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

Started November 30, 2018 by Deleted user

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(Well i have been here from the start

Now look)

(nOw LoOK

I AM A BAD STALKER)

It’s true though, most writing does not keep me so riveted to it. It’s fantastic! I get so excited reading this because it is genuinely good.

Agreed!! This is freaking amazing!!

I swallow thickly at the realization that I would find it hard indeed if they would send me away. Who knows where I will end up again and I'm pretty sure it won't ever get any better than the patience, the care and the compassion I have met here so far.

Yes, well. It's really up to them if they want to keep me or not. Best be prepared to go if they want me to. Blowing out a silent puff of air, I get Jackie’s quilt out of the bathroom and fold it into my suitcase. Maybe I should get the rest of my clothing as well. It's easier if I'm all set to go if they ask me to leave. When they ask me to leave.

I unlock my door and peek into the twilit hallway. No signs of life. Well, considering I have robbed the household of half their night, it's not strange that they are still sleeping. Or maybe they are just still sleeping because it's normal to be asleep at this hour of the day, especially on a Sunday. I scowl at my oddness.

I find the laundry room on instinct. It's above the garage and a little remote from the rest of the house. Good, they won't hear me when I'm busy in here.

My clothes are clean and folded neatly on the side table. My sweater lies on top and I pull it over my head greedily. Finally, finally something warm around me again. Iona has allowed me to sneak-peek into this room for exactly 2.3 seconds during our tour yesterday, so now I take my time looking around. Washer, tumble dryer, small sink to the left of the room. A rack stands to the right, full of clothing that can't be put in the tumble dryer. Towards the back, an ironing board and a shitload of shirts that need to be done. Washing and drying for this family must be a day job, I muse.

Well, best get to work then.

A small flashing red LED on the tumble dryer indicates that it's done. I pull out a load of towels and place them on the rather large side table to fold them. It feels almost comforting to be doing this. At least I know what to do.

Too bad it's a matter of minutes before I'm done. I eye the stack of shirts. Do I…?

Yes, I do.

Before I know it, I've plugged in the flat iron and I'm waiting for it to heat. And then I'm ironing all right. I don't know whose shirts these are, but it doesn't matter. There are all kinds — from button downs to tees to long sleeves. I iron them all and fold them or hang them and get lost in my work until I hear a cracking sound at the entrance of the laundry room.

I freeze in my tracks and look towards the door. Nothing. Have I heard it right? Is somebody there? Will they be mad if they find me here? I mean, I meant for the best, but there is always the possibility that they will take it all wrong. Should I have done this in the first place? If I still had a chance with these people, have I now messed up anyway?

A sharp, burning smell reaches my nose and I gasp in shock as I look down. I pull the iron away and sure enough, I have burned a hole in the shirt I was ironing. Dark puffs of smoke waft into my face and a very dark brown spot with the exact contours of the iron adorns the shirt.

Oh, fuck.

No. No, no, no. No…

---

I'm in the kitchen, standing at the breakfast bar. I have hidden the shirt inside the closet of my room. I know I will have to face the consequences soon, but I can't get myself to do it right now. It's not like I am going to wake them for this. I'll wait until they are up.

I have changed back into the clothes I wore yesterday and which I found washed and dried in the laundry room. Even my shoes are dry, I found them near the front door.

The kitchen is quiet. The only sound I can hear is the faint rush of raindrops that tap against the many windows in this house.

It's 10 am and I am standing, have been for two hours now. Keeping watch if you will. Watching over myself, maybe, although I'm the one in trouble and there's little I can do to protect myself from that. I am to be punished for my idiocy.

Standing still like this doesn't bother me usually. I have brought this type of patience to an art as I have spent countless nights in this manner, waiting first for Peter and later for William to sleep so that I may take care of my needs in the dead of night. But right now, I am shifting on my feet, wringing my hands and biting my lip and I am very, very nervous. There's a big, tight ball of anxiety in my stomach and every once in a while, I have to consciously remind myself to breathe. I wish there was something I could do to kill the time, to distract myself, but on the other hand I am scared to do something for fear I might mess up again and break something and make things worse still.

Why, why did I have to be helpful and iron the goddamn shirts? What was I thinking? Fuck, Cassia! This was such a wonderful chance and you really have tried to fuck up royally. I snap the rubber band at my wrist and my eyes pinch from the sharp pain it brings on my already bruised skin. Good. I snap it again. This time, I hiss from the pain. Better.

I don't know yet how I am going to handle this. I am waiting for the family to get up, but I think it is best to let Nick deal with it. I hope to get him alone. It will be bad enough as it is.

