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

Started November 30, 2018 by Deleted user

tune

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Daaaaaang Eris! This is epic!

As he descends, the door of Iona’s bedroom opens. "So, you've met her, too," she sneers. "Just like you to screw it up."

"I am aware of that, thank you," I snap back.

"Couldn't have come home earlier, to meet her normally like Josh and I?"

When would she ever get off my back? "No. Not that it's any of your business."

"Cassia is my business," she breathes forcefully. I roll my eyes at her and walk to the top of the stairs, where I stop to listen.

She comes trailing out of her room and stands beside me. “That bad?" She asks quietly, picking up on my distress. We may have our issues, being a twin isn’t the easiest, but for all its worth I know Iona would never let me deal with my issues alone and I would die before letting Iona feel a moment of loneliness.

"That bad," I agree. We have ever needed few words to have an entire conversation. I love her for that.

"Want to know what happened when Josh came over this afternoon?" She rakes a hand through her black hair, identical to mine, messing it up even further.

No. "Yeah."

"He walked towards her to shake her hand, you know, introduce himself? But then she just bolted and disappeared into the forest. I found her and brought her back home after two hours or so. She didn't even have a coat on her, her lips were blue from the cold."

Jesus, poor girl. So, she ran away from Josh, but she just froze when she was with me. Was that because I was touching her? Why would she just shut down when someone was with her? Horrible suggestions force their way into my mind, but I push them away. It doesn't have to be that bad. Don't lie to yourself. You saw how she reacted to you. No. I refuse to draw conclusions before I know for sure what is going on.

"Do you know what happened to her?" I ask Iona softly. Maybe they've talked about it when I was gone today. I should have been home. Shit.

"No, but it sure as hell isn’t pretty. You should have seen her when Nick wanted to wake her from her nightmare. She had fallen asleep in the chair and she began thrashing her head and stuff. She almost flew through the ceiling in her haste to get away from him when he put his hand on her arm."

Oh, Lord. Don't think about what that can mean. "She tried to run from him, too?" She ran from anyone but me?

"No, not like that. It was like, as soon as she realized what she had done, she just collapsed and hid her face in her arms. It was horrible to see. The girl has brought hyperventilation to an art."

I glare at her. Such things are surely nothing to be joking about? "Then what happened?"

"Oh." Iona pauses and swallows thickly. "She, um, looked like she was suffocating, and she was clawing at her scarf, so Auntie took it away, so she could breathe more easily."

I look at Iona carefully. She’s not done talking. She’s upset, and she’s rarely upset. I'm alarmed again. My sister has a way of processing things, so she doesn’t get hurt. But this? This is killing her. I move to stand a little closer to her and she does the same. We’re standing shoulder to shoulder now.

"And what?" I ask, a little more gently.

"Well, we saw her neck when the scarf was gone and, um…" she swallows again, "I think someone has tried to strangle her."

This time, I have to hold on to the stairs railing to stay upright. Someone tried…to… strangle…her. Kill her.

"You okay?" Iona asks reaching for me. It’s not often that she asks for comfort. She’s one of the strongest people I know. Without any hesitation I pull her to my side in a tight hug.

"Just give me a minute," I breathe. I squeeze her a little tighter as my thoughts form more coherently. Someone has tried to strangle her. Someone has seriously tried to kill her. The worst part? It was not a stranger. You're not placed in foster care when a stranger tries to strangle you.

Oh, dear Lord.

I cannot even grasp this concept, it is so far beyond what I know. It explains why she was gasping for air like it would be her last breath. It explains why Iona says she's made hyperventilation an art. It explains why she reacted so strongly when you startled her in what should be a safe environment.

I'll need a week to think this all through. Some nagging realization hovers at the back of my mind, but I'm still too shaken to pay attention to it. I was right when I thought this girl would barge in and turn our whole world upside down, but I was wrong when I thought I would be able to ignore her most of the time. With a shock I realize that I don't want to ignore her. I want to get to know her. I want to teach her that she's worth happiness. I want to make her feel safe. That nagging realization then crashes down full force on me. She's never been safe. The bruises that must show on her neck are probably not the only ones she's ever had to endure. The reaction she had to me was so strong, it cannot possibly have bloomed from
a single encounter with some sick mind. That sick bastard was probably someone she knew, someone who was supposed to take care of her. Even though something like that must be shocking, it still doesn't relate to the fact that her entire demeanor is focused inward, and almost — I swallow — submissive. It's almost like she has never known anything else but fear.

