drink this. Good calories in it. You're getting too thin."

I can only look at him, wide-eyed. Why does he tell me this? And why does he notice my body weight? I fold into myself, trying to make myself invisible.

"It's healthy," Josh adds, probably misunderstanding my reaction. "Gives you energy and all that. And you look like you could use some after—uh—well–yesterday."

Yesterday… so he knows too.

I check my watch to distract myself and see that it's only seven-thirty now. I never thought the James kids were early risers, Josh included.

"Dec and I have a game today," Josh simply says by way of explanation for his own early rise. "We have to leave around nine."

He's relaxed, paying attention to his cooking. I never expected it to be so easy, to be with Josh alone in a room. He seems more relaxed than he has been around me, and I wonder why that is. Perhaps because he is alone as well?

And I realize I'm not overly stressed being here with him. That is new and worrying at the same time. What if he turns on me and I am unprepared?

Josh grins up at me as he holds up his glass in a mock toast. "Cheers." He gulps it down in one go and refills.

"Sooooooo, what are your plans for the day?"

I watch as he slides the omelet from the pan onto slices of bread on a plate and I use the moment to get up to grab pepper and some cutlery to quickly set the table for him on the bar a seat down from me. Josh smiles in thanks as he moves to sit down and digs into his food.

"Well?" he asks.

Well, what? I cock my head, already having forgotten what he asked me.

"What are you doing today?"

Oh, that. I don't know. Worry myself into a frenzy, I guess. I shrug slowly, not really sure what he wants to hear. It seems like he’s building up to something.

"You can come and watch the game." Josh then says casually poking at the last bites of omelet. I realize after a moment that he is being completely serious.

"I mean, you can drive with me, Iona and Dec, or Emmy can come with you?"

A beat. A bite, and a swallow.

"Just so you get out of the house for a bit, you know?" Josh adds awkwardly. Seems he’s not quite used to my silence just yet. "Get some fresh air. It's not raining so it’ll be really nice out—at least for now."

Heh. It's always raining here. I doubt the sun will come out for more than an hour.

I miss the sun.

"The game starts at ten, so you have a little while to decide."

I nod, wondering if I could take that hurdle and just go out. Who will be there? Everyone from school probably. I grimace. It’s a little too soon for me to be around all of them just yet.

But…Maybe–

"Drink," Josh interrupts my internal debate, pointing at my glass on the breakfast bar. "It's good for you." He concentrates back on his food and as he is not looking up, I quickly down the juice, feeling how the cold travels down my body into my stomach. It’s actually quite delicious and I regret having to drink it so fast. It would have been nice to savor.

We sit in silence for a while until I get up to make some coffee, my movements hesitant with Josh so close. Emmy appears in the kitchen a short while later, still in her robe.

"Good morning!” She beams. "I smell coffee brewing. Thank you Cassia." She smiles at me. Reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet she addresses Josh. "You ready for the game, Hun?"

"Yeaaaaaa." He replies, drawing out the word in a sigh before finishing his juice. "And it looks like at least the morning will be dry."

"That is good. Last game of the season?"

"Yeah. If we win we go to semi-finals, but we’re going up against Florence High so who knows if we’ll win."

"You’ll win." Emmy says with complete certainty as she pours two mugs of coffee and places one before me. "Have you eaten?"

I nod. I've placed my bowl in the dishwasher, but I think she knows I am telling the truth.

"Good. Is your stomach somewhat calmer?"

I nod again.

"And how do you feel? Are you calmed down a bit?"

I look away, not sure about the answer to that question. Nothing is resolved and the feeling I am stuck in a vacuum is stronger than ever.

I'd like to hold Emmy's hand again, but I am afraid to ask.

"Hey, Auntie, I asked Cassia if she wanted to come watch the game," Josh says, poking his head in between the both of us. "But she'd need transportation."

"Oh, that might be a good idea," Emmy replies, turning to me. "Would you like to go?"

I don't know. I honestly don't. I think I might, just to be able to say that I went, but all the people being around makes me a bit—more than a bit—nervous. I don't want to bother Emmy with having to drive me places. She obviously has other things to do.

"How about this," She says after a moment of thinking. "I need to get some things from the supermarket. Why don't you join me, get some fresh air, and then on the way back, when you're up to it we can watch the end of the game?"

That sounds reasonable and I do like to be able to help Emmy with the groceries. It's the least I can do to pay back for everything they do for me.

I nod at her with a small smile and sip my coffee. Emmy's eyes widen for a moment before she recollects herself and focuses on getting breakfast.

All of a sudden I realize that I've drunk something while she was watching me.

Huh.

I didn't even think about it.

---

The supermarket is crowded, even on a Saturday morning. I see nobody I recognize however and even though it's not as calm as I prefer, I am happy to be out for a bit.

"You look more relaxed." Emmy observes as she regards me selecting meat. I’m debating between two different kinds as I mull over recipes in my mind.

I look up at Emmy, processing her words.

"You do. Distraction helps, huh." She pokes gently at the steaks I’m holding, thankfully making the decision for me.

I nod shyly, knowing she is right.

We browse through the aisles and Emmy once more encourages me to pick out what I like. A long forgotten desire resurfaces as I think back on what I wanted to do to show my gratitude towards the James family. Especially now, after how they seem to have handled the Gym incident.

I hesitate, biting my lip as I turn to Emmy.

"Yes?" She asks hopefully.

Umm…

"It’s okay Cassia. What’s on your mind?”

I glance around, making sure that we are alone and unearth my hand from the sleeves of my sweater.

If it is okay, I would like to bake something. As a ‘thank you’.

I tack on the last part a little lamely, and slightly grimace at my hands.

“You want to bake something? For us?" Emmy sounds like a million emotions are trying to fight their way out of her, but surprise and joy take the cake.

I nod. Feeling the tinge of pink on my cheeks

Emmy's face lights up in a brilliant smile. "Of course you can! Go get what you need."

Hesitantly, I step back, making to leave but not quite sure yet.

"Go on," Emmy smiles. "Live a little."

I almost snort at her statement, knowing that baking a pie has nothing to do with 'living a little', but I finally saunter off and get everything I need for an apple pie, and a strawberry swirl cheesecake.

Emmy licks her lips when I drop the last of the ingredients in the cart. "It looks like you will make something delicious." She say happily. “I may need to get my gym membership back on track.”

We finish the groceries and place them in the trunk of the car. When I open the back door, Emmy looks at me. "Why don't you sit next to me?"

I think for a moment, then close the back door and slip into the passenger's seat.

"Thank you," Emmy says softly as she starts the car. "I can tell how hard you are trying. It doesn't go unnoticed."

I swallow thickly and buckle my seat belt as Emmy backs out of the parking lot. Somehow it means a lot to me that she told me she can see I am trying. Because I am.

I really am.

