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

Started November 30, 2018 by Deleted user

tune

Edit topic

Loving it so far! :000

I must have fallen asleep because I'm startled awake by the sound of the front door opening. I sit up quickly, an almighty head rush almost causing me to fall forward off the couch. I blink quickly, hoping to any and all deities that my eyes are not crusty and red from sleep. They burn with fatigue and from crying and my entire body is stiff again, my fingers included. I feel a thousand years old and getting older as each second passes. Why anyone gets out of bed in the morning is beyond me.

Emmy walks into the living room, humming a tune to herself, and I stand up quickly, ready to face her. "Oh," she gasps as she looks at my face, which is more than likely red and puffy still, "Cass–have you been crying? I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone."

How do I tell her that she is wrong? I shake my head, already dreading having to use my sore hands. It’s been awhile since I’ve played like that, but I don’t regret it one bit. It feels as if a fog has been lifted off me. Although I’m not sure what to do with this newfound clarity just yet.

"Sit with me," She says as she takes a place on the other end of the couch, patting the seat beside her in an inviting gesture.

Hesitantly, I sit back down in the corner where I slept. It's still warm. It’s comforting actually, that warmth, kind of like an embrace. God knows I could use one of those.

Maybe.

"Were you scared just now, while you were alone?" Gently, concerned, motherly. Quite suddenly, I find my courage.

No. Not at all. The quiet doesn’t bother me. Ouch. I rub the tips of my fingers together, a bit displeased that my player’s calluses have softened on my left hand making the skin tender after I played so hard.

"But you have been upset. I can see you have been crying." It's more a statement than anything else and she is giving me a look that clearly says I cannot lie my way out of this one.

My hands knot in my lap, I’m not sure I want to tell Emmy the reason I was crying. Giving up this last secret of mine, the one I have been holding since childhood, seems much too intimate, too trusting. Letting it go is something I cannot seem to be able to do. Nick and Emmy know everything about my entire life, what is one little secret? One little thing that I get to keep for myself, at least for now. My fingers still as I make my decision, surprisingly my shoulders relax a little as well.

Emmy smiles reassuringly as she sees my hesitation. "I guess sometimes we just need to cry. As long as you were not uncomfortable being alone here. Did everything go well?"

I nod, adding a little smile at the last second.

"You fell asleep, didn't you?" Her voice is genuinely kind when she asks this. There is not a hint of accusation in her question.

I sit quietly, not really knowing what to do. I’ve got to have sleep lines on my face, the couch isn’t exactly smooth. Besides, I don't answer obvious questions.

"Cassia, if you ever want to talk about something, or want a hug or a smile or just be around, I'm here for you."

I smile a little wider. Yes, I am actually beginning to understand what that means. At least I think so. I hope I do.

"Anyway, we have plans. You need clothes." She bounces to her feet, obviously satisfied that I am perfectly okay with being alone and that I don’t appear to be suffering from excessive weeping. Inwardly, I am amazed by her change of topic, but I try not to let it show. I am relieved that she doesn't want to talk about me and if I am being bluntly honest, I do need clothes.

"As shopping is not possible as yet, with your injuries, I have asked Iona to lay out some of her clothes you could borrow. I will lend you some of mine, too, so we have a workaround until you have your own clothes. How's that?"

I sigh quietly through my nose, lips puckering a tiny bit. Well, I guess I do need them. I guess it makes me feel slightly better to know that I am borrowing things. That means that the James’ won't have to spend any extra money on me. Money I would never be able to pay back.

"Alrighty, come on," Emmy says, leading the way upstairs to the master bedroom. It's grand and beautiful and I really don't have any words to describe this little haven. It’s golden and warm, yet elegant and regal. The colors have me spinning in circles. Emmy sees me looking around and chuckles.

"I took a break from work when we bought the house several years ago so I could decorate how I wanted. You know, to make it a forever home for our family. Took me three months to get it exactly how I wanted, but it was definitely worth the work. It suits us, no?"

Indeed, it really does. The entire house echoes the love and care this family has for each other. Maybe one day it will show a bit of me too. The thought startles me for a moment, so much so that I realize I’m nodding dumbly to whatever Emmy said next. Which I think was her asking me if I wanted to decorate my own room soon. Crap.

How the hell can she read my traitorous thoughts?

Emmy holds up clothes of all kinds to me, from pants to skirts to sweaters to lighter tops. She steps back and gives me a quick once over. "I think most of that should fit you well, if not maybe a little long.” She chuckles at this, motioning to our obvious difference in height. “Try it on and keep what fits. Then, when you are better, we can try to buy some things for you later this week. What size are you?"

I shrug, because I don't know anymore. I have lost so much weight that all my old clothes must be too big now, too.