I sigh deeply and meet my sister’s worried gaze. "Did Auntie or Nick tell you who did it?". It's hard to even speak the words.

"He wouldn't tell us. Nick said that Cassia had asked them to not tell us anything, and that we should respect that."

Cassia doesn't want us to know who did it. So, she knows who did.

I swallow thickly. "I thought this shit only happened in movies."

Iona chuckles humorlessly and pulls away from my hug. "Movies need inspiration, too." she says sadly, and then disappears into her bedroom again. She’s done talking, and I cannot blame her for that.

I don't know what to do. Although I feel drawn to this girl, I'm quite certain it is just some protective-caveman-like instinct. Not to mention she surely won’t want or need me around her, not after our disastrous first encounter. I should leave her alone, stay out of her way a little. I'll ask Nick about it tomorrow, but I think it's the best way. If she wants to get to know me, she can take the lead for that. I would understand if she never wants to look at me again.

I'm still waiting at the top of the stairs when Nick calls out softly to me. I take a deep, calming breath and go towards him. He waits at the bottom of the stairs and before I'm fully down, I can see that he has shed a few tears. I put my hand on his arm in a feeble attempt to reassure him. I know it's my fault that he is so upset.

"I'm so sorry," I croak. "I only meant the best."

"I know, Dec. We have all been caught off guard. Would you like to apologize to her?" His voice is thick with emotion and I nod. I have not seen him this upset in a very long time.

I hope, I thoroughly hope, that Cassia will accept my apology, although I doubt that words will do any good. This is not something what will fix easily. Nick leads the way to the kitchen and I come to a halt at a safe distance. Cassia is sitting on the floor, against the counter, her arms wrapped around her knees. She gazes unseeingly forward. Emmy is sitting beside her in exact the same position. The glass and the spilled food have been cleaned up. Cassia’s dark pants still show traces of the juice that splashed on it when she dropped the glass.

My uncle clears his throat softly. "Cassia, Declan would like to say something. Is that alright with you?"

Cassia’s head shoots up at the mention of her name and she looks from Nick to me. Some of the earlier fear has evaporated from her eyes and now I can tell how beautiful her eyes really are. They are big, almost doe-like, and they are the brightest tawny I've ever seen. Her arms wrap around her legs a little tighter when she catches my gaze, but at least she's looking at me. Maybe I can convey my integrity with my own eyes. She gnaws her bottom lip again and is obviously waiting for me to speak.

"Um," I start. Way to go, Declan. "I wanted to apologize for what happened. I never meant to scare you like I did and it seems I did exactly the wrong thing when I wanted to make it right."

The Nobel Prize for the best speaker goes to…

"So, I'm sorry. Really. I'll stay out of your way if that's what you want."

When she doesn't react, I'm starting to wonder if she even heard me, but after what seems like minutes, she nods slowly, once. Something flickers in her eyes that I cannot name, but it is not fear. It's… hope?

I huff mentally. Yeah, there’s no way she’d ever trust me now and for some reason my heart cracks at the thought.

((blushed furiously I cant say thank you enough guys this means sososososososo much. I would give you all giant hugs if I could!))

---

((I am a female XD))

You gonna take Christmas break?

Don’t be sorry, we all know you’ve hot a personal life!

Of course. You have a life. We all respect that. It’s a compliment really. We crave good writing material.

Take as much time as you need, love!

(Cassia)

I don't know how long it has taken me to come out from my mental hidey hole. But when I finally blink and focus to look around me, Emmy is opposite me, mirroring my position. Although she looks
relaxed compared to my paralyzed form.

"There you are," she says softly, a wobbly smile stretches across her face. A tear falls from her chin. Has she been crying again? She shouldn't do that. She’s too warm for tears. A stab of regret spears my heart and I have to look away from her. I look around me. I'm sitting up against the kitchen cabinets. The floor is clean, the glass splinters are gone. As the chain of events that led to here resurfaces in my mind, fear fills my head again. I look back at Emmy, alarmed.

"We are so sorry that you got startled," she whispers. "I'm sure it wasn't Declan’s intention. We are not mad at you, and we will not… punish you." She says the word like it's hard for her to use it.

Emmy holds up a notepad and pencil. "Is there anything you'd like to say?" she asks carefully.

Well, no. Nothing I would like to say. If it were up to me, I'd never use any words, in any way. The one time I tried to say something important, the consequences were disastrous. I stopped talking after that. Besides, right now, I couldn't even make a sound even if I tried. William has made sure of that.