"So," She says when she turns onto the road. "Would you like to go see Declan and Josh’s game? It's a rough sport though, I have to warn you. There will be tackling."

I think for a moment. I know that the boys play football and that there are tackles involved. Do I want to see them get hit? Not necessarily no, but I would like to join in on the fun.

At least for a moment.

I want to be normal. What happened yesterday in school has painfully pointed out to me that I am not, and that I cannot react normally to situations others don't even blink about.

So, perhaps I should try and go see that game.

Turning to Emmy, I do worry that I am using her time.

"You want to go?" she asks.

I nod, carefully, gauging her reaction.

"Good! I actually wanted to see them play, too. We'll have an outing together." She smiles, as if it's actual fun to be with me.

She drives us to the sport fields right at the edge of the town. I'm not worried about the groceries — it is cold enough outside that the food will keep for a while.

Emmy gets an umbrella and walks with me towards the far field, where the game is being played. A large group of people is standing and sitting in the bleachers, watching intently.

Again, nobody I recognize, and I relax a bit.

Emmy finds us a good spot on the bottom of the bleachers and sits next to me, scanning the players that are running along the field. There’s a team of players in blue and white and another in black and green. When one player in green catches the ball and makes a run for it, Emmy points him out. "Number 23. That's Declan."

He's not even the tallest of the group. I must admit I never expected him to be this quick though. Damn, he's fast.

He doesn't score however, as he is tackled from behind. His attacker and he slide over the wet grass, lumps of earth jumping up around them. I tense in shock at the violence of the contact, and Emmy flinches. "Oof! Look at that! He'll be bruised tomorrow, I'm sure."

I cannot understand for the life of me how somebody would willingly play a game that can hurt like this, but I guess that's just me.

When it starts to rain, Emmy opens the umbrella and asks me to join her underneath it. "Come on," She coaxes. "I won't bite."

Tentatively I step closer, until I am under the umbrella and almost touching her.

"I am glad you accepted my hand yesterday," Emmy says softly, keeping her gaze focused on the field. "I know this was a huge step for you." A beat. "It's not bad, or wrong, or weak, to accept support like that, or to ask for it."

Her voice is so soft I can barely hear it.

And then her words register. A frown forms on my face and I look down as I chew on my lip.

"I mean it, Cassia. Even Declan comes for a hug every now and again. There is nothing wrong with wanting affection."

But I know I don't deserve it.

It's just… hard, you know?

It's complicated. Way, Way complicated.

Because more than anything, I want it.

"Anytime you want to," Emmy says just before the umpire whistles to announce the end of the game.

I startle a little as Emmy claps and cheers — apparently Declan’s team has won.

The players shake hands and Declan’s team celebrates for a bit, clapping each other's back and congratulating each other.

"I won't ever turn you down, Cassia," Emmy ends her interrupted speech. "Anytime you want some support, I am here."

She smiles as Declan spots us sitting under the umbrella and comes over to us, taking off his helmet as he walks up. It’s evident that he hides his surprise when he spots me sitting next to his Aunt.

"Congratulations! Off to the semi-finals!" She beams up at him, and he smiles down at her.

"The rain started earlier than expected, but it was a good game. Florence High is a hell of a team. Good to see that you came too, Cassia." He smiles warmly at me. Eyes sparking. "Did you enjoy it?"

I shrug-nod. Awkwardly smiling. I’m not really sure to be completely honest.

"It's a little violent, perhaps," Emmy answers kindly for me. "You coming home straight after?"

Declan looks over his shoulder as his name is called. Josh is waving like a hooligan at us. "Nah," He says as he turns back. "I think I'm going to hang out with Josh, Ryan, and the guys later. We’ve got to celebrate."

"You do that," Emmy replies. "Will you be home for dinner?"

"Uh–Don't know. I'll call, okay?"

They say goodbye and Declan waves at me as he turns to jog towards the other side of the field, where the locker rooms are.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" Emmy asks as we get back into the car again.

I look at her from the corner of my eye, shivering and cold to my core, with damp hair and soaked through shoes. Again I make that weird nod-shrug and smile.

Emmy laughs at me but is apologetic. "At least you were out for a bit."

That is true, indeed. I certainly liked that part.

Once we arrive back at the house, I help Emmy to put the groceries away. Then, after changing into drier clothes, I make a start with my pies. It is quiet in the house. Iona is shopping with her friends and Nick is in his study. Every once in a while we can hear the thrum of his voice as he takes calls.

Emmy helps me to get everything ready, and then leaves me to my own to go and do some work in the laundry room. When I try to offer to help, she refuses and tells me to work in the kitchen.

I am soon lost in the baking process, making the pies from scratch. I used to make these for Jackie and bring them to our sessions. She'd always accuse me of trying to get her fat, much like Emmy did in the store.

I cant help the small smile at the memory.

There's easy comfort in baking and my mind drifts as I work, dicing the apples, measuring the sugar and cinnamon, and whipping the cream cheese-strawberry mix.

As I put the apple pie in the preheated oven and the cream cheese in the fridge, I hear Declan’s voice coming in through the garage followed by Josh. They stop to chat with Emmy, who is equally surprised to see them, but apparently it started raining too hard for the team to celebrate for long.

The boys file into the living room just as Iona bursts through the front door with a number of glossy bags. She cheers that she got a wonderful supply haul at the thrift shop and can’t wait to start on a new craft project. There’s a grumble of male voices as Declan and Josh try to be supportive, but it’s obvious that they have no idea what she is talking about.

With a laugh, Iona disappears upstairs to drop off her bags before rejoining the boys in the living room.

It’s all so normal and I can’t help but feel that intense longing once more to be included. To be brave enough just to step out and join in on the smiles and laughs. To be a part of this glistening world around me, not stuck around dark corners and listening in like some kind of pariah.

Why can’t I?

Why can’t I just—just do it?

I grit my teeth and clench my hands against my sides. What was I going to do? Go up to my room and sit in the quiet? Alone? Suddenly it sounds so horrible, I wonder why it ever was comforting to me. It couldn’t be. Not when the need to be around this family has me wanting to be more normal than I have ever wanted to be in my entire life.

I have an hour to kill before the pie and cake are finished baking. It takes me a moment or two to build up the courage, but then I’m moving with purpose around the kitchen once more. Filling two glasses with soda, and one with juice, I go into the living room where Josh and Declan are playing some sort of puzzle game. Iona seems to be adding her own input to the game with no avail.

"Oh! Hey thanks." Josh says as they pause the game and both drink.

"You’re baking?" Declan asks. His face tilting up as he sniffs the air.

I nod.

"Hell yea. I'm sure it will be good," Declan smiles, patting the couch next to. "Want to join our game?"

I shake my head and indicate I'd just like to watch. I don’t take the seat immediately next to Declan as he suggested, instead finding myself on the very edge of the couch they’re all sharing. My usual chair looks comfy, but it’s much too far to be considered ‘included’ in what is going on within the room.