Emmy looks at me searchingly, and I wonder what she is looking for. Then she scoops up all the clothes and leads the way to the guest room. I follow her, cautiously but curiously. What has happened here? Why this change of attitude?

In the guestroom, she puts the clothes on the bed and turns to look at me. I hover in the doorway, waiting to see what will happen. More curious than scared at this point.

"I want you to select the clothes that fit, and I want you to unpack your suitcase. It's about time," Emmy smiles at me. "We are not going to send you away. I hope you will want to stay with us, too."

My mouth pops open in surprise and she chuckles at me gesturing to the clothes again. "I take it you will want to try this by yourself?"

I nod.

"Then please, do. Take your time and come find me when you are done, okay?" With a last reassuring smile, she leaves me in my room. I flop down on the bed and think back to Emmy’s words.

'I hope you will want to stay with us.'

I let her words sink in and it feels as if they hit me in slow motion. That weird feeling in my chest that I had felt while playing my violin comes back full force as I realize this is what I want.

I want to stay, too.

I sort through the clothes and pick out what I want to try, leaving the skirts and form fitting tops on the side from the start. I keep a couple of tank tops, figuring I can put them on underneath Emmy’s pajamas or under my sweaters.

All the clothes are too big. They are either Iona’s or Emmy’s or maybe even both as some clothes are louder and colorful than other pieces. Iona of course is about ten feet taller than I am, and Emmy is apparently bigger in the hip department, mostly because I lack any body shape other than ‘sickly’. For the first time, I really wonder how much weight I must have lost. As I don't like to look at my body, either directly or via a mirror, I can only tell I have lost weight by the way my own clothes hang around me where they once fit.

I shrug. It's not important.

When I am done, I have a small pile of clothes I could consider wearing, and a big pile of clothes I want to give back to Emmy. Deciding it's a bit unnecessary to bring them downstairs, I leave them on my bed, and I bring the clothes I want to keep with my suitcase to the walk-in closet in the room. There are already hangers in place, and I use them to carefully hang up a few items, while I fold others to put on the shelves. The closet is still embarrassingly sparse. I can feel my face scowl, although I’m not really sure why.

I am so tired. My heart is pounding heavily, like a drum between my ears, and to me that's a telltale sign of my fatigue. Falling asleep on the couch in the middle of a living room could be interpreted as a sign as well. I wish I could go to sleep, but I'm not sure if Emmy will be okay with this. So far, she has never told me off for sleeping at the most ungodly hours, but surely her patience must come to an end soon?

I would dearly like to stay in Emmy’s good graces. I know for a fact that I can survive on a few hours of sleep, this is nothing compared to—Clearing my throat, I collect myself, rubbing my face to get rid of the drowsiness a little, and go downstairs to meet the woman I should probably call my foster mother. Foster Aunt? Huh.

She is bustling around in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher. She stands up and greets me with a smile as I step through the door. I can feel the corners of my lips twitch upward.

"Boy, you really are quiet," she says. "Did you sort through the clothes?"

I nod, a bit apprehensive still about the massive pile that I’m going to give back to her.

"Was there anything to your liking? I know they are borrowed clothes, but I hope you know this is only a temporary solution. Perhaps later this week we can order some things online, forgoing the need for a trip to the mall?"

I nod again, slower this time though, because I’m still feel guilty to be wearing others' clothes. Getting new ones would be worse, though. So I’ll have to talk Emmy out of that wild idea. I don't have any money to pay the James’ back.

Emmy then gestures towards the kitchen table, which has a newspaper on it. "We're old-fashioned," she says almost apologetically, "We like to read the actual paper still. Jackie told us you like to keep track of the news, so have a seat. The politics await!"

I look from the table to Emmy. Again, I am stunned by the ways in which they try to accommodate me, but I’m touched by the simple gesture.

"Coffee?"

I nod, adding a smile at the last minute. Jezz, it’s hard remembering to smile.

Wait. Jackie told them…?

What else did Jackie say about me? Have they spoken to her after they collected me at the airport?

Distracted by the questions that bombard my mind, I watch as Emmy sets the coffee down on the kitchen table. "I need to go to the laundry room. Will you be okay here? Why don't you sit and read for a while, and drink some coffee? Relax a little?”

I nod again. I think the questions wear me out even more than the anxiety does, come to think of it.

"Good. Enjoy," Emmy smiles, and then she leaves the kitchen.

I hear her footsteps trail away and I am left behind stunned. My thoughts are tumbling in my head and it takes me an effort to finish even the one coherent sentence. Emmy has left me here to read the paper, something I do really enjoy. I am alone, but she didn't leave with an angry word or show me any sign of annoyance or irritation.