Perhaps…. I want to try a little harder tonight. It's for the first time in years really that I want to use words to explain myself. I push away the utensils that Emmy holds out to me and he face falls. She misunderstands, so I quickly raise my hands and sign a single word:

Sorry.

She looks at my hands surprise and pleasure shining in her eyes, then looks up at me. "There is no need to be sorry, Cassia. We should be sorry for not being able to make you feel at ease here. But as we said, it will take time for you to learn that you are indeed safe here. You'll have to learn that for yourself."

I don't react to that, because what am I going to say? I’m at a loss because I don’t know what it is I could say right now. I have run out of words already and I’ve only used one. Safety is a foreign concept to me and I dare not hope that she is right.

My fingers are trembling, I clench them tightly against my palms. Even though it was only one word, Emmy did not sneer at my sign language. She did not tell me that I was dumb because I could not talk or knock my hands away when I did try to communicate. Peter and William would usually do these things, my mind remembers, it got so bad once as a child that Peter duck taped my fingers together. I mentally slap myself.

Traitorous mind.

I slowly raise my hands again, hesitant. Emmy’s face lights up as she realizes I am going to 'say' something.

I'll pay for the glass.

"What? Why? Of course, you don't need to pay for the glass," she breathes genuinely confused.

I huff mentally. However, much I hate it, it seems like I need to continue this conversation. I have to be sure that they know what I mean. Surely, I'll have to pay in some way to make up for the broken glass, and the mess, and the sweater, and the breaking down?

Of course, I'll pay. I want to make it better. Tell me what I must do.

"You need to do nothing," Emmy starts, but I'm signing again.

I swallow hard as I finish.

Retribute. I know I deserve it.

"No." Her voice breaks, but she sounds fierce enough. "Oh honey no. Never."

Tears are streaming down her face now constantly. I cock my head at her and bite my lip. Why is she so sad? It's heartbreaking to see. I frown with the effort of continuing to sign, my hands really aren’t used to it anymore, but this I really want to say to her.

Don't cry, please.

There's more I want to say, but my body blocks again. I'm not really one for talking. My hands flop back down into my lap and I sigh silently. I did it…

Emmy all but breaks down as she translates what I said to Nick, who has been hovering in the background. He’s caught on to what I’ve said through Emmy’s responses and I can see that his jaw muscles are flexing with the effort it is taking for him to remain collected.

This is ridiculous. This is exactly what I didn’t want. I feel so guilty suddenly that this has all happened. I want to make it better. I need to make it better. I want to convey this to Emmy, so I catch her eye and give her a half smile. Her response is instantaneous, I really think she can’t help herself, a smile breaks through her tears. Nick sighs softly as he shifts his weight to the other leg. I look up and over him a smile as well. He surprises me with a cheeky grin that actually does make me feel a bit better.

We sit quietly then for a moment, as the intensity of the atmosphere has lightened a little. Before I can relax, I have to ask one more question. Tentatively, I hold out my hand to grab their attention. They understand me immediately and both focus on my hands. Nick crouches down next to Emmy and looks to her face, seeking something in her soft features, only when he appears to have found what he’s looking for does he look back to me. Emmy doesn’t seem to notice his quick examination. I must confess he doesn't seem all that threatening to me anymore now. He's kindness personified, but I'm careful with my judgment about people. I've never been wrong, but there's always a first time for everything.

I take a deep breath and hold it while I sign slowly to Emmy.

She balks and looks me straight in the eye when she answers. "No. Never."

After a long moment of silence in which Emmy and I stare at each other and she doesn’t translate what I’ve said to Nick, I let go of the breath I’d been holding. I want to believe her. I do. For the second time since this morning, the tight ball of anxiety in my stomach untangles a little more. Emmy continues to hold my gaze. The warmth in her eyes, the love, the kindness, is unmistakable.

I want her to know me.

The thought scares and thrills me at the same time, but mostly I’m scared out of my wits. What happens if this is all a dream?

Nick clears his throat. "Cassia, Declan would like to apologize. I think it is a good idea that you see him again with us still around, in a safe environment."

I take a shaky breath. I'd like to see him again, but after tonight I'm pretty sure that he must loathe me. After all the kindness I've met today in this house, I surely would find it a shame if I got off on the wrong foot with Declan. I sure hope he won't make my life all too miserable.