They resume the game, and it doesn't take me long to figure out what they need to do. It requires fast thinking, and I must admit it looks like a game I'd like to play.

After a while, Josh stretches. "Yea. Yea. I'm done."

"Aw," Declan complains. "Just because I am winning?"

"No," Josh chuckles, "Because I am done. Maybe Cassia will want to take over from me?"

He looks hopeful. It's not the first time they are asking me to join in a game.

Uh no. I don't even know how the controller works.

However, this really looks like something I would like to try. And Declan is so good, I won't have to be afraid of him losing so at least I think there won't be any consequences for that.
Right?

"Come on, just try it. You enjoyed watching. I could tell.” Iona coaxes with a gentle grin as she pushes the controller towards me over the coffee table.

Hesitantly, I take it, just as he gets up and stretches again. I look from the controller to the screen, feeling lost.

And I’m immediately alarmed, when Josh walks over to me, kneeling before the couch where I’m seated. Declan shifts in his seat out of the corner of my eye, gaze hard on Josh. I stiffen when Josh lifts his hand and points to the buttons on the controller. "Pick up, release, switch. Move, use bonus."

He looks at me to see if I got it and I nod, wide-eyed at his close proximity. He gets up again and smiles. "Good luck. Declan is far too good at this game."

Declan snorts, his gaze only relaxing the slightest bit. "You're just a sore loser."

"I must say I wonder if Cassia is any good," Josh muses. "Maybe I'll just stick around and watch the first game." He sits back down, and Iona snuggles into his side, scooping up her phone and casually scrolling the screen.

It's that audience that makes very sure that I lose the first game, as I am too tense to really react.

"Come on, Cassia, I'm sure you can do better than that," Declan says. "Let's try again."

After a few games, I am getting the hang of it. No longer bothered by Josh looking on, I start to pick up pace and make quicker moves. We've been playing for some time until we reach a tie.

"Wow," Josh says appreciatively. "You have competition, Declan."

"One more," Declan replies and starts the new game before I can protest.

We play, and when I check the score I can see I am winning. Just then, the oven beeps. I fly up, leaving the controller on the table mid-game and almost run into the kitchen, as if the pie cannot wait one minute to be taken out of the oven.

Declan calls out to me, but I’m already within the safe contours of the kitchen.

I put it on the counter, focusing on my actions to prevent the panic from almost winning to bubble up.

Games are dangerous. I should not have played.

I get the cream cheese out of the fridge and decorate it with more strawberries. It looks magnificent and I focus desperately on that, trying to forget the game.

Just when I am done, Nick wanders into the kitchen. "What smells so magnificently here?" He looks over at the counter and sees my handiwork. "My, Cassia. Those look delicious! Did you make them from scratch all on your own?"

I nod, shy with his enthusiasm.

He comes over, inhaling deeply. "Hmm, I guess we'll have to wait until it cools down?"

I nod again, watching in awe as Nick makes a theatrical gesture of disappointment.

"I'll finish up in my office, and then I am coming down for this, for sure. Is pie what we are having for dinner? Wait…" He says more to himself than me, and he rummages through the fridge. "Do we have some whipped cream somewhere?"

He comes back out empty-handed, and almost disappointed. I cannot hide my smile as I point to a covered bowl in the fridge, where freshly whipped cream is waiting.

"Fabulous. I'll be right there. You’re a blessing, Cassia."

---

The pie was excellent, or so they tell me. I haven't eaten it yet, but I will as soon as everybody has left the kitchen. What I did do, to everybody's happy surprise and happy smiles, was to sit down with them in the living room, sipping my coffee as they ate.

Now that I did it once, it's easier to do it again.

Not that I am not surprised beyond belief by my own actions.

But it's not that special and I certainly don't deserve praise over something as inanely normal as this. I just want to be normal. I'm starting to get fed up with panicked reactions like I had yesterday.

I didn't have them at William’s. I don't know why I am having them here.

After the dessert, Nick compliments me again and then leaves with Josh for the hardware store, as there is something they want to build in the garage.

Emmy helps me to clear away the dishes, then refills my coffee mug and asks me to sit down with her for a moment at the kitchen table.

Immediately wary, I do as she asks.

"Have you thought about therapy?"

Oh, she's sure coming down to business quickly.

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable and unwilling to think about this. Therapy builds on the notion that people can be fixed. But I am not broken.

I am malformed.

There is nothing to fix and besides, it's all my fault. I have a deep fear that a therapist will discover this quickly enough and call me out on it. I'm weak like that. I know I am at fault. I don't need somebody to tell me this.

"Cassia." Emmy's soft voice urges me from my drifting thoughts.

I look up at her, fighting to focus and make eye contact.

"Have you thought about it?"

No.

"We really think you could benefit from it," Emmy says quietly. "Somebody to help you conquer your fears."

I don't know what to do with her words. I cross my arms over my chest. My nails digging painfully into my palms.

"You don't have to do this alone, Cassia. You need help to deal with your past."

That's the second time in two days that she refers to my past. My breath hitches involuntarily, but at the same time anger flares. What does she mean, deal with my past? How can therapy possibly help with something that happened and which was my fault to begin with? Would therapy help me to become a better person?

I think not.

Therapy doesn’t change the past and spontaneously fix everything. And that, I know with one hundred percent certainty, is the only way to fix something malformed. Just to go back to the beginning and start from scratch.

"Don't get angry, please. I know that perhaps you are not ready for this, but I want you to try it. A therapist can help you with that, too."

Stop talking Emmy, please. I don't want this. I don’t want another therapist. They won’t help. My chest constricts in panic as I think of having to go to some random stranger once a week and sit there for an hour.

Why can't it be Jackie? Jackie is nice enough, and I could email her. Is therapy not all about talking?

Because that's kind of impossible with me. Just saying.

And I don't want it. What's the use? How could it possibly help?

"After Thanksgiving we'll start," Emmy says. "We'll look for a good therapist to work with you."

Hey, I never said yes?

Emmy holds my gaze for a long moment. She doesn't have to say anything. She's taking care of me, whether I agree or not. It is her right.

It's times like this I long to be eighteen so others cannot have this hold over me anymore.

Emmy finishes her coffee as I stare into mine until it is cold. Then she leaves me with a quiet goodbye, and I am alone.

Therapy.

The thought alone makes me sick.

I tut in annoyance, clear my mug away and step outside into the bitingly cold air. It's dry again, and I plop down on the top step of the porch, looking out into the woods as the wet of the wood creeps through the fabric of my jeans.

I don't even care.

Therapy. Therapy.

Fucking hell.

After a while I hear the porch door open and when I look around, I see Declan, holding my coat in one hand and two mugs of tea in the other. He hands the coat to me and I take it, welcoming the warmth.