Sitting down at the kitchen table gingerly, I scan the headlines of the paper. The realization hits me that I am actually in a different state right now. The local current affairs are foreign to me. I don't recognize the names, the faces. I am so far away from what has been my home for almost four years, and although I will not miss the house I shared with William, I already miss the blazing Los Angeles sun. I miss the heat, the colors, the drought.

I will probably never set foot there again.

I will probably never see Jackie again.

All of a sudden, I feel desperately lonely.

A tear slips from my eye before I can stop myself, but oddly it feels final. All of this does, and I don’t know if I’m ready. I’m still trying to find my feet while the world is spinning around me.

I am alone. Who will I turn to if this goes bad? I have no Jackie here to help me. The desperation I felt when I first set foot in this house washes over me again. I wouldn't even be able to make it to the main road if I ever wanted to flee this place.

For once, my rationale speaks up, albeit timidly. So far, everything has been okay. Maybe you won't need to run.

I can do this. I will have to, but it’s my choice to be strong. This is strength, right? Or am I just riding it out until my untimely end?

No. This is my life…and I want…this. I do. I really, really do.

Still… I can't seem to stop crying but be it for fear or fatigue I can no longer tell. It's all so new here, and so confusing. Maybe I will miss Los Angeles because when I was there, at least I knew what to expect. I knew the rules of the game. I knew what to do. Here, I don't know. I have tried to help out and have been told not to. I have provoked and got no anger in return. I have shown them what I think is right and apparently insulted. I have stood my ground and they accepted. I have waited every night, but no one has come. I ran and was welcomed back.

No beatings. No insults. No night visits. No mind games. Except if the last couple days have been a façade, but somehow even my evil mind finds that hard to believe.

My guard is up but is slowly failing me with each kindness the James family shows me. That little voice of doubt in my mind turning into one of hope. And I think—I think I’m okay with that.

The coffee is long gone when I hear Emmy’s footsteps approaching in the quiet house. I wipe my face quickly, but of course she notices immediately I have been crying when she steps into the kitchen. Her gentle smile changes to a worried look in an instant.

"What's wrong?" she asks softly as she sits down opposite of me. Her hand reaches out as if to touch me but stops just short. She leaves it there, almost an invitation to take it if I wanted. Do I?

Fuck. Maybe?

With a sharp pang I realize again this woman knows everything about me. She has read my file. She knows it all. I cannot meet her gaze.

"Cassia? What's wrong? Did anything happen?" More pressing now. She gives the paper before me a once over, as if it will tell her what the hell is wrong with me.

I shake my head, looking down at the empty coffee mug I am holding with both hands. It's just all too much. Emmy’s genuine concern only seems to add to my despair. Roughly, I wipe my face with my sleeve. I cannot break down now. I have learned to control my tears. Holding my breath for a moment, I will my eyes to dry again.

"Honey, if you need to cry, just let it all out," Emmy says softly. "I will not blame you for it, in fact nobody will."

Finally, I look up at her. I try not to blink, or my tears will spill over again.

I must look a mess. Not that I care.

"Will you tell me what worries you?"

I shake my head. Even if I wanted to talk about it, I don't think I would be able to put my thoughts into words.

"Can I tell you what I think it is?"

I shrug a little. She won't ever guess right, anyway.

"Are your memories bothering you?"

I shake my head softly. See? She won't ever guess.

"I think then maybe you feel a bit overwhelmed by it all?"

I cannot hide my surprise at her statement, which is exactly dead on right.

"That's okay, you know. You've been through a lot and I think you are handling it all fabulously. You are such a strong person, Cassia. You have no idea."
I don't believe her.

"It's okay if you feel a little intimidated. We don't expect you to be at home here after such a short while. It will take time. I know you are used to live with few people around you, and we are a big family. If you ever feel overwhelmed, please know that we don't mind if you want to seek some quiet for yourself."

I look back down at my mug again, not knowing what Emmy expects me to do right now.

"Cassia."

Her earnest voice makes me look back up at her again. "We won't hurt you. We really won't. You are welcome here."

How often is she going to say that to me?

"And I will keep repeating this until you believe me."

A half-smile escapes me. Okay, now I know she can read minds.

"More coffee?"

I nod at this. I am very tired, and coffee at least keeps me thinking straight. God, what a day. What a couple days. I expected a lot when I came here. But not this. Never this.

Emmy refills my mug and one for herself, I automatically lean away from her to create some space between us. She doesn’t seem to notice.

When she sits back down again, she picks up her own cup and blows the steam away. "Cassia, can I ask you something?

I nod, taking the tiniest sip possible of my warm drink. I catch Emmy’s little smirk as I do so. It’s the little things, right?

"When was the last time you received a hug?"

I almost drop my own mug in surprise at her question. Looking at the woman, I can see my surprise has not gone unnoticed and she looks worried. Do I answer this question? Then again, I have nothing to lose from it, do I?