As if she's reading my thoughts, Emmy whispers, "I'll make sure he's kind to you. He'll have to answer to me if he isn't." She winks, and I can tell she’s joking. She doesn’t really believe that he would be mean to me. The thought of her taking on the tall, muscular man I saw before makes me smile a little.

I look back at Nick and he nods before walking to the stairs and calling Declan down.

I tense up a little in anticipation.

"Just so you know, I have mentally placed a comforting hand on your arm," Nick says over his shoulder. I smile again, what a silly thing to say. I could love them all, easily, if I would allow it.

I push the thought away violently. No such thing as love, my love. Peter.

Nick comes back first, followed by Declan who looks so anguished it’s startling. He looks down at me and his jaw is taut with tension, which makes me tense up. I look forward again, not wanting to meet his eyes.

Midnight black hair, dark brows, fierce eyes and a strong jaw-line, and he’s got the same ice colored eyes that both Emmy and Iona have. Must be a main James family attribute. Although I've sworn myself to never ever find a male attractive in whatever way, he was the most handsome man I've ever seen. The picture surely didn't do him any justice.

But I'd never want him. I couldn't.

No, scratch that.

Like he would ever want me. Ha. Ha. Funny, Cassia.

Nick clears his throat before he speaks, pulling me from my mental stupor. "Cassia, Declan would like to say something. Is that alright with you?"

I should look up now, and so I do. Declan’s eyes are blazing with something I cannot identify, but it's not anger, or hate. Of that I am quite sure. I wrap my arms a little tighter around my legs as I brace myself for what he is going to say. I bite my bottom lip and for the first time feel that it hurts to do so. I wait.

"Um, I wanted to apologize for what happened. I never meant to scare you like I did and it seems I did exactly the wrong thing when I wanted to make it right. So, I'm sorry. Really. I'll stay out of your way if that's what you want."

What? Stay out of my way? What for? I blink at him. Why he should even change an inch of his life because I am put in his house? I'm pretty sure he didn't get a say in that, did he? Then my mind stumbles across a thought that startles me. Do I want him to stay out of my way? I'm not sure about that. But then, would he want to know me? Would I want him to know me? Do I want any of them to? Emmy, yes, I think I could handle that, but the others? Ah, hell…

I'll need a month to work this all out, at least, but right now, he'll want an answer. How to answer him?

I raise my hands to sign but then remember that Emmy is the only one that can understand that. I blink at him again, at a loss. Shit. The can only come up with is the only thing I've done so far today.

I nod.

Declan nods back, once, tensely. He is frowning a little. Then he looks up at Nicks, who nods in turn, once. He looks back at me for a moment, then turns and leaves for the stairs, without so much as a goodbye.

I do see the burning blush that has creeped its way up the back of his neck though. As if he knows I’m still staring at him, he suddenly turns on the first step and meets my eyes. That ice burns, but I can’t look away. His blush creeps across his tan features with increasing speed. He turns away and darts up the stairs.

The sweater lies forgotten on the breakfast bar.

I stare at it for a moment. Stupid sweater.

Nick lingers, and after a moment of thought simply sits down on the floor with an agile grace that's quite stunning for a man his size. I am surround by people now. They sit at a safe distance and they look at me with something I cannot really identify, but it's certainly not hate, or pity. I do feel threatened a little, and I'm tense. The entire atmosphere is tense, like you're around a dog you know is vicious. It's annoying to be in the center of the attention. I prefer to be on the periphery, so to speak. Or outside of the interaction completely, if it's up to me.

Nick tells me he wants to apologize for all the things that have gone wrong today, he feels like he is to blame. "I hope you can forgive us." His smile is gentle, and genuine.

It's still so bizarre to hear him say that they are not going to blame me for all what happened today. I'm starting to believe that their kindness really is sincere and won't stop when I get up tomorrow.

I bite my lip. That really hurts, and I wince as I suck it into my mouth immediately after to soothe the pain a little. It's really been a rollercoaster today. I’m wary of the hope that threatens to blossom in my chest. It does no good to hope, I learned that a long, long time ago. But this damn James family is making it damn difficult to resist the flutter of light deep within my darkness.

"I am off to bed, I have to work tomorrow," Nick says apologetically his brown eyes gentle, then gets up and leaves Emmy and I with a grin and “Get some rest, doctor’s orders."

Suddenly, I realize how tired I am. My stomach growls, chagrined. Oh. Right. This all started because of food.