Then he sits down next to me, offering me a mug of tea in greeting. "How are you?"

I shrug because I honestly don't know. Tired, sore and in a bad mood after Emmy's talk. It sucks because I was having a good time before all of that.

"Better than yesterday?" Declan asks, he takes a long sip of his tea, watching me over the rip of the mug.

I nod. For some reason I find it hard to meet his gaze today.

"Did Brent do something stupid to trigger som—what happened?"

Biting my lip, and annoyed at the reminder, I nod again.

"I'm so sorry about that. I shouldn't have let him walk with you." He looks so apologetic that I unconsciously turn towards him, my right hand twitching out to touch him. I stop myself and he watches as my hand drops onto the porch between us.

We stare at each other for a moment before Declan gets his phone from his pocket and hands it to me. "Talk to me, Cass."

Immediately, I take his phone, trying to ignore the way our hands brushed accidentally as I grabbed it.

This is not your fault.

"It is," He says. "I should have looked out for you."

What?

I flip the screen towards him so he can read it, but I am typing again before he can begin talking.

You can't protect me from everything.

Declan reads and frowns. "I know, but in this case, I think I could have helped. But I had no idea you had been skipping Gym."

Yeah, well.

I shrug.

"Is this why you were so tense yesterday?"

I look up at him, confused.

"You were so tense; it was rolling off you in waves." His voice is soft, and he has shifted so he’s sitting a bit closer to me. The warmth from his arm is making it hard to want to move away.

Ah. That. A gut feeling, perhaps. My own battles to fight. Having to let Declan go, but realizing I am not wanting to. Warn him away and hope against hope that he will stay.

It's scary to have the desire to be able to rely on someone. People, by default, cannot be trusted.

If Declan learns the truth about me, I am sure that he will leave. Yet I can't seem to get myself to tell him that truth, even though I know it is better to do it know, and quickly. Like a band-aid.

"Hey, come back to me," Declan says softly. “What are you worrying about?"

You.

I worry about you more than anything else and I’m not sure why I can’t seem to understand why.

"I'm sorry for whatever I did wrong," He says, glaring down into his tea, as if it held all the mistakes he’d ever made in life within the dark waters.

My fingers make a tap-tap noise as I type against the screen of his phone.

You did nothing wrong, Declan.

He glances up from the screen, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "Then why are you so tense around me? I have the feeling something is bothering you."

I sigh in frustration. I guess I'll have to tell him. Why doesn't he just leave me alone?

The silence stretches as I try to find a way to tell him without laying my deepest insecurities bare.

"What I'd give to know what's going on in your mind," Declan muses quietly. "You can tell me, honestly. I won't run."

I'm not so sure about that.

Declan thinks for a moment, sipping his tea as he looks into the forest that is getting ready for winter. He doesn't look at me when he speaks.

"Does it have something to do with you thinking you are not good company?"

I swallow, my gaze following his hand as he gently touches the back of my hand with his finger tips. I swallow, but I can’t pull away. The warmth is something incredible, the touch itself even more so.

"Because I think you are."

Ah, now I do know what to say.

You are wrong.

"Then tell me why, Cassia. Please? What could you possibly have done to be so convinced you are bad company? Did you do something illegal?" Declan snorts now, as if he can’t believe that I could be a criminal.

No.

"Then what?"

I sigh, feeling tears welling up as my frustration wars with my desire to just tell him.

Silence falls and Declan doesn't press. He sips his tea again, seemingly lost in thought. His fingers are still stroking my hand, and its making it hard to think.

"Is it so bad that you can't tell me?" He finally asks, almost whispering.

I nod, and a tear escapes and rolls down my cheek before I wipe it away with the sleeve of my coat. Finally able to pull away my hand. Although I miss his touch as soon as it’s gone.

"I'm sorry," He says, his voice hoarse. "For whatever it is. I'm sorry."

We are silent again, and I drink my tea as I too stare down into it’s depths.

"I guess that maybe therapy will be a good thing for you then?" He offers.

My head whips around to look at him, my eyes wide in confusion. He knows this?

"I heard you talking in the kitchen earlier. Auntie said she wanted you to try it?" He shrugs almost too casually.

I look into my mug again, thoughts swirling without any coherency. He thinks it's good for me, too?

"I mean, therapy can help you come to terms with things, you know? Even if they are things that you think you have done wrong. Because you are obviously not doing them anymore right now, but they are still bothering you." Declan shifts slightly, his face coming a bit closer has he tries to read my expression from where I’ve hidden it by tilting my head down.

His words are so entirely right my breath escapes me in a heavy exhale. I never looked at it like that. He may—he may be right. I have not yet met any form of repercussion here, so perhaps I am not behaving all that badly after all. Would therapy really help me? But it still means I have to 'fess up’ and tell a stranger of all my mishaps. I'm not sure if I want to do that.

Because the fact remains that it is all my fault. And I haven't even misbehaved willingly.

"Talk to me." Declan coaxes for the third time, his hand coming into view again, but I move just in time, disguising my odd movement as reaching for his phone again.

To hell with it.

I'm scared.

He reads and is silent for a moment before he answers. "It is scary. I would be, too. But if it helps, would it be worth it to overcome that fear?"

I frown, thinking. Would it really help? I type.

I don't know if it can help.

Declan chuckles, a humorless laugh. "Me neither. But you won't know it unless you try. That goes a bit for everything, I think." He winks.

I sigh, not sure what to think about him being such an advocate of me going to therapy. He’s trying to be supportive I know this, and somehow he sounds much more reasonable about it than his Aunt and Uncle, but I can’t get over this fear.

I don’t know if I am even capable of trying to get over it.

The fear is me.

(Lmao………………………………………hi)

Declan's words resonate. No matter what I have done wrong, I want to try again to be better and as far as I have come to realize, Michael family is willing to give me that chance. Although I am not sure what I have done differently so far, it seems that I am not doing things here that evoke the violence I know so well.

It still strikes me as weird however, since if anything, I have done less. Less housework, less helping, less invisibility, even. But Emmy simply won't allow me to help her out and that still doesn't sit well with me, even though by now I am pretty sure that she's not refusing me because she thinks I'm incompetent.

It's just all still so alien to me and fuck me if I can get used to it.

But that's the thing, isn't it? It feels so dangerous to sit back and relax, even though I want to, because who knows what will happen if I drop my guard.

It will hurt so much more when it comes unexpectedly and it comes from them….God, I do not know if I could survive that…

On Sunday, I join everyone in the living room as they finish off the pies I made the day before. I'm tense with all these people in the room but they are all nice and praise me until I think my face will explode my blush is so hot.

Declan all but inhales the apple pie and then finishes off Iona’s cheesecake. She ate half a piece, but she wasn't feeling well to begin with — since she ate about 4 pieces last night. She apologizes fiercely about not being able to finish her cake and makes everyone promise to save pieces for when her stomach isn’t protesting anymore.