Maybe I should try to eat something. The house is quiet, and I should take my chance to eat in peace. But I find I'm too worked up to even drink anything. I man myself up, grit my teeth, and force myself to stand still and to wait until this household comes to life again.

I can do this. I will have to. I promised I would be good and now I’ve fucked it all up. Again.

I do empty the dishwasher, it's the least I can do. I do it quickly and quietly and I don't even break anything. It's a puzzle though to figure out where everything goes, but I think I've done it right.

Then I move back to my spot besides the bar, where I have an overview of the entire kitchen and can see the stairs as well. I wait.

Emmy is the first to come down. She wears the same robe as she wore last night. Her hair is a blonde mess and still it becomes her. Her face lights up as she sees me, but I look away. I cannot meet her gaze, I'm so ashamed. I wrap my arms around myself and bite my lip hard.

Hell, I ruined a shirt of theirs, and it's not like I should be comforted over that.

"Good morning, Cassia," Emmy greets me lightly, but I hear the concern in her voice. Does she know I've done something wrong? Is there a neon sign over my head? With William, I sometimes thought there was. He always knew when I did something worth punishing me for. "Did you sleep well?"

Hmm, no. I shrug, still not meeting her gaze. I've blown it up, so I no longer need to play nice and willing to communicate. It's nasty, but I'm kind of relieved by that. This woman has pulled more words out of me in one evening than I have spoken over the last, what, seven years? At least that will be over again soon.

"Is something wrong?" Emmy tries to meet my gaze, but I still look away. I really think it's Nick that should deal with this. She doesn't press on and proceeds to make coffee. The rich, bitter scent makes my mouth water. It's been a while since I had this lovely drink.

"Have you eaten anything?" Emmy asks then. She doesn't look up at me but is still busy with the coffee, measuring the fine brown grinds and adding the right amount of water before she turns on the mean machine. Finally, she looks up. "Hmm?"

No. I look away again, suddenly quite nervous that she is going to make me eat something. It has taken me not twenty-four hours to realize that this woman can make me do anything and everything just by putting the right look on her face. It scares the shit out of me.

Then again, it's all nice and noble that she has barged through my walls yesterday, but I really have to be more careful. Especially right now, when I'm quite certain this fairy tale will end fairly soon. I need to protect myself or else I will get hurt.

Emmy looks at me for a long, lingering moment, but finally doesn't ask any more questions, fortunately. Instead, the walks to the fridge and gets a carton of my favorite food in the world. Without asking, she puts in the straw and places it on the breakfast bar before me.

"I am leaving the kitchen now. I will be in the living room. Come and get me when you are done."

She leaves the kitchen without further ado with a smile as warm as the sun. I am stunned. Now she is waiting for me. Like I can eat when I know she is waiting for me, but my stomach growls as if on cue. Traitor. What do I do? Do I eat? I'm exceptionally nervous and I don't feel like eating. Then again maybe I really should eat because who knows what is going to happen and when I will get the chance to eat again. I want to stamp my foot like a child and slam my fist through a window as I feel my resolve wavering. I take one look at the package with food… and I'm gone. Before I know it, I am drinking with eager gulps, the muscles in my cheeks straining against the force with which I am sucking the goo through the straw. The swallowing hurts my throat but it's definitely better than two weeks ago. I make short work of my drink and quickly take my meds as well, downing the contents of the glass before the pills have fully dissolved. Then I go to get Emmy and lo and behold, the coffee is just finishing up as we enter the kitchen again.

Was that really so hard?" Emmy asks me as she produces two mugs from a cabinet and pours the coffee. It doesn't sound accusatory. It sounds like she actually wants to know. "I take it you like coffee, by the way?" she continues, effectively taking away the need to answer her first question, to which I wouldn't have had an answer anyway.

Wonder what will happen when I can have solid food again. How, and when, will I eat?

Ah, best not to wonder about that as right now I really can't be sure how much longer I will be welcome here. The ruined shirt burns a hole into my conscience. Maybe I should tell Emmy…

The person in question, pulls me out of my thoughts by placing a mug of hot, steaming coffee in front of me. The smell is heavenly. I won't be able to drink it until it's about lukewarm because of that damned throat, but maybe I will give it a shot when it's still reasonably warm. I mean, my throat seems to be healing, after all. Except that maybe I shouldn't indulge in this delicious coffee with my misdemeanor lying heavy on my heart.

I sigh deeply and frown, still looking away from Emmy. The atmosphere in the kitchen is slowly, but surely, tensing up.