So, carefully, I shrug but add the sign for ‘I don’t know’ along with it for her benefit. I really can't remember. Peter’s traps do not count in my definition of a hug. I honestly don't remember if my own mother ever hugged me. It's all so long ago and a lot of my memories have blurred together into one painful haze. But, why is Emmy asking me this question?

My expression must prompt her of my unspoken question, because she explains herself. "I was just curious. You are so unfamiliar with kindness, it seems."

Mentally, I shrug again. I am. Because I obviously don't deserve it. Do we really need to go down this road again? Looking back at my coffee, I trace the edge of my mug with my fingertips. Well this is vaguely embarrassing. I feel my cheeks heat with shame.

"Declan told me about the chat you had in the kitchen last night."

I look up at her in alarm, but Emmy is smiling kindly. "He said that you didn't panic, which he was pleased about. He said that you had hot milk together, as well. You had to show him how."

I nod carefully, still wide eyed. What else did Declan say? Did he tell on me being out of bed in the middle of the night?

"I must confess I am happy to hear that you went out to help yourself," Emmy says and her gentle smile is transforming in a downright beam. "I am happy that the panic attacks seem to be lessening."

Okay, so she's not angry, it would seem. That could be a good sign, right? I smile at her, this time my blush is from the obvious praise.

"Cassia, did you sleep at all last night?"

Gah. This woman and her questions. Do I really look that tired? I know I feel that way, but does it show that clearly?

"You can go and take a nap now, if you want to. We have a few hours before we need to go to the hospital."

I shake my head. No, I don't want to sleep. I don't want to test her patience. I don't want to be unconscious and unaware of what happens around me.
I don't want to give up control.

Well, there’s a whopper. I rub my face with a free hand. Ugh.

Emmy looks at me searchingly, then bows her head and concedes. “Very well. Is there anything else you want to do? You can do anything you want."
I look down at my coffee, biting my lip. I really want to play my violin again, now that she asks. But I could never…I could never play in front of her? Or while anyone is in the house for that matter. I shudder a bit. Feeling the burn of another blush.

"Do you want me to sit with you?"

I shake my head, still not looking up.

Emmy hums for a moment and I see that she is studying my fingers as I rub them together. Carefully, I hide my callouses, by tucking my hands back into my sweater sleeves. Finally, she says. "I'll go about my business then. I hope you will find something to enjoy for the afternoon. Let me know if you need anything.”

Finally, mercifully, she gets up and leaves me alone in the kitchen. As soon as she has left the room, I can exhale and let some of the pent-up tension evaporate with my breath. Which surprisingly wasn’t as much as I would have thought. I guess forcing myself to relax around Emmy, is working.
Or maybe I’m just getting used to her presence enough to actually feel comfortable.

Hmm. That requires more thought.

My God. How am I ever going to make it here?

I stay in the kitchen, reading, doing the crossword (in pencil) and enjoying the silence, until Emmy came back and convinces me to have lunch with her. It took some time, but I was able to eat in front of her again. Although the food seemed to turn into a lump of solid anxiety once I swallowed it. Baby steps. After, I helped clean up the dishes in spite of her protests. Again. I think she let’s me win these tiny victories on purpose, but I’ll take it.

After a moment of standing in the kitchen, checking to make sure all is well, she produces a thick winter coat, which she holds up for me. I take it from her, gingerly, and put it on. It's nice and warm and not overly big on me. It's a very beautiful coat. Burberry, if I'm not mistaken.

Looking down at the coat, I sign a quick ‘thank you’ to her. Emmy beams back at me, her eyes twinkling in delight.

"It suits you well," she says. "Now, are you ready to come to the hospital with me?"

Ugh. I have been preparing myself for this, but it is still awful to hear it out loud. Knowing and expecting they will probably not get off my back about this until I give in, I also know that the best way to deal with this is just to get it over with. It won't get any easier the more I put it off. Besides, Nick and Emmy both seem to feel very strongly about me going to the hospital. They tell me it's my decision, but I just know that when I refuse to go, they will talk and talk and talk until I give in.

Let's save us both that struggle.

So, I nod, pushing a sigh out silently between my lips. Emmy doesn't hesitate for a moment, ushering me out to the garage.

I haven't been here before, I realize, and I look around the garage that could easily hold up to six cars. At this moment, I can only see a silver car, a tesla I think, and Declan’s camero.

Mentally, I add this with what I already know - two cars left this house this morning and I know that Nick has a Porche SUV. I look up at Emmy, surprised. She chuckles at my amazement and opens the passenger door of the tesla for me. Although when she speaks, she sounds a little sheepish. "So, we like to spoil ourselves a bit when it comes to cars. Money isn’t really an issue…”

Jackie didn't bother to tell me exactly how rich these people were. But I guess I could have guessed this - a man who is a doctor, and a woman that animates for big time movies, that live in a giant house in New York. Well then.