Declan is in a good mood, happy that his team won the match yesterday. He claims in front of everyone else that it was because I was there, watching. He says I brought good luck. I'm surprised by the comment. I've been told more often than not that I brought misfortune, that it was always my fault when a lottery wasn't won, or a bet was lost.

So Declan telling me I am good luck is a bit beyond me, to be honest.

I just wonder if he's really hurt after the tackle I witnessed. I spot his rubbing the shoulder he landed on more than a few times. At one point I make to get him an ice pack, but Nick beats me to it. I watch in fascination as Nick does a thorough exam of his nephew’s shoulder, making soft comments to Declan as he does so. The patient in question looks mildly annoyed during the experience, but sighs in relief once the icepack is firmly placed on the angry bruise that is blossoming impressively across his skin.

The sight makes my stomach turn and I have to look away, just as Declan is turning to smile at me. I don’t look back, but catch the furrow of his brow from the coroner of my eye.

We sit and the family talks for a bit. Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away and Emmy grabs the opportunity — or so she says — to discuss with us what we can do. I learn that the family goes out every year for Thanksgiving and judging by the reactions of the others, this is not always an event they are looking forward to.

"But this year will be the first time for Cassia," Emmy says softly when the groans have died down. "I'd like to make it memorable for her."

Eh, that's not necessary.

"Last year we went snowboarding." Iona tells me, smiling.

"Yes, can we please do something a little more relaxing this year?" Nick asks, playfully. "Seriously, my ego is still damaged."

Emmy huffs mockingly. "You decide where we go then."

"I'd like to go paintballing." Declan shrugs.

"Absolutely not," Nick says and I stiffen, startled at his sudden intensity. When he looks at me, I can't really read his gaze and I shrink back in my chair, uncertain. “That’s hardly a holiday activity, Dec.”

Declan slouches and mumbles that they hardly ever do anything holiday themed, anyway.

"Something more peaceful, perhaps," Emmy placates.

"Ice skating?" Iona asks hopefully. "That can be fun."

"Can you ice skate?" Emmy asks me.

I shake my head but can't hide my surprise. I didn't know I was actually expected to join in these activities? Was just coming along not enough? Although the prospect of learning to ice skate doesn’t make my body heinously protest as I thought it would. I’m taken over by a memory for a moment, one I thought I’d long forgotten—

My mother moves gracefully around the living room, trying to mimic the Olympians gliding across the smooth ice on the TV. She spots me peeking around the couch and gleefully scoops me up. We’re moving more clumsily now, but her laugh tinkles and my own bubbles up to join hers.

“We’re Ice Princesses now, Cassia!”

She plops me on my feet, “Twirl! Twirl! Twirl!”

I do as she says getting lost in the blurring colors around me, I keep going as she laughs around and around and around, until finally I’m so dizzy I fall to the ground.

My mother keeps dancing without me.

"Hmm," Emmy says, watching me carefully. "Nick and I have been thinking about seeing a show. Mary Poppins is playing in Port Angeles."

"Are you kidding?" Declan mutters just as Iona sputters in outrage "That's a children's show!"

"No it's not," Emmy counters. "I heard it was fun for adults, too."

"Ooh, how about a comedy factory or something," Declan says, excited again. "Some stand-up stuff."

"Not when not everybody is over eighteen." Nick replies. Although, his eyes spark just like Declan’s at the thought.

"I think a musical can be nice…Anything but Mary Poppins though." Iona muses. "What do you think, Cassia?"

I look at her, and finally shrug. I don't know. Besides, my mind is still reeling in the memory.

"Have you ever seen one?" Emmy asks.

I shake my head, looking down. Ice skating. I think I’d like to do that, actually.

"Would you like to?" Nick asks gently.

Not looking up, I make the ancient sign for money, indicating I worry about the cost.

"No, don't worry about that. This is a gift from us for you." Emmy says. "And the point of Thanksgiving is to accept and be grateful for what you are given."

My blush is crimson, and I look further down, nodding as I cannot do anything else but accept her words and whatever they plan to do despite already deciding that I’d rather try ice skating.

Oh well.

"Would a theater not be too crowded?" Declan asks.

I don't know. I've never been to a theater, actually. I've never even seen a movie.

"Oh yes, I completely forgot," Emmy says, making a bit of a face. "Would you be okay in a theater full of people?"

I cannot stop myself rolling my eyes at this. I'm not fragile, Emmy. And in theaters, people sit in designated chairs, right?

Right.

Emmy smiles at me. "Forgive me. We are still getting to know you."

There is something in her eyes that betrays her, she doesn't believe me. I can't blame her, considering I had a major panic attack in school only two days ago.

I smile back apologetically, and now her face changes into something far more kind.

Yes, we are still getting to know each other.

Emmy and Nick decide to stay with the idea of seeing a show for now. When Declan and Iona’s protests grow louder, Emmy seems to lose her patience a bit.

"Think about the others in this family," she says sternly. "And what I said earlier about Thanksgiving goes for you too."

And as such I witness once more how the children can go against the parents, and the parents settle it without violence. Without raised voices, even.

Why this makes me respect Emmy and Nick more, I don't know, but it does. I'm in awe.

Declan mumbles something incomprehensible and folds his arms over his chest but doesn't protest any more. Iona rolls her eyes and mumbles that ice skating would be twice as fun.

I perk up at her comment, pleased that the activity might be back on the negotiation table, but unwilling to say anything more myself. Before I am able to turn away, Iona catches my interest.

“Cassia wants to go ice skating.” She says as I stare her down, brows coming down hard over my eyes.

Shit.

“Now that sounds like fun.” Declan pops in.

Betrayed by both of them? Ugh.

I try desperately to look at anything but the curious eyes of the Michael family, embarrassed to have been caught wanting something so easily.

“Well! That’s settled then.” Nick said with a soft, but firm, clap of his hands. “I taught the twins how to skate when they were wee things, I’d be happy to teach you too Cassia.”

This time my smile breaks free without any permission from the rest of me.

Nick’s grin is bright. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

A whoop goes up from the twins and they all break into a debate about the best place to skate.

Only Emmy grumbles now, and that’s because she’s really not the best at ice skating. For some reason this makes the tiniest little gasp of a laugh escape my lips. I’m sure no one else hears over the conversation, but when I glance over to Declan, he’s already looking at me, eyes soft and warm.

---

Sunday night I have trouble falling asleep. I am nervous about going back to school tomorrow. I've made a major spectacle in my gym class and word will spread, I'm sure. I barely remember any details, but I remember the crowd around me, and the teacher trying to get my attention.

I'll have to live through this. I don't care if people ignore me. I just hope they won't become nasty. Like Lola and what's her name? Cate. I don't like them.