"What's on your mind, Cassia?" Her voice is so gentle, so kind… Damn that woman! If she knew what I have done, she wouldn't use that voice with me anymore.

God, I wish I could hate her. I scowl and keep my focus on my coffee mug.

"I wish you would talk to me," she whispers. I can definitely hear some insecurity in her voice, but I refuse to look up. This is all my fault and now Emmy feels bad too, obviously. I just want to be left alone, but how do I make that clear?

If only Nick would wake up, so I could get this over with.

Emmy looks at me for a long time and I fidget nervously under her scrutinizing gaze. I pull my sleeves over my hands to hide my anxiousness a little. It doesn't work.

Somehow, she seems to realize I'm not going to answer her, because she takes her mug and a neatly folded newspaper over to the kitchen table. "I like to read the paper on Sunday mornings," she says with her back to me as she settles into a chair. She unfolds the paper and starts to skim the headlines. "I'm usually the first one to be up, and I like the quiet time. Why don't you join me?"

It's an offer I can't refuse, but I really rather would stay where I am right now. What will happen when I don't join her? Then again, does it matter? Everything is lost as it is. So, I keep standing at the breakfast bar while my anxiety is reaching peaks I've never experienced before.

We stay quiet for a long time. Emmy flips a page of the newspaper now and then and sips her coffee. She doesn't ask me again to join her and if I could, I would thank her for that. I need to keep my distance now. I've come to like her way too much already and it will hurt badly enough when I will be forced to give everything up when I am asked to leave.

I watch as the steam slowly ceases to whirl off my coffee. I want to try it. The deep brown liquid looks so inviting and warm. Then again, I find I am too nervous do to anything. My ears perk up; I've heard movement upstairs. Somebody else is awake.

I'm looking so intently at the stairs that I didn’t notice Emmy turn around. "Cassia, why are you so nervous? Is there anything I can do for you?"

My head whips in her direction and for the first time this morning, I meet her kind eyes. A big lump nestles itself in my throat immediately and I bite my tongue, hard. I don't deserve sympathy and I surely shouldn't be asking for it. I feel so bad for what I've done. I look away again. I can't tell Emmy without shame coming over me and I still feel it's Nick that should deal with this. Men always deal with the trouble in their house.

So, I sigh once again and will myself to stand still and wait. Emmy keeps looking at me and I can tell she is starting to get worried. It would be so much easier if she just left me alone.

When she finally looks away, she gets up to open the — already empty — dishwasher. Her mouth falls open and she looks at me. "Did you do this?"

I nod and glance up at her through my lashes. I feel the blush burn across my cheeks. My fingers begin to tap against the side of my coffee mug.

"You shouldn't have," she says softly. "Thank you, it was very considerate of you, but you don't have to do any household activities here. We certainly don't expect you to."

She is trying to comfort me, I know that, but it makes me all the more anxious for what I have done in the laundry room. Oh god. Now I know I’m in deep shit.

Finally, the person who I've heard upstairs comes down. It's Nick, and he's dressed in jeans with a button down and a smart jacket. Is he going out today? Because that would mean I might have to deal with my mistake sooner than I thought. I swallow thickly as he steps into the kitchen, somehow afraid that he already knows I have done something wrong.

Instead, he is all smiles and kindness and presses a kiss on Emmy’s temple before he turns to bid me good morning. "Did you sleep well?"

I find I cannot meet his gaze either. I wrap my arms around myself and look down, taking a small step backwards as I do so. Behind him, I hear Emmy opening the fridge. "Omelet?"

"Yes, please," Nick answers, but he's still looking at me. "Cassia, is something wrong?"

I don't know exactly what I am feeling anymore, but it's close to desperation. I need to get out of here. I can't do it. I cannot face it.

I'm such a coward.

Without looking up and hoping against hope that they will let me, I walk out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I force myself to walk at a normal speed, my body is tense as I listen carefully if I'm being followed.

I'm not. I vaguely hear Nick say something in a language that makes me think of rolling green hills and days in the sun. Emmy responds in the same language and I know for a fact that they’re taking precautions when talking about me. As I reach the top of the stairs and lock myself in the guest room they have given me. I lean back against the door and let myself slide to the ground. I warp my arms around my head and tug at my hair as I lean my forehead against my knees.

I can't do it. I can't. I've been here for not one day and I've come to realize I desperately want to stay here. Yet, everything I have done so far has gone wrong somehow. When I show Nick the ruined shirt, I am certain he will send me away. It's the second thing I have damaged beyond repair, in less than eight hours. I'm no use to them.