We get into the car and the seats are so comfortable I can finally relax my lower back a little. The release of the tension hurts so much I automatically tense up again. My body is weary. I'm really starting to feel the lack of sleep. But my real issue is the anxiety that is building within me because of where I am going. My hands knot in my sweater sleeves.

I look out of the car windows and all I can see is green. Emmy talks to me on the road, telling me about how the children got their cars for their sixteenth birthdays. Iona had wanted a Maserati or nothing, but eventually was talked down to a BMW. Emmy hastens to tell me once more that the kids are not spoiled, but what's the use of having big money when you don't enjoy it? I guess I can’t argue with that logic, considering if I had big money I’d probably—well I’m not exactly sure what I would do, but the logic is sound.

Then the focus of the conversation shifts to me, just as I feared. "Do you drive?"

I shake my head. No.

"Oh! Then you should learn! Any of us would be happy to teach you. Although, perhaps not Iona, she’s a bit of a speed demon."

I shrug. What's the use? But a little part of me find a tiny bit of thrill in having my own escape to freedom.

"Maybe in time," Emmy smiles at me, then turns her attention back to the road. She points out various things to me as we drive through the town. The school, the postal office, the police station. She tells me that the nearest place for real shopping is within the actual city of Rochester, and that she'll take me there someday. A little excitement goes through me at that. Despite my dislike for crowds, I do love big cities. Something about the tall buildings touching the clouds…

Everything is tiny here. Even the hospital is smaller than I imagined it. Not that I was overly stressing about it. Much.

Emmy guides me towards the entrance and before we go in, she stops and looks at me. "Remember, if it gets too much, let me know and we'll stop. This is about you and your health."

I nod at her and I can tell she is worried, but about what, I can't tell. I mentally prepare myself and shut down all thought processes, ready to blink out if I needs to. The best way to prevent anxiety is just to accept what will come to pass. It will happen anyway. But I can dissociate hard enough to not be present when it happens.

Following Emmy, I barely register the words she directs at me as we walk to the right floor. Something about a female doctor and no need to be scared. Unfortunately, I am scared.

In the waiting room, Emmy points me to a chair while she goes to the reception to say we have arrived. My fingers tense at the thought of doing paperwork. Too many questions about my past…ailments. Very faintly, I can hear the receptionist say, "Oh, Mrs. James, did we not call you? Dr. Knott called in sick, Dr. Loratz is replacing her today."

Before I can process those words, the doctor's office opens, and a grumpy looking man comes out. "Sinclair?"

I watch the doctor, as he watches me. I’m the only one in the waiting room so obviously I’m ‘Sinclair’. He's tall, he looks intimidating. He looks like he is in a foul mood. Men in foul moods often do not have patience to spare. My stomach sinks.

I look at Emmy, who has seen me, thank God, and comes to me. "Do you want to go through with this?" She asks earnestly. "You don't have to if you don't want to–"

"Come on, I don't have all day," I hear to my right. Yes, he sounds impatient enough.

What do I do? I look at the doctor, who holds out his arm to invite us into his office. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this, but the look of authority on his face closes the deal for me. I get up and follow the man into his office. I’m going to throw up. Or pass out. Or if I’m lucky I’ll blink out of existence.

"I'm Dr. Loratz and I stand in for Dr. Knott today." He shakes Emmy’s hand first and then holds out his hand for me, but when I don't comply, he looks almost scandalized. I don’t respond and Emmy doesn’t either. Well at least we’re a team.

You can cut a knife through the tension in this room.

"What I can do for you." He asks, impatient. It's not even a real question.

From the corner of my eye, I see Emmy raise an eyebrow. "Doctor, have you not read her file?" She asks carefully. Please for the love of god, stop giving people my file to read.

"I don't have time for such nonsense." Doctor Loratz shifts his gaze to me. "Why are you here?"

I look at Emmy and hope she will help me. It was a bad decision to come into this office. Is her offer to stop at any moment still standing? I’m ready to bolt. My hands wring uselessly in my lap.

"She is here for a checkup. Someone has tried to strangle her a little over two weeks ago." Emmy says 'someone.' She gives as little information as possible. Why? Is she ashamed to tell more? I watch her carefully, but she only looks mildly annoyed and it’s not at me.

"Ah," The doctor says, but there is little sympathy in his voice. Not that I deserve it, or want it, but even I know that it's a big thing that has happened to me and his complete lack of reaction is unexpected. "Vocal chords damaged, I presume?"

I nod to answer his question. He looks at Emmy again, completely dismissing me. That’s not new, but I’m still a little offended. "Fill me in, please?"
Emmy sighs in frustration. "It's all in her file, sir. I would feel better if you would look it up."