I don't understand for the life of me what Declan ever saw in that Lola girl, except that maybe she has a pretty face. I never perceived him as that shallow, actually. But from what I know, he doesn't like her very much anymore.

I wonder…

No, don't think that. As if. No way.

There’s no way…Declan is—well Declan, and I’m—

Ugh.

Turning once more to my other side, I already know that sleep will be impossible. Irony. I used to be unable to sleep for what was about to come in the night.

Now I can't sleep for what is about to come the next day.

I'm pretty sure everybody has gone to bed by now, so I put on the robe Iona got me on her most recent shopping trip, instead of my clothes. I feel vulnerable in just my thin pajamas and the robe, but I wrap it around me and tie the belt tightly.

On socked feet, I make my way towards the kitchen. I almost turn around when I see a light is still on.

Half expecting to see Declan there, I am surprised to see Emmy still up. She's solving the puzzle in the newspaper, a mug wrapped in her free hand.

Is something wrong?

But no, her face is relaxed when she smiles up at me to greet me.

"Hey. Couldn't sleep?"

I shake my head, then nod at her.

"Me neither," she smiles. "It happens, sometimes. There's still hot water in the kettle if you'd like some tea."

I nod and take her suggestion, reasoning that something warm in my stomach can be a good thing. I rustle through the many different types of tea in the cupboard and after a long thought, I settle on some chamomile and honey. Hopefully it’ll make me sleepy.

“Sleepy tea for my night owl baby…”

I freeze, staring at the teabag I’m about to drop into the mug. My mother’s voice still drifting through the near silent kitchen. This is the second time I’ve thought about her today. Odd memories coming through the fog that she is usually shrouded behind.

Why?

My hands begin to shake and it takes a herculean effort not to spill hot water everywhere.

Why? Why? Why?

"Come sit with me for a bit." Emmy says softly breaking me out of my spiral so abruptly that I have to blink owlishly at her for a moment before I can remember where I even am.

I slide onto a chair opposite her and pull on my sleeves, frustrated to learn they are too short to really hide my hands in. There’s no way to hide their shaking now and I’m sure that Emmy has already noticed.

"Is there a reason you are still awake?" Emmy asks quietly. When I look up at her, she is moving her gaze away from my hands and up to my face.

I shrug, as usual not comfortable talking about it and not daring to mention what happened just moments ago.

"Are you worrying about school tomorrow?" She asks next.

Why bother starting a conversation with these careful questions? Her second question is always dead on right.

I nod, unable to lie and not really wanting to, either.

"You know you can always stay home," She continues, having nodded to herself. "Take a few days to calm down before you go back to all that mayhem. Or try homeschooling, after all. I won't mind. Before you decided to go back to public school, Nick, Jackie and I already researched tutors. It wouldn’t be difficult to get that set up for you, sweetheart."

I’m shaking my head before she even finished her sentence. I want to get out of the house. If I do homeschooling, I'll never go outside again. Everyone will notice that I am more different, more messed up, than I already am.

"Just know the option is there. What are you worried about?"

I can't meet her gaze. A sigh heaves its way out of my chest.

"Do you think people will be different around you after what happened last Friday?"

I nod minutely. See? The second question is always right smack dead on right.

"I think they will too. But it will die down."

Yes, Emmy, I know this.

"And the twins will stand by you, if I'm not mistaken."

Oh yes, they were adamant in making sure there was no doubt about that. I still have their support even though I failed so miserably.

It baffles me beyond comprehension.

"Do you think you can handle it tomorrow?" I finally meet her gaze as she lifts her tea for a sip. Her eyes are so, so soft over the rim of her mug.

I nod.

"Good. You're so strong. But if it gets too much, don't hesitate to call me, okay? Or ask Iona to call me if that's easier for you."

I frown a bit at the prospect or possibility to have her drop everything again to come pick me up simply because I can't function properly. I look away again, shame coloring my cheeks.

"No worries, Cassia. I am here for you. We all are. I hope to have proved that last week." She leans forward over the table to catch my gaze and I think back to how she held my hand — or rather, I hers.

I'd like to do that again. But I have no idea how to ask for that.

Pressing my lips together to quench the sudden desire, I take a deep breath before I look up to meet Emmy's gaze.

"Very well. I know it's hard for you to rely on others, but I can't stress enough that you can here. We got your back." She smiles at her own unusual choice of words, and I smile back weakly. I want to believe her.

It's just scary, you know?

"I also wanted to let you know that I will call the school tomorrow morning to plan a meeting with the principal and your gym coach. We need to see how we can edit your IEP so you won't have to do Gym anymore. I do think you need to take into account that you might have to do detention for the hours you missed."

Her voice is so soft. I look at her, looking for signs of anger. My hands tighten on my mug and the tea within gives a little shiver.

"I understand why you handled this the way you did, but you have to know that you can come to me with these things, Cassia. I will not use them against you, and you could have saved yourself this stress. Running from it is not the solution. Running is never the solution when faced with a hard task." Emmy’s face is stern and motherly, but her eyes and tone do not inch away from that softness that soothes me down to my core.

I swallow thickly at her gentle reprimand and look down, properly chastised.

We finish our drinks in silence. Then Emmy gets up and brings our empty mugs to the sink.

"Do you think you can sleep now?"

I shrug and shake my head. I don't think so.

"Are you at least a bit calmer?"

I nod this time.

"Very well. Try to get some sleep. And even if you can't sleep, try to lie relaxed with your eyes closed. You'll be resting all the same."

Try to lie relaxed… Now that's something I've never been able to do before.

I hesitate, though. I'd much rather stay up for a bit more.

"Go to bed, Cassia. Please. On a weekend night you can stay up as long as you like, but on school nights I'd rather you at least try to go to sleep at decent times."

I try not to frown. I'm not used to somebody mothering over me and honestly, I've always managed just fine, whatever time I went to bed.

Emmy waits for me until I precede her up the stairs, giving me no chance to follow after her and as such stay awake for a little while longer. She bids me goodnight in a whisper when we reach the top of the stairs and waits at her bedroom door for me to go into my room.

Damn she's thorough.

I lock the door behind me with a loud click — as defiant as I dare to be — and after pulling off the robe crawl into bed again.

Just lie down and relax. Yeah, as if.

Flopping over to my stomach, I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. It's only when the alarm wakes me that I realize I must have fallen asleep almost instantly.

Just lie down and relax. Huh. Apparently it works.

---

Drizzle is falling down incessantly when we emerge from the garage. Emmy promised me again she would call the school to sort out the Gym problem for me.

I am nervous, about the day, about Gym, about what others will do. I don't really care about what they will say. Words often don't hurt as much when uttered by random strangers.

Iona is with me in the back of Declan's Camaro and she's talking quietly, whispering reassurances about how they all will help me through the day.

"You couldn't help what happened," She ends her little speech. I can barely admit to myself how much better it actually made me feel. "And it doesn't matter what they think because they'll never understand anyway."