"Oh! You still need to eat," Emmy says jumping up immediately to pick a container out of the
fridge. "I'm guessing it doesn't really matter which flavor you want?" she asks as she sits down again and hands me the package. It's vanilla with something. I'm so hungry it even looks tasty to me.

However, cozy our gathering is – I’m really starting to be able to relax in just Emmy’s presence - I cannot eat with others watching. So, I hold the package in my lap. For some weird reason, I
don't want to interrupt this moment in the kitchen. As long it remains as it is now, that is. I'll eat in my room later. I've waited so long now; another five minutes won't kill me. For good measure, I point towards the package and then towards the ceiling, and Emmy gets the message. I ask for reassurance with my eyes. She smiles and nods. "You can eat where you want, whenever you
want.”

I want to know the rules in this household. I want to know what to do and what will happen if I fuck up. Maybe I'll ask Emmy tomorrow. I'm too tired now.

"Cassia, why have you not changed into pajamas?" Emmy asks. She's in pale lavender leggings and a tank top, over her ensemble is a lovely silky purple robe.

I glance down at my clothes and shrug.

"Why not?"

Because I have none. Please stop asking me these things… She keeps going even though I haven’t answered her. "You’re also wearing three layers of clothes. Don't you have warmer things?"

This time I shake my head. No. I come from Los Angeles. There is no winter in California.

"You don’t have warm clothing. My goodness. I had no idea… Why are you no longer wearing Declan’s sweater?" Emmy continues, getting alarmed now. "He didn't ask you to take it off, did he?”

I think back to our disastrous encounter. I was in the kitchen, minding my own business and trying to finally, finally eat something real, when I heard this voice behind me, asking who I was and why I was wearing his sweater. No, he didn't specifically ask me to take it off, but he did ask me why I was wearing it and well, he sounded quite pissed. There was no way that I was going to keep wearing it after that. He needed to get his sweater back. I had tried to pull it off as quickly as I could with my shaking hands, all the while haunted by memories of the times I had to undress in front of Peter or William. Bile had filled my throat at the association. My body had switched to red-alert mode swiftly and my heart rate escalated to the point of no return. Although a small voice in the back of my mind called out frantically that I didn't need to be scared in this house, that this Declan, like the rest of his family, would probably not hurt me, I tensed up like I did every time I sensed danger.

"Did he?"

I look at Emmy again with wide eyes. I need to tell her what happened, but how on earth do I do that? I rub my face in frustration.

Emmy sits back, an almost unsettling patient expression forming on her face. Her intentions are clear, and I cannot refuse this, I know that. I cannot prevent nor hide the fierce scowl either however that settles on my face as I let go of the carton to free my hands. Fuck, I do not want to do this.

So, I sign as quickly as I can.

Declan asked why I was wearing his sweater. Startled me. Didn't hear him enter. Thought he was angry.

Emmy nods. "Go on, honey."

I huff quietly. Dammit. I should have never showed her that I could sign.

I broke the glass. I’m so so sorry. Didn't want to anger him more, so took sweater off. It’s his sweater anyway. He never asked me to do it.

Emmy nods again, “Can you tell me what happened next?" Very softly now.

No.

I don't even have to try to explain fortunately, because Emmy reassures me immediately that I don't have to. "I am so sorry you were scared. We're not giving a great example in providing a safe new home for you, do we?" she chuckles humorlessly, and once again a tear escapes from the corner of her eye.

I begin to shake my head forcefully, trying to tell her with my eyes that she should not be crying over me. I smile sheepishly at her to show her that it’s all me. It’s always my fault when things go wrong. I have not behaved properly all day.

"Well!” She says in response to my smile. She runs a hand through her blonde locks and sighs. I swear it’s like all her distress floated out with that sigh. She’s all sunshine again in less than a moment. How does she do that? “Tomorrow is a new day. We must get you decent clothing. Seems we have quite the adventure ahead of us. Grocery and clothes shopping!"

No!

I must look ten different shades of horrible and I cannot even begin to list the reasons why I do not want to go shopping. Apart from the obvious fact that I will never be able to repay this debt, I also profoundly detest it. I don't want to try on new clothes to see how they look on me because there is no way in hell that I ever will want to look 'good,' in whichever possible way.

Shopping for new clothes is such a miserable thought I momentarily consider just walking away from the kitchen and leaving the house altogether. Nope nope nope. I’m going to take a hard pass on that one.