"Like I said," Dr. Loratz says in his bored tone, "I don't have time for that. This day is a chaos as it is."

"We just want to know if she is healing well. I believe this should be the last check."

The man nods and gestures for me to go and sit on the examination table. "Remove the scarf, please."

I do as I'm told, my mind at the ready to retreat if the anxiety becomes too much. How the hell did I end up here?

"Lie back," the doctor says as he comes towards me.

No. No way in hell.

I shake my head slowly. I don't want to. Please don't make me. Please.

"And take off that sweater."

Now I am truly alarmed. I don't want this! On my previous checkups I didn't have to do any of this, at all. I look at Emmy, already sliding off the table to hide behind her.

"Doctor," Emmy speaks from behind him, her arms are crossed and her eyes are chips of ice. "I don't think Cassia is comfortable with that. Could you try to do you examination with her sitting up?"

"Children and their whims," The man mutters. "Have you been playing the faint game?" He asks me softly, grimly, without Emmy hearing, and then realization dawns. He hasn't read my file — can this man be thinking I played that awful game where teenagers cut off the air supply of their friends to make them faint and invoke a sense of high? What in the hell? Do people really do that for fun?

I don't have time to ponder over this question as the doctor brings his hands to my throat without warning whatsoever. I flinch violently and move away from him. Sliding of the table completely.

"What's this nonsense?" he asks, surprised.

I am panting now, a sense of total alarm putting my entire body on high alert. Behind the doctor, Emmy gets up.

"I believe this examination is over," She says coldly.

Oh, no! What did I do? Did I do anything wrong? I couldn't help it that I was surprised by this man!

"I'm not done yet. Sit," The doctor says. This time he moves his hands slower, but as soon as he touches me, I am so scared I almost pass out. The feeling of hands on my skin there is utterly wrong and the memories of that last night with William come crashing back down on me.

I’m not done with you Cassia.

A tear escapes my eye before I can help myself and what's worse, is that somehow, I can't find the retreat of my mind. The doctor moves his hands over my neck and as I can't shut down, I finally just close my eyes. I'm wringing my hands so hard it hurts and the little scabs on my fingers break open again. I can feel the slick wetness of my blood. My heart is crashing out of my chest. I'm starting to get dizzy. This is torture.

When his hands leave me, I can finally exhale again and I slump forward, no longer able to keep my back straight. I have to fight the very strong urge to wrap my arms around my head and keep my hands locked together, wringing them so hard the tendons stand out.

"Now, open up."

My eyes snap open at his request.

No.

The doctor sighs, exasperated. "I don't have patience for you teenagers trying to block me every step of the way," He says sternly. "Say ah." He mocks, tongue depressor already in position. I sway. This is it. This is how I die.

"No," Emmy says from behind him. She is livid. So, she can be angry. Is she angry with me? "You don't have to, Cassia." Then she rounds on the doctor. "I said, I believe this examination is over. You have no regards whatsoever for her feelings and I doubt you have even one ounce of compassion in you. Of course, her injuries are not the result of some silly game," Her voice is like a hiss of an angry cat. "If you had read her file, you would have known her history and hopefully, you would not have treated her like you did. She is severely traumatized, doctor, and I am afraid that by your doing, you have added to that trauma. You can expect me to file a complaint against you. Cassia, please come with me. You don't have to do this."

I am stunned by her speech. Looking carefully from her to the doctor, I see he isn't really bothered by her words. He still looks annoyed and shrugs. "Have it your way, then."

Emmy holds out her arm to me and I snatch up my scarf and coat as I follow her out of the doctor's office. I have to hurry to keep up with her as she walks to the general reception desk at the front of the hospital.

Meanwhile, I have all the time in the world to worry myself into a frenzy. Is she angry with me? What will she do? What do I do? Then again, what did she say? 'She is severely traumatized, doctor.' What does that mean?

"Page Dr. James for me, please," Emmy tells the guy at the reception desk curtly, interrupting my thoughts.

Oh, shit! Why is she calling Nick? Is she going to leave it to him to deal with me?

"He's in a meeting, ma'am. I'm sorry, I can't disturb him."

"Of course, you can. Just page him. Tell him his wife is here."

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Nonsense," Emmy hisses. Oh man, she’s going to blow her top. What the hell do I do? I cringe. I don't like it when people are angry. They usually act it out on me. I was just starting to hope that it would be different here. Shit. I wrap my arms around myself and prepare for the worst, while I try to keep my breathing under control. It's no use to try to run. I know that.

"Listen," She looks at the receptionist's nametag, "Matt, page Dr. James and tell him his wife and Cassia are waiting for him in his office."
This alarms me even more, probably. The receptionist eyes me, then looks back at Emmy. What he sees in her eyes I don't know, but he picks up the phone and starts making the call.