When we arrive in the parking lot there are only some free spots left in the back. Declan mutters something under his breath and pulls into a free place just Josh pull up next to us. Iona slides out to greet him and with a wave they disappear into the crowd together.

I squint against the rain when I exit the car. Here we go. Just block it all out. It’ll be okay. It’ll be fine.

It’s all–

"Cassia." It's Declan and he stops me with his voice when I try to start heading into the crowd.

I turn to look up at him, his hair already starting to get wet from the rain. He doesn't speak as he holds my gaze for a moment. Then he swallows and takes a breath to speak.

"I can tell Brent that he was out of line."

What?

"You know, I can tell him that he has to stay away from you. But only if you want to. I wouldn't presume to think for you or know best what you want." A beat, as he makes a slight face and shifts he weight on his feet. "Was he really bad last week?"

I shake my head with wide eyes. I know the difference between normal and inappropriate touch. My not being able to handle either is my own failure. Besides, we've been over this.

"Okay. Just know that I'm here for you." He says with his usual small smile.

They all keep repeating this, but none of them seem to understand how hard it is to actually rely on someone. Only bad things can come from it.

Except the one time I ran to Jackie and asked for help. It brought me here.

Somehow it's still hard to believe I am in a home where apparently only kindness can be found. Still I can't shake the feeling they won't be as nice once they find out who I really am.

The thought permanently etches a frown into my face and I can’t look up from the ground as the first bell rings and Declan walks me to my first class.

"So, you won't have to do Gym anymore?" He asks when we walk into the building.

I make a gesture that should convey that hopefully yes, Gym will be scrapped from my schedule.

Declan nods and drops me off at the classroom. "Good. That makes me happy. You—You don’t need that kind of mess around, you know? I'll see you later, alright?" He mutters, bending forward slightly to deliver his words, leaving me completely and utterly confused.

I walk into the room with the last of the students and take my place at the back of the class, thankful that the teacher starts the lesson quickly so that I'm not under the scrutiny of twenty sets of eyes for too long.

Brent is the last person to turn back front and I duck my head, avoiding his gaze. I am afraid of him even though I think there is no real reason to be so. What he did was not out of line, he just didn't respect my personal space.

Which has about a mile wide radius, but that's not important to point out.

Iona escorts me to Government, her usual sunny smile lighting up my mood a bit. I sit down next to Tatiana again. She waits until the teacher starts droning about something I couldn't care less about before turning to me "Are you okay?" she whispers.

I nod, not meeting her gaze. My cheeks flare. I’d forgotten that she was one of my saviors. I desperately hope that she may still like me enough to try and be friends. That goes for Marrissa too I suppose; the thought surprising me.

I’d never really wanted friends before and here I am with the prospect of quite a few.

"We were worried about you last week. What happened?"

I write down one word on the corner of my notebook.

Panicked.

"You were completely unresponsive. I've never seen something like that before. Are you okay again now?" Tatiana’s voice sounds more concerned than curious and I find myself smiling just the tiniest bit.

I nod again.

"I guess it's all part of the reason you're in foster care and all, huh?" She says softly, unassuming. She speaks in a way that doesn't ask for a reason or explanation, and I blink in surprise at her observation. "So, how are you going to solve this? Will you go to Gym at all?"

I shake my head, looking at the table top.

Tatiana sighs lightly, wistfully. "I wish I could get out of it," she jokes carefully. "But I guess I'll just have to endure. Unless you can sneak me out with you." She wiggles her eyebrows conspiratorially. I smile a bit wider and life a single shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

She looks back towards our teacher and the minor conversation between us dies. For some reason that doesn’t sit well with me. I think for a moment, then write something down.

How was the beach?

It's a magic question. Tatiana starts an entertaining story about their day at the beach, about how Brent fell off the boogie board before he even got on it, and how Wyn had come out of the water with lips that were blue from the cold. Marrissa apparently decided to go anyway, despite refusing Wyn’s invitation, and decided to shamelessly show off her boogie boarding skills.

I listen to her happy chattering until the teacher sets us to work on an assignment, and then when we are bent over our notebooks and I look at her from the corner of my eye, I can see how she is still glowing.

It must be very nice to be so easily happy like that.

The first break is filled with curious glares, angry whispers, and stubborn rumors. Lola gives Iona the third degree in Trig, but Iona doesn't budge, looking stubbornly at her notebook. I can see she's lost again with the assignments, and I make a mental note to ask if she wants help with it later.

Of course, in Spanish I am all on my lonesome, and Lola is at my table in an instant once I sit down, asking what happened and if it was the same that happened when she was at the house all those weeks ago. I try to ignore her and when the teacher starts class, Lola walks back to Cate, muttering that it's all just a cry for attention and a way to wiggle myself out of Gym.

Halfway through the lesson, the internal phone in the classroom buzzes. The teacher answers and listens to some message before she hangs up and focuses on me.

"Cassia, Principal Beck would like to see you. Take your things, you won't be back before the end of the hour." Her words are not unkind, but they still make me feel like the entire world has slipped out from under my feet.

I barely suppress my panic and swallow thickly, my throat dry and my heart crashing out of my chest being called to the principal's office is never good news.

"Uh-oh, she's in trouble." Somebody tease as I pack my bag with trembling hands.

I walk from the classroom with my eyes down, ignoring the mumbling. I am in trouble.

My feet feel like lead when I arrive at the administration office, but I square my shoulders and step in. Mrs. Lee is all smiles and greets me kindly when she sees me. "Mr. Beck is ready for you dear."

I nod at her and move to the door of the principal's office. Before I can knock a second time, he calls out for me to come in.

In the office are Principal Beck and Coach Gell. I hesitate a beat before I step inside and close the door behind me at their request.

"Your foster mother was here this morning," Principal Beck says. "Have a seat, by the way."

I swallow and shake my head, hopefully conveying I am more at ease standing up. The principal raises his brows in disagreement but doesn't say anything and comes to business. "You have skipped Gym."

He waits for me to respond to that rather obvious statement, so I nod, once.

"Your foster mother and coach Gell here have explained to me what has come to pass in Gym class. I have three things to say about this."

I swallow and clench my hands into fists to brace myself for what is coming.

"First of all, I am not at all happy with what has happened. You have caused quite some stir and reason for distraction and gossip, and all this could have easily been prevented if you had simply made known you were not able to follow Gym."

His words are harsh, but true, and I nod in acceptance of his criticism. I’m suddenly very happy that Vice Principal Greene is not here. I feel like his words would be even more intense on the harshness scale. I know that Principal Beck advocated for me to join the school and I let him down.

My gaze falls to my shoes as the shame hits me straight in the gut. I do not know how to be less of a disappointment to everyone around me.