William was right. I am utterly and completely useless. I am an idiot. I certainly don't deserve the James family’s kindness.

But I want it.

Question. Do you write this down on Notebook as you think of it? Or do you keep it and copy it on here?

Aww it’s fine! It’s remarkable that you can simultaneously do good story and word vomit. Lol.

I wait anxiously for someone to come after me, but nothing happens. I sit and wait for what must be almost an hour before I heard footsteps on the stairs again. I tense up and hold my breath, but the footsteps do not approach my room. I hear a door open and close, and then there is silence. I let my breath escape again, but my heart is still thundering inside my chest.

I have to move. It will not become any easier when I keep postponing it. I get up, grit my teeth and walk into the closet where I have hidden the shirt.

All too soon, I hear myself knock on the door of Nick’s office. It's so soft I can barely hear it myself and I have a fleeting hope that he hasn't heard me either, but his reply comes immediately. "Come in."

My lungs aren't big enough to accommodate the deepness of my sigh.

I can do this. I will have to. I promised I’d be good.

I let out a shaky breath and open the door to his office.

"Ah, Cassia! What a pleasant surprise," Nick smiles as looks up from his Mac. "What can I do for you? You seem ill at ease this morning."

I stand in the doorway. I can't move. I'm too scared. Where has my strength gone? My resolve? My trademark apathy?

Nick sensing my fear gets up and walks around his desk, closing the door behind me. Oh, this is so much worse. He sits back down and leans forward, forearms leaning on the table.

"Please, Cassia. Whatever it is that is bothering you, please talk to us. It hurts me to see you so upset."

Every muscle in my body goes on full lock down mode. I was so ready for the other shoe to drop yesterday. Ready and prepared, but now today, with it looming dangerously over my head I’m so afraid of losing this chance with this family. I so desperately want this kindness, this home filled with warmth and love. The brief time I’ve spent here is a teasing taste of what I’ve been missing my entire life and now I’ll be forced to give it up. I don’t know what I was expecting, if I am honest with myself, Peter and William always told me that I was not worth anything good in this world.

Gritting my teeth so fiercely it hurts my jaws, I somehow succeed in making my arms move from behind my back. Without meeting Nick’s eyes, I place the ruined shirt before him on his desk. I swallow hard, my anxiety practically choking the life out of me.

"Why are you giving me my shirt?" he asks, clearly at a loss. He doesn't touch it, but his mouth turns down into a grimace. Oh, I’m in for it now.

I swallow again — damn the throat — and step forward to unfold the shirt, so that the blackened spot is up and on display. When I step back, Nick finally seems to get it and he holds up the shirt to see the damage. "Oh… no. Did you do this?"

Isn't that obvious?

When Nick looks from the shirt to me, I cannot read his expression as he has a few different emotions crossing his eyes. One I recognize as displeasure. I step forward once again and with a hand that is trembling so hard it's embarrassing, I place a belt on the desk.

I step back and wait.

The room is absolutely silent, I don't even think I can hear him breathe. I can only hear my hammering heart and I'm pretty sure Nick can hear it, too. I'm too scared to look at him, so I don't know what he's thinking right now. My gaze is fixed on the ceiling. I’m wringing my hands so hard behind my back that my knuckles crack one by one, sounding like gunshots in the quiet of the room.

"Cassia," he finally says, so softly I'm not even sure I heard him. He swallows before he continues. "What does this mean?"

I have to look down to see him nodding at the belt.

I’m sure it’s obvious. Please don’t make me say it… Get this over with. Don't hesitate, it'll make it worse. I close my eyes and start to take off my sweater. My hands are shaking so badly that I fumble with the cloth.

"Stop. Stop. Stop." There is an authority in his voice that I have not heard before and I freeze momentarily, before slowly tugging the sweater into place again. Stop? I blink up at him my eyes wide. He curses quietly in that same language as earlier and then comes around his desk to sit on the corner closest to me. I dare not take a step back even though he’s much to close for comfort.

"Cassia, look at me. This-” he gestures to the belt coiled like a deadly snake behind him on the desk. “This is not how it works in this household. I am not going to use this belt on you. I will never use any type of violence. Nobody in this household will. It was an accident. That rotten iron needed replacement, anyway. Breathe."

Breathe, indeed. I gasp in a gulp of air and it burns in my throat. Is he being honest? I meet his gaze and what I see literally stuns me. He looks hurt. His brown eyes are wide and sincere. He sits back a little and he is tense, but it's not because he is angry.