Emmy seems to notice some of my distress, but she wags her finger at me in such a comical manner that I’m stunned for a moment, "It doesn't have to be a big event, but you'll need some basic things. A coat, for one."

She's right, of course, but that doesn't make it any easier. Can't we just order some stuff online? I'd be perfectly happy with hand-me-downs from the Iona as well.

My stomach growls again, the sound cutting through the silence and distracting us from the delicate topic of conversation.

Emmy takes this as a cue and gestures that she wants to get up. "I suggest we'll really try to go and get some sleep now," she says while I get up with her. "You can eat up in your room at your own time and pace. Tomorrow we can decide what we want to do. I forgot to tell you earlier, that we don't get up at set times on Sundays. You're free to sleep late if you want to."

I nod, knowing full well that I won't be able to.

Emmy seems to be quite deft at filling my silences, "You can borrow our clothes as long as you don't have your own. You can have anything you need." She looks down at me and smiles compassionately.

There it is again, that strange new concept. Compassion.

"This must have been an… interesting day for you, to say the least," she says as we mount the steps. "It seems that the more we try, the more we mess up. I hope we have not spoiled our chance with you. Come, let's get you to bed. I'll get you something to wear."

I walk after her, completely stunned by her words. They messed up? I thought I was the one that frequently had 'spoiled her chance?' I sincerely hope they will not send me off to a shelter. I shudder at the thought of living in a place with fucked-up teens all around. I’d rather be anywhere than a shelter. Anywhere.

Emmy disappears momentarily up to the third floor to the master bedroom and comes back with deep purple colored satin pajamas, which she hands to me. They feel thick and warm and incredibly soft. Do I dare to wear this?

I look at her and nod in thanks and give her a tiny smile. I hope my gesture transfers my message. I've used up my word quota for the next two years tonight.

My new foster mother (foster aunt?) leads the way to the guest room — my room — and flicks on the light. Of course, the first thing she notices is that the bed is made, unused. She turns to look at
me.

"Did you not go to sleep earlier?" she asks carefully.

I blink at her unsure how to answer. Please don’t hate me.

"Did you not feel safe enough to sleep?"

I have to look away from her at that question. Her words seem to cut right through my soul, because she is dead right, of course.

"There is a lock on the door, you know, if it makes you feel better…"

I still look away, wrapping my arms around my waist for comfort.

Emmy steps toward me, hesitantly, and I automatically take a step back. She presses her lips together in what I think is disappointment. "I am so sorry," she practically whispers. "I really hope you will feel safe enough to sleep tonight." With that, she leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I remain unmoving for several long minutes. When I am certain she isn't coming back, I do indeed lock the bedroom door.

I turn back to the room. Finally, mercifully, I am alone. The package with food is still in my hands along with the set of pajamas. I pull Jackie’s quilt out of my suitcase and wrap it around me while I huddle on the floor on the other side of the bed, hidden from the door. I press the straw through the designated spot in the carton and pull the quilt over my head, blocking out the light and creating a safe bubble to be in.

A deep, shuddering sigh escapes me.

Only then I can finally eat in earnest, and in peace. Honestly, I am so far gone that the taste doesn't even bother me anymore. I feel incredibly safe within this cocoon, but I’m also disappointed in myself. I haven’t had to so this in many years since I was a child. To think that I’ve let this day affect me so much to the point where I need to physically hide, makes me uncomfortable. I dismiss the thoughts for now. I’m starving.

The package is empty all too soon. I should have brought another one, but there is now way in neither heaven nor hell that I am going downstairs again to get myself some.

I sigh again, trying to get rid of some of the anxiety that fills the rest of my empty stomach. Then I reluctantly pull the quilt off my head again, blinking against the faint early morning light.

My head lolls back against the bed. I am so tired. I think I have never been this exhausted in my life. I realize that I won't be able to stay up until the morning arrives. At least, not while standing up in my usual watch position. I've done it countless times before, but this day has completely drained me. I need to lie down, or at least give my body a chance to rest.

With an effort, I get myself on my feet again. I look at the pajamas Emmy lent me. They look so tempting. I grit my teeth and leave them on the desk. Then I pull the thick comforter off the bed and carry it to the bathroom. Jackie’s quilt and a pillow follow suit.

I switch off the light in the bedroom and feel my way towards the bathroom, which I lock as well. Yes, this is better.