Again, that insane desire to be normal—a normal girl—wells up within me so intensely that I can feel the tears pricking the corners of my eyes. Instead they all have to deal with that ghost girl I saw in the mirror, and she is nothing but a wisp of a human.

"Secondly, you have skipped five classes now and for that you will have to do detention. What this detention will entail is up to Coach Gell." Principal Beck’s voice is softer now, almost as if he had to be stern at first and is now saying what he actually wants to.

I nod again, accepting the reason behind his words, while at the same time wild panic bubbles up in my stomach. Emmy already thought I would have to do detention, but it is undeniable proof of my failure and how will she respond to that?

"Thirdly, you will not have to do Gym anymore. We have adjusted your IEP with your foster mother. What you will do instead is, once again, up to coach Gell." Again, his voice softens a bit more.

For the third time, I nod. It's all perfectly reasonable. My wildly beating heart and tense body contradict the calmness I feel — at least about how they want to solve this.

"Very well. I will leave you here now so coach Gell can discuss a plan with you." Mr. Beck is up and gone in an instant and when the door closes behind him with a soft click, I can't hide my gasp. I have the wild urge to run. I don't want to be alone in a closed room with a man I don't know.

"Relax, Cassia. I won't hurt you. Would you feel better if the door was open?" Coach Gell’s words are so kind they make me look up at him and when I nod, almost panting in my fear, he gestures for me to open the door. Quickly, I yank the door open just enough for me to be able to escape should the need arise.

Gritting my teeth, I take a moment to compose myself. I have to be able to do this. I have to be strong. If I run now, I will be causing a scene and then for sure Emmy will be angry and keep me home from school.

"Are you all right?" The coach asks patiently after a moment, and I take a deep breath before I nod. He has not moved an inch from his spot behind Mr. Beck’s desk and I’m comforted by the fact that he is keeping his distance. "Okay. We just have to discuss your detention and your new IEP and then you are free to go. I have gathered so far that you are not fond of crowds, am I right?"

I don't react because I don't know if he will use this knowledge against me. I keep my gaze firmly on him, frowning ever so slightly.

He continues, undisturbed. "Usually, I would let you do things such as refereeing, but this will not work with your particular situation, I don’t think. To make up for the time you skipped, I want you to write an essay on the importance of physical education for young adults, or children. Whichever subject you are more interested in."

Is that it? Seriously? I blink a few times in surprise and Coach Gell actually smiles a bit.

"To fill in the hours you'll miss, I want you to write a thesis. The subject is up to you, as long as it is connected to sports. You will come check in at the beginning and at the end of each Gym class. In between, you can work in the library. I expect you to have a research proposal and a finished thesis for detention by the end of this week. Any questions?"

I shake my head, baffled by his kindness.

A research proposal and a short thesis. I can do that.

I feel guilty even for looking forward to it.

But I'm worried sick about how this all will go down with Emmy.

Or Nick.

Oh, fuck.

"Cassia, can I ask you one more question?" Coach Gell gently puts down the notes that he had been taking. He looks down at me with eyes filled with concern.

I tense up. In school, the bell rings. Lunch has begun. Slowly I nod.

"What happened last week? You had a panic attack, that I know, but what triggered it?" His questions are slow and clear, as if he’d taken some time to think about what he wanted to ask. I realize belatedly that this is Declan’s coach as well and I wonder if the two men spoke at all about me after the events of last week.

I exhale in distress, not wanting to think or talk about it.

"Is there any way you can prevent it from happening again? It must have been stressful for you." He catches my gaze and holds it for a long moment, and I see so much kindness there it unsettles me. I'm not used to it, and I don't know what to do with it, either.

I shake my head after a long moment to answer his question. My inability to function is my own flaw and I have to deal with that failure by myself. I don't see how anything could help with it besides never being touched.

"Okay," Coach Gell concludes the conversation. "So, I expect you to check in with me at the beginning and end of every Gym class. You’ll have to write the essay for detention you can write in your own time. I don't see any reason to keep you here after school hours since you had good reason for skipping Gym, even though it was against the rules. Did you have any questions?"

I shake my head again, biting my lip as I'm fighting away the panicking fear for Nick and Emmy's reactions.

"It's lunchtime. You must be hungry. See you at Gym, Cassia.” Coach Gell dismisses me gently and I bolt out of the office before he’s able to say anything else. Although I do hear him step out and close the door behind him, which makes me step just a tad faster towards freedom.

Mrs. Lee greets me kindly and asks how the meeting went, but I am distracted as Declan is standing in the administration office, his hand tugging at his hair.

He smiles when he sees me. "Hi."

I nod back at him. What is he doing here? Is he in trouble too? In trouble because of me? My mouth goes dry in distress, and I can feel the beginning of a fog coming in to take me back into my mind.

"Um, Lola kind of made sure to tell me you were called to the principal's office. You okay?"

I nod again, but even I can feel the tension radiating off me in waves.

"I saw Coach Gell leaving. Was this because of the Gym classes you missed?"

I nod once. How will Declan react to what happened? I stare up at him, pleading silently for him to forgive me. For what I’m not exactly sure—For getting him in trouble? Was he in trouble? For getting myself into yet another situation where I had to have someone save me?

God…I am pathetic.

I look away from Declan finally, and down at the ground. I’m ready for the fog to take me.

"Excuse me dears, but you will have to spend lunch in the cafeteria." Mrs. Lee admonishes gently.

"Of course," Declan says and he holds the door open for me, guiding me through the now calm hallways towards the lunchroom. "Did you get detention?" He asks suddenly, and I nod once more. I’m too tired now for anything else.

"Ridiculous." He mutters, crossing his arms across his chest. "It's clear you aren't able to do Gym. You won't have to do it anymore, do you?"

I shake my head this time, still refusing to look at him.

"What do you have to do?" Declan asks next as we walk up to the table where the others are sitting.

"Look who it is! Miss Bad Ass Cassia!" Josh booms way too loudly when he sees me approaching and I cringe. He grins widely, his smile not even lessening when Iona swats his arm. He shrugs and follows me with his gaze as I sit down. Only then does his face turn into something more serious. "You all right, though?"

I nod once more. I’m feeling like a bobblehead at this point.

Declan has come to sit down by me, much closer than I'm used to and in an automatic gesture I shift my chair a bit away from him. He looks at me for a long time, something in his eyes looks almost…hurt, before that Wyn Ton asks him something and draws his attention away from me.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Iona looking from Declan to me and back again, but I avoid her gaze and focus on my fidgeting hands in my lap.

I catch glimpses of conversation. I hear snippets of the day at Ontario Beach of the cold that is supposed to come, of homework loads that are too big. Away from the table I can hear my name more than once, or perhaps I am just paranoid. The one time I look up I can see Lola and Cate looking at me and I look away quickly, frowning.

It will be all right. Things just have to settle down for a bit again.

It will be all right.

It has too.

I’m safe now.