A shiver bursts through my skin. Don't break down now. Please. Another shudder escapes and it's like a dam is broken. I cannot stop shaking, but I don't move and keep looking at Nick. I’m…relieved. I’m not going to get hit. The shudders are the tension leaving my body in the only way it knows. He reaches behind himself slowly and picks up the shirt again.

"You know, I have always secretly really hated this shirt," he muses, ignoring my shudders. Well that would explain the look of displeasure that he had given it before I had even showed him what I had done. "You've done me a favor." Without so much as a second glance, he tosses the shirt into the small trashcan beside his desk. Then he looks up at me, a gleam of humor in his eyes.

Is he serious? What game is he playing? I stare at him, stunned. No…no punishment?

"I mean it, Cassia," Nick says kindly. "It was very brave of you to come to me, and I admire you for that. Now I hope you will believe me when I say there will not be any consequences for you. You'll probably have to help Emmy choose and buy a new iron, though," he chuckles lightly. "This is about the tenth garment that is ruined by the thing. I'm not angry with you for the shirt, Cassia, honey. Emmy will not be angry with you, either. As for this belt," he continues while he picks it up, and I go rigid immediately, "I believe these are made to hold up pants, and nothing else. Please take it with you, and do not ever again imply that I would use it on you for punishment." He’s not angry at all and he’s practically pleading with me as he says the last part.

I have to work very hard to keep standing up, and I wobble slightly as my knees buckle. My anticipation rushes away and leaves me strangely light. Is he serious? There will be no punishment? No pain? I watch as Nick very deliberately hands the belt to me. It hangs in the air between us. That hateful thing. I detest that I may have to touch it again.

I look from the belt to him. "I'm serious," he says. "I won't ever hurt you. Please take this away."

My shaking hand reaches out and I watch him warily as I hold my hand out for it. He places it in my hand so gently I could cry. I almost drop it though, I'm trembling so hard. To my utter mortification, I sniffle.

"Thank you. Please don't be so distressed, Cassia honey."

His voice is soothing, and my shivers stop a little.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I can see genuine concern on his face. I shake my head, but he keeps looking at me, his open gaze turning into an inquiring one. I can tell the exact moment he switches from dad (uncle?) mode and into doctor mode.

"How many hours of sleep did you have last night?"

I look at him and blink to clear the haze in my eyes. Dammit. He would notice, wouldn’t he?

"Just stick up your fingers. Since I’m not very adept as signing. Perhaps you can teach me. In the meantime, I would really like to know how long you rested for."

Very reluctantly, I hold two fingers in the air. Will I be in trouble for this? I swallow and of course I immediately feel how dreadfully tired I really am. How to admit I just don't feel safe enough to sleep?

Eris I’m close to crying what have you done to me

Just then, I hear a knock behind me on the door. Emmy's muffled voice comes from the hallway, speaking again in that wonderfully beautiful language.

"Can she come in?" Nick asks me, his eyes warming up.

Why would he ask me? I shrug, uncomfortable. It's his office.

Nick calls out for Emmy to enter in English and she comes in, holding a steaming cup of coffee. "Oh, hello Cassia, I didn't know you were in here," she smiles, but I see her look at Nick in concern, or for reassurance, I don't know.

"Maybe we can use this opportunity to talk some things through," Nick proposes causally folding his arms on his chest and crossing his long legs. "Is that okay with you, Cassia?"

I look from him to Emmy. I really don’t want to live this entire experience again. I’m mortified to a whole new level. I feel a blush
creeping across my cheeks.

Nick takes my silence as acceptance, because he asks Emmy to close the door. I watch her as she moves about the spacious room, first closing the door and then handing Nick a rather pale looking cup of coffee. He not one to drink it black, I suppose. She then sits down on the comfy looking couch that's just in front of the desk and pats the seat beside her in an invitation for me to sit down as well.

I walk backwards until my knees hit the couch and I plop down as far from the both of them as I can get. I turn my gaze to the wall of the office which is lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. I don’t really know if I can face them. I shove my hands into the front pocket of my sweater, placing the belt in there as well, and wait.

"Is it okay if I tell Emmy what happened?" Nick asks, but before I can react, Emmy asks in a very worried voice, "What happened?"

He looks at me again and waits for me to react. I nod ever so slightly. It remains to be seen if he was right and Emmy won't be angry. I can feel the tension in me rising again.

Lord have mercy, just end me already. When the infinite deity rejects my plea, I plant my feet and square my shoulders. Bring it on, then.