I step into the large bathtub in my socks. Then I wrap both the quilt and the comforter around me and I sink down in the tub, which surrounds me like a shell. Snuggling into my pillow I try to make myself as comfortable as possible. I close my eyes and sigh deeply. The comforting scent of Jackie’s quilt surrounds me, and I try to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. I wiggle a little until I am reasonably comfortable, wrapping my arms around myself in the closest resemblance I will ever come to a hug.

I don't want my mind to wander, and it seems my mind doesn't want to either. I just feel… numb. I don't have the energy to think about everything that happened today. I have messed up countless times, and I have not been punished. Nobody has shouted at me or threatened me. The patience I've seen so far is almost unnerving.

Declan…

No, maybe it's best not to think about him. He'll probably want nothing to do with me, anyway. I certainly won't want anything to do with him. Right?

Sure.

I sigh deeply again, and my head feels incredibly heavy. I bury my face in Jackie’s quilt and savor the scent that represents the closest thing I have known to a home. Dread fills my chest when I realize that this scent will not last forever. In fact, I will be lucky if I can keep it with me for even the next few days. God, I miss Jackie so much already. This quilt, this scent, feels like the last thing that's binding me to her, to the world I have known before I came over here.

I'll have to do it on my own from now on.

Whatever it is that I will encounter on my way, I will take it with my head held high. I can do this. I will have to. With this renewed resolve, my body finally relaxes a little.

If I'm very lucky, I might even be able to sleep.

---

“I miss Marie," William sighs behind me. He's slouched back into the couch. I'm sitting as far away from him as I can, on the edge of the seat, but apparently, I'm still within arm's reach. I go rigid as I feel his hand crawling up my back in a drunken, uncoordinated caress. These have been getting more and more common. Although it disgusts me, I recently found out that the more I resist, the more he does it. So, I sit quietly, waiting for the moment that I can break away.

"I really miss her. If you hadn't been here, I'm sure all would still be fine."

I grit my teeth and wring my hands in my lap, unseen by the man who has sworn to take care of me, to protect me from harm and to provide me a safe home. So far, all three of those promises have been broken.

"Yeah," he slurs, and his hand falls limply back on the couch.

A strange little thing happens to my body. It's like every nerve ending is suddenly on end, alert for danger. I cannot see him. He's unpredictable and I don't know what he's up to. I count to ten silently before I get up as carefully neutral as I can muster.

"You gonna cook?"

I turn to him and nod.

"Good," he yawns, then scratches his crotch with vigor. God, the man is so disgusting.
I look away.

"Bring me a beer, will ya?" he yells after me when I go for the kitchen.

I do as I'm told and place an opened bottle of beer on the coffee table before him.

"Just give it to me, you stupid cow. Goddamnit, is that really so much trouble?"

I grit my teeth once more and walk up to him, reaching the end of the bottle out towards him. When his hand comes out I flinch violently, and in his sudden rage at my fear he doesn't take the bottle from me but grasps my wrist in a vice-like grip. He squeezes so hard tears spring into my eyes immediately. That's going to be a handsome bruise in the morning.

As he grabs my wrist, the bottle first topples over and then slips from my hand entirely, spilling the contents all over William’s lap.

He roars, his swearing a string of incomprehensible slurring as he gets up, my wrist still in his hand. I give in and move with him as he drags me across the room, else my wrist will certainly snap. God, it burns.

I don't even see it coming as he swings the glass bottle, still spraying beer, at my head. The blow is so loud it makes my ear ring. The bastard still holds my wrist. I cannot protect myself and all too soon comes the second blow, and the third… I find myself praying to whatever higher power that the bottle won't break. Another blow follows suit and I'm seeing stars now, the bad kind. I scurry into the refuge of my mind and search frantically for my happy place…

I jerk awake with a violent gasp and it takes me a good deal of effort to get my breathing and my hammering heart under control. It was a dream, it was just a dream.

Count. One, you're okay, two, you're at…Where am I, exactly?

I'm in a bathtub.

Okay, that's neither a very new nor a very surprising thing. I carefully look around and take in my surroundings. Dull grey light enters the bathroom through a small window up high in the left wall. I'm wrapped up tightly in a thick comforter but recognize Jackie’s quilt underneath it.

Ah, yes, now I remember. I am at the house, nee, mansion of the James family, who have kindly taken me into their care. I will stay here until I am at least eighteen. I went to sleep in the bathtub because… well no matter. Seems I won’t be sleeping anymore anyway.

When I try to move a little, I notice that every joint and muscle in my body hurts. Screams is a more accurate word as I let out a soft “oomph” as I attempt to stretch. I've slept in a tub before, and I know it will always result in a certain soreness, but I think that my aching muscles right now are a combined result of my many panic attacks yesterday.