The woman in question turns to me. "Come, Cassia," She says with a friendly smile.

I narrow my eyes at her. What the hell? How–? Am I supposed to buy this?

"I'm not angry with you, I am angry with that incompetent doctor you just saw. I am so sorry I let it go on for so long. Will you please go with me to see Nick so we can find a solution?"

I'm too tired to fight and suppressing my panic attack has left me with a tightness in my chest that doesn't seem to go away. Besides, there is nowhere I can run and even if we were to go home right now, I would have to face Nick sooner or later. Not to mention that she sounds entirely reasonable. So, I follow her and we walk to Nick’s office. The door is unlocked, and she leads me inside, leaving the door ajar. The room looks remarkably like Nick’s study in the house. Dark, mahogany furniture, bookcases lining the walls, big desk in the middle of the room and here too is a couch, on which Emmy sits down with a huff. She pats the seat beside her as per usual, but I decline. I'd rather stand to see what's coming my way.

I listen to the hushed sounds I can hear from the rest of the hospital. Footsteps, the squeak of a rolling bed, the faint constant noise that always seems to be present in big buildings. The hum of speaking voices. Within minutes, I hear clear footsteps approaching and Nick steps into his office, looking worried. He greets me with a smile, then turns to Emmy. As he sits down at his desk, she relays the story adding bits here and there in that language that they speak to each other. I’m curious, but now is not the time to ask such silly questions.

I am not listening. But I do hear how she seems to say that the doctor was wrong, and I was doing well, according to her. Still, she's angry with the fact that she didn't got a notice the regular doctor was sick and with the sheer disinterest Dr. Loratz seemed to handle it all. He had no regards whatsoever for my situation.

I let her words sink in and file them away to chew on later. Severely traumatized, no regards for my situation… What does Emmy mean by all this?
Nick listens, his fingers pointed together under his chin, right ankle resting on left knee. He responds to her solely in that language for a time and then turns to address the both of us. "This is unfortunate indeed," he says finally. "How are you now, Cassia? Are you okay?"

No, of course not. That man was rude. Unintentionally sign it out. My fingers shaking. Both Emmy and Nick look surprised, as if I had yelled, but Emmy quickly recovers translates.

"Listen, I have a proposition for you. I think I can arrange a female doctor for you, who can finish the examination. I know this day has been very stressful for you so far, but then again, you are already here and honestly, it can't get any worse than this." Nick chuckles after that, and I tiny smile escapes me as well. I think he is right.

Nodding my acquiescence, he picks up the phone and starts calling.

"I am proud of you," Emmy says softly and I turn to her at the sound of her voice. "You are such a fighter. Thank you for trying."

Her words confuse me and at the same time seem to do funny things with my guts. I'm starting to believe she really isn't angry with me. Combined with the things she has said earlier, both feelings multiply.

"Dr. Sue Yoon will come to this office shortly," Nick informs us after he has hung up the phone. Then he turns to Emmy alone. "Are you sure you want to file a complaint against Dr. Loratz?"

"I do, Nick. I asked the man repeatedly to read Cassia’s file and he said he didn't want to. When I told him about her injuries, he thought they were probably the result of a silly teenage game."

Without really realizing, I nod to agree with Emmy’s last words, my brow furrowing.

"I will look into it. I believe he comes from an external agency. You'll have to fill out the form."

Emmy nods. "The man has no regards for the feelings of his patients," She mutters, almost pouting. "I don't expect him to hold their hands, but a little more consideration would have been nice."

After about twenty minutes, where I find myself dozing from lack of stimulus, a soft knock on the door alerts us that Dr. Yoon is here. I am wide awake once more and prepare myself for the worst. Again.

She is a tiny woman with kind eyes, russet skin and jet-black hair. Her teeth are unbelievably white when she smiles in greeting. "Good day, Nick, Emmy and nice to meet you, Cassia."

I nod solemnly, on guard.

"I'm Dr. Yoon, but everybody calls me Sue. Nick asked me to have a look at you. Is that okay with you?" She sits beside me on the couch, but out of arms reach. Nick must have told her about my aversion to touch.

No, nothing is okay anymore. But, to go with Nick’s words — it can't really get any worse than what has already happened, right?

"I understand you're apprehensive and it's a bit crowded in here. Why don't all the men leave the room?" she asks without looking away from me. That’s—that’s an interesting request, but I find that it’s reasonable so a nod carefully.

"That would be my cue," Nick says softly, and with a warm smile, he is gone.

"That's better," Sue smiles. "Mind if I come a little closer?" She gestures to one of the chairs and I comply with another nod. What else can I do? Besides, I think I like this woman a lot more so far than Dr. Loratz.