"I believe I can safely assume that Cassia has done some ironing this morning, and as she was doing that, the iron attacked yet
another shirt." There is a sparkle in Nick’s eyes as he speaks. I'm, well, confused at his choice of words, to say the least.

"Ironed?" Emmy asks, surprised. She then chuckles a bit, “I suppose I will admit defeat and get a new one already.”

I nod at her, to answer her question. Suddenly quite sheepish again. I was doing things to keep myself busy. It’s not anything to get worked up about. They’re chores; everyone does them. Unless… I blanch, there’s no way that Iona and Declan don’t have to do chores?! Won’t they get punished?

"Oh, Cassia," she breathes, and I meet her eyes for a moment. "You really didn't have to do that!" She turns to Nick. "She cleared out the dishwasher this morning as well."

"Did you? That's very considerate and however much I appreciate it, please know that you don't have to do that. We don't expect it of you," Nick assures me, much like Emmy had done earlier this morning.

I frown now. Apparently, my earlier thinking as correct. Surely, I have to earn my keep in some way? These people are an enigma to me. I really can't believe they are as kind as they appear. There must be a catch. There’s always a catch.

Emmy turns to me, but it takes her a moment before she speaks. "So that's why you were so anxious this morning." A beat. "I am not angry with you." She says it so softly I have trouble hearing it.

Somehow, I believe her. There is a sincerity in her voice that unsettles me.

"There is a more important matter, however," Nick says, running a hand through his hair "as it seems that miss Cassia has slept for only two hours last night."

Well shit, cat’s out of the bag now.

Emmy gasps however and scowls as she berates herself. "I should have known that," she mutters. Then she looks back up at me. "You were unable to feel safe enough to sleep?"

My eyes widen, as she is spot on and painfully right. Emmy notices my reaction and interprets it correctly immediately. She tucks her hair behind her ears before she speaks, "What can we do to make you feel comfy enough to allow yourself to sleep?"

She actually wants to know. The thing is I wouldn't know the answer. I was thinking I would just have to wait until I collapsed and had no other choice than to sleep. Until I am tired enough to be willing to trade safety for rest. I realize I am tired now, but how on earth will I be able to sleep? I've been caught off guard too many times to count while I was sleeping. I don't want that to happen. I'm just too vulnerable when I sleep.

"Cassia," Nick interrupts me from my thoughts, "I can always give you some sleeping pills if you would like that. You will have to go to sleep at some point."

I rub my face in frustration. Yes, I know that. Just please no pills. I’ll do it. I swear. I forcefully shake my head quickly. In response to Nicks statement. He sighs softly before nodding, “Okay. No pills. That is understandable, but rest is vitally important while you heal.”

"Okay." Emmy gets up and holds open the door. "Cassia," she says gently, but firmly, "I am going to take you to bed now, and you will get some sleep. You can lock the door if you want, and I promise you that you won't be disturbed. You will see that I will keep that promise, but you have to give us a chance. Please," she adds, and holds out her arm in an inviting gesture to follow her.

I do. I’m sure I’d do anything she asked me to.

She leads me into the guest room and pulls back the comforter of the bed. Then she pulls out her pajamas from under my pillow and places them on the mattress for me. "Please," she says again. "You must be exhausted."

I realize again that I am. My eyes burn, both from strain and from my exhaustion. My entire body aches, my head throbs and my throat… Yeah, it hurts. A lot. All these aches and pains used to be so easy to ignore. I’ve had one day one people trying to take care of me and now suddenly I’m a whimp.

"I will leave you now," Emmy continues softly with her usual warm smile. "I hope you will allow yourself to sleep. I will knock on your door in about four hours, otherwise you won't be able to sleep tonight."

I nod, and she copies my gesture. This is so unexpected and sweet that I get a lump in my throat. I sigh to get rid of some of the tension in my body, and then I swallow. I lift my shaky hands and sign quickly: Thank you.

Emmy’s smile intensifies in warmth and she winks at me before she briskly leaves the room. "See you in four hours," she says, and then she closes the door behind her.

I want to believe them. I really do want to believe them. Maybe I should take this chance. Maybe I should not think that this is their way to coax me into a feeling of safety and then plan to catch me off guard. Maybe, they are honest.

I stare at the lock on the door. I reach out and touch the lock gently before very deliberately turn away from it. Maybe I will leave it unlocked. I do.

Maybe I should just give in to a body that is shaking with exhaustion and a mind that cannot think straight anymore. I do.

Maybe I should just change into those soft pajamas and crawl into the bed. I do.

Maybe I should just try to get some sleep.