Oh, dear Lord, yesterday…

Well, at least I have slept a little. I feel like I've been hanged, quartered and disemboweled, though. My head is throbbing, and my eyes feel like I have rubbed sand into them. My throat is dry and sore and well, every part of my body hurts in one way or another. But honestly, I must admit to myself that I've had so much worse.

I can do this. I will have to. I promised I would.

I wrestle myself free from the cocoon made of comforter and quilt and bathtub and step out of the tub, immediately shivering with cold. I yawn and stretch my aching body again, and I can hear more than one joint pop into place.

Internally, I groan. Maybe this is just a little more discomfort than I had bargained for.

I shuffle towards the door and open it softly. The bedroom is undisturbed, untouched. Emmy’s pajamas lie forgotten on the desk. I pick the comforter out of the bathtub and make the bed, but I do it a little differently than it had been the day before. I refold the pajamas and place them under the pillow. Façade in place, I look around the room. The desk is empty but for the laptop that's sitting on it. Did they mean for me to use it? The rest of the room is almost empty. A few stray books fill the shelves that adorn the wall above the desk. To the right of the door towards the hallway is a television set. I hadn't even noticed it before.

I glance at my watch. Yes, just what I thought. At William’s house I would have been up and running by this time and with the time difference it just means it's so early even the birds have not started to sing as yet. It's still relatively dark outside, the room is lit by a ghostly twilight.

Rubbing my eyes, I calculate that I have slept for about two and a half hours. Well, splendid, indeed. I can't go back to sleep after having such a vivid nightmare. I have to do something to distract myself, else I will go mad. I don't dare to think back on yesterday. Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. My encounter with Josh was horrible. My encounter with Declan was flat out mortifying.

Why did he touch me like that? Why did he hold me to him? Why was I so utterly and completely lost and confused as he did so? Why did I not fight, or run?

No, that's a stupid thought. I know very well I have learned long ago that it's better not to run.

I swallow and try to push back my annoying mind. I was in shock already over the broken glass. I was on the ground on my knees and then he came towards me. It's perfectly reasonable I
would not try to run. Or fight.

You even fought Emmy when she wanted to remove your scarf. My traitorous mind. I really hate it sometimes. Maybe I can make myself and my mind agree that we will disagree. I have no explanation for what happened. Even if I had, I would not know how to put it into words. No, I have to be clear on this. I didn't run because there was no place I could run to. I didn't fight because it's better to not fight when you know you will not win the battle. Period.

But why did he look so anguished when he came back down? Was he really sorry? Could he be? What could that mean?

Well, stop it, Cassia, because you can be sure he will stay away from you from now on. And that's better, isn't it? Don't mess with me, and I won't mess with you. I just hope he won't get ugly with me. It would be easiest if he just ignored me. Then I can ignore him and that's all for the best.

Same goes for every person in this household, anyway. Four people constantly around me… Will they require me being present with them always? Are they the kind of family that sits together every night, watching television or playing games? Could I ask for some alone-time maybe? Alone time all the time?

Or maybe this would be my alone time. The house is so quiet, it's pretty obvious that nobody is awake as yet. I'm not really surprised. It's 6 am on a Sunday.

Let's get my ducks in a row here. I sit myself down at the desk and summarize. Some weird muscle in my lower back that I didn't even know I had protests, but I ignore it. I have to think.

I ran away yesterday when I met Josh. I ran into the forest and did not let them know where I would be. Iona picked me up. What if they hadn't found me? Would I have gone back? Best not think about that. Then I fell asleep right smack in the middle of a room full of people — I really want to slap myself for that — and fled from Nick who had put his hand on my arm for God only knows why. Then of course let's not forget the fact that I hit Emmy when I wanted to get rid of the notepad in her hands. Plus, I fought her when she tried to remove my scarf. Oh shit, I hope I didn't bruise her or anything.

Then Emmy counted with me, and she succeeded. I still can't believe it. But I have to face the facts. Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. I lean forward and put my head in my hands. I feel terrible. I must have spoiled my chance with this family. They were patient with me yesterday but when they wake up, they too will have slept on it and they will undoubtedly come to realize that they do not want me here. I wouldn’t want me here. I’m a mess and I know it.

Thank you for providing us with such good material to take in!
Reading your work is joy itself.

Your writing is better than most young adult novels.