Maybe I will be able to…

I almost wish I could say that I didn't give in. I almost wish I could say that I tossed and turned for hours before I fell into a broken, restless sleep. But frankly, once I had decided I was willing to take the risk and had indeed changed into the pajamas, and once I had curled up under the thick and warm comforter that felt wonderfully heavy on my body, I think I spent maybe ten more seconds in a waking state until I drifted off into blissful oblivion.

I didn't even dream.

Emmy wakes me with soft knocks on the door, while gently calling out my name time and again. I stir and when I open my eyes, I'm momentarily thoroughly confused as to where I am. The dull light of an overcast sky illuminates the guest room — my room. I hadn't even bothered to pull the curtains.

Gradually, Emmy’s voice starts to gather some meaning in my head. "Cassia? Are you awake, honey? Maybe you can clap your hands twice to let me know if you are? You don't have to come out immediately, but please give me a sign."

Clap my hands? Now that’s just ridiculous. I can’t help the smile that flicks across my face. Then again, she gives me the opportunity to let her know I'm awake without having to leave the wonderful warmth and comfort of this bed. Flinching at the prospect of making a sound, I still clap my hands twice as requested.

"Excellent, honey. I hope you slept well. You can come down if you feel up to it, but if you'd rather stay to spend some time in your room, or anywhere else, that's okay too. If you want to go out with me, I did promise that yesterday. Just let me know, kay?" Her voice even sounds like sunshine coming through the door.

I don't know what miracle has brought this woman into my life. I've never met someone — not even Jackie — who could handle my muteness as she does. Emmy speaks to me as if I would just answer back, still she doesn't expect me to. She doesn't seem to be ill at ease with my silence, and that, I like. She doesn't treat me like I am stupid, either. This is so very new to me. It's confusing, but somehow liberating. William always treated me like I was not fully sane. It got on his nerves that I didn't speak. That I didn't make any sound at all. It was his favorite game to try to get a sound out of me.

I flinch at the memories. I don't know. Life is just so much easier to handle when you're quiet.

I turn in the bed and huddle a little deeper into the thick comforter. It's been a long time since I was this comfortable. It's dangerous to let myself relax in this way but damn, I'm way too comfy to let it go as yet. Not to mention my body is profoundly grateful. Even my neck hurts a little less.

I wonder how long it will take to heal. The doctor at the emergency room back in Los Angeles told me that my vocal chords were damaged from the strangulation and that I wouldn't be able to use my voice for probably a month or so. I didn't mind that, it wasn't like I would miss it. The doctor also reassured me that I would definitely be able to use my voice again when I was healed, but that I really should try to keep quiet over the next month.

Jackie and I had just exchanged a meaningful look.

The red spots in my eyes would start to cease after a couple of weeks as well. I haven't looked in a mirror for so long, I have no idea what my eyes look like. I don't particularly care to look at what William had done to me. I felt it that’s all I need to know. I don't even know what red spots the doctor was referring to.

I try not to think back to the last night I was with William. He had done alarming things before, but this time I snapped. I can vividly remember the feeling of his hands closing around my neck, the feeling of not being able to breathe. I wonder if that is why I start hyperventilating so quickly now. I never had that problem when I was still with Peter, or with Jackie, even.

I force my mind to think of other things. Damn my traitorous mind for making me remember these things all I want to do is forget. All I want is to stay in the here and now.

Emmy. She has kept her promise. I have not been disturbed. I'm reeling at this realization, but I must remain careful. I've been
promised safety time and again before, and that promise has been broken almost as many times. Best not to think about that now. I'm too tired and weary even to snap the rubber band at my wrist. Thinking of it, I lift my left hand above the blankets and look at my wrist in the grey light of the room. The skin is bruised purple, it has been since I got the rubber band and was told to use it. It's ironic really, that I started to bruise myself once William could no longer do it.

I rub my thumb softly over the delicate skin on the inside of my wrist and frown at the unfamiliar sensation. Could I ever endure to be touched? I mean, I am not entirely stupid. Nobody will probably ever even want to touch me in a gentle manner, but I know it exists. To be touched as if you were a priceless piece of artwork, or to be touched absently by one who would rather cut off their arm that cause you harm. It exists… In movies it does, at least. In the few novels I had to read for school, as well. I wonder about that learning to hold and be held, about that longing to touch and be touched. I don't understand this feeling, I’ve never had it, but somehow, I know it exists. I saw Josh playing with Iona’s hand yesterday, which clearly was a token of affection. Even this morning, Nick kissed Emmy’s temple and she did not flinch. Quite the opposite — she closed her eyes in delight and smiled like a purring cat when she felt his lips.

Could I ever want that? Will I ever want it? Who would want to do it to me? Could I ever be lovable? With what I've done in my past?

Stupid, stupid thoughts. I bring my fists up to my brows and press hard. So stupid to think like this when I know I’m ugly; I know I’m unlovable. This stuff only exists in movies and it's a well-known thing that movies are fake. It would be very pleasant indeed if only the violence would cease, even though I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this peace so far.

Internally, I groan. I stretch my protesting muscles one last time under the safe cover of the comforter and then step back out into the cold, unforgiving world. I have to get up. I can't keep hiding in here, although I'd very much like to. I have to eat and take my meds. Best to deal with it one thing at a time. It remains to be seen how long the calm and safety here are going to last.

I find Emmy in the kitchen. The smile he throws me when I step in borders on ridiculous, it's so wide and sunny. Any anticipation I might have felt evaporates with her easy greeting. She starts for the fridge immediately and pulls out a carton of food and a large jug filled with something pink.

"Did you sleep well? You sure look like you did!"

I nod at her and can't help but smile a little in return, she’s just so infectious. Although I've not nearly slept long enough, it's the best nap I've had in a very long time.

"So, I take it you believe us when we say we are not angry?" Her smile is again so bright and innocent, almost hoping. People cannot fake these things. I realize I do believe her. Believe that she's not angry. It's a liberating feeling, but I'm cautious about it. I’m no stranger to manipulation, but as soon as I try to compare Emmy to Marie, my brain stutters, like it refuses to put them two in even the same category.

I focus back on Emmy when she asks me to eat and absently take the carton that she hands out to me. She does this so nonchalantly, while she is busy with other things, that I drink the carton without so much as a second — no, maybe it a third — thought. The house is silent, and I wonder where everybody is. Then again, this house is so big, the other family members could easily be home without me knowing about it.

Done eating, Emmy gives me my meds immediately and I drink them down as well. There's such a pleasant atmosphere here, and it's almost upsetting because I don't know why it is. But I do feel this lightness in my chest that is foreign to me and I’m sure it’s because of the woman that is casually bustling around the kitchen before me.

Then, Emmy catches my attention again, "Would you like to try this smoothie? It has some light yogurt with fruit. I hope the yogurt will prevent the fruit burning in your throat. Will you try it?"

I look at the jug and think, why not? Everything is fine so far and if I'm honest, I am ravenously hungry still. I guess that being here has cost me a lot of energy in terms of anxiety. I noticed this morning that the pants Jackie has bought me only last week are already fitting more loosely. I'm too thin, but I don't really mind about that. Too thin is definitely undesirable, and that is, by definition, a very good thing for me.

This smoothie however looks absolutely delectable. It smells sweet, refreshing, and inviting. I think I even lick my lips in anticipation as I look at the big glass Emmy has set before me.

"I'll bring Nick some as well," Emmy says, gesturing vaguely to the left of us where both Nick and herself have their home offices. "The man often does his paperwork on Sundays. Did you know he's a surgeon at the hospital in town?"

I knew he was a doctor, but not what kind of doctor. Surgeon. I’ve met my fair share of those. I shift uncomfortably at the memories that surface. Although I’m tense I nod at Emmy, acknowledging her question.

"Ah. I suppose Jackie told you. He works night and day, but I am so proud of him. Did she also tell you what I do for work?"

At this, I nod again, but I also feel the need to supply more to the conversation. I know that if I’m getting bored of nodding, Emmy must be positively annoyed with it. I lift my hands and sign hesitantly: Graphic Design.

Or at least I attempt to sign it. Half way though I realize I’ve forgotten the hand form for “design” so instead I awkwardly spell it out for Emmy. I grimace at my ignorance and wait for her to admonish me.

My surprise must show, when Emmy shows me the form for “design” and slowly repeats it twice for me. When I am able to mimic her perfectly, she chuckles proudly. "Exactly! I’ve always been a lover of art and I was lucky enough to have a bit of talent. I do a little animation here and there too. That’s time-consuming work and I usually go into the city for that. I used to do animation full time but it’s hard and draining and I missed a lot of family time due to long nights. It’s just not a sacrifice I’m willing to make, so now I work from home. I couldn’t be happier. Family is important, you know. " She smiles warmly at me, and then she is off towards the hall leading to Nick’s office, but she pauses for a moment and looks over her shoulder at me, “The most important.” She says seriously. Then she’s gone.