Sue scoots the chair before me and sits. "I did look at your file Cassia, and I can completely understand why you don't like to be touched. It's your good right, too. However, if we want to know if your injuries are healing well, I will have to touch you. Since you don't speak, I have brought this." She brings out a stress ball from her pocket. "You can squeeze it if you want to, but more importantly, you can drop it if it gets too much. Then I will stop immediately. How's that?"

I'm stunned. I take the ball from her and meet her eyes. I can only see reassurance there.

Yes, I think I can do this now. I lift my chin just a little, biting down on my lip, in permission.

Sue keeps talking to me the whole time. Her touch is gentle, and she never surprises me. The one thing that is hardest for me is telling what hurts. I'm so used to the pain and I'm even more used to hiding it, and it's hard for me to admit that something is sore. She checks my throat too, after some convincing from her part to actually open my mouth. It just feels so… vulnerable. Ugh.

The poor stress ball is getting squeezed the life out of it, but I realize it feels better to molest the ball than to wring my own hands. Doctor Sue also takes a peek at my hand injuries after she notices them from the corner of her eye. She tuts gently, wiping the little cuts with some alcohol.

I never once drop the ball, not even when Sue checks my eyes for the telltale red spots that indicate strangulation. These will take months to heal, but I know they are hidden by my eyelids mostly.

Afterwards, Emmy is beaming, and I feel incredibly relieved.

I did it.

The tightness in my chest vanishes. I did it. Holy crap.

Sue thanks me for working with her and tells me I can take my meds if I need them. I can also try some soft solid food again if I want to, as she guesses right that I have been losing weight lately. My voice will come back, although I should be hoarse for a while, "Should you decide to speak again, dear." Then she winks at me and leaves the office.

I am still holding the ball.

I can't believe what just happened.

With a shaky sigh, I let the pent-up tension escape.

I’m safe.

Really. Truly.

Safe.

We have been in the hospital longer than anticipated, so Emmy doesn't have the time to run other errands before she goes to pick up Declan again. He has gotten detention for missing first period this morning, and Iona apparently wasn’t going to wait for him. So, we end up having to pick up Declan on the way home from the hospital.

As Emmy stops the car at the school parking lot, I step out of the car to vacant the front seat. I stay outside for a moment, shielded by the car, trying to take in some fresh air.

The thing is I can't really breathe under water because it’s raining again. But I still turn my face up towards the sky, letting the rain drops hit my face. It feels good.

Emmy gets out of the car as well and smiles at me. "I only just realized you haven't really been outside in the last couple of days. Now that you have a coat, it should be easier for you to get out and get some fresh air.”

I'm just very nervous to be moving around freely yet. This place is still so strange to me.

I try to remember how long it took for me to fall into a rhythm when I was with William. It was so much easier there but then again, they had the house rules displayed on the fridge. And they told me, to the letter, what I should do and when.

"Ah, there he is," Esme says and she looks into the direction of the school. The ridiculously tiny school, which is deserted but for the one person walking towards the car. Declan. Who looks positively miserable.

“Hey Auntie.” He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek and apparently wasn’t thinking because he holds his arm out for me. Does he really expect a hug? I quirk my head at him as he just stares at me, then his arm. Realization dawns. “Oh. Uh. Hey Cassia.” He says looking sheepish. But before he can drop his arm, I reach out with my index finger and gently poke his own finger, in greeting. Like ET. I honestly couldn’t explain why I did it. I just did.

Both Emmy and Declan looked at me like I’d grown another head, so I duck into the back seat.

What the hell.

They chat on the way home, but I find it's getting hard to concentrate on their words. When Declan asks how it went today in the hospital, Emmy grumbles something that sounds remarkably like "some people are jerks," but I'm not sure.

"So, you're not angry anymore?" Declan asks his aunt then and then I realize that Emmy did tell him off for oversleeping — she just did it when I wasn't around.

"I'm not angry. It's your own responsibility, Declan."

"Yeah, I know."

I close my eyes and let myself be lulled by the movements of the car.

"How was school today?"

"Okay, I guess. Tons of homework as usual."

"You still on top of things?"

A beat. "Yes, why?"

"You seem off, lately."

Another silence, and the rustle of cloth. I wager he's either shrugging or looking over his shoulder to see if I am sleeping. I keep my eyes closed. I'm just too tired to open them. Or at least, that's what I am telling myself right now.

"Isn't it obvious, Auntie? I think we all have been a little off, lately."

"Apart from that, Dec. Of course, Cassia’s arrival takes time to get used to. But I think there is more."

Silence.

"How are things with Lola? She seems—uh—good."

"Oh, well, I broke up with Lola."

"You did? How come? And when?" Is that a hint of a smile I hear, Emmy?

Another silence. It seems I am not the only one in this household who is reluctant to talk.

"I did it yesterday. I didn't like to do it, but… I don't think that Lola is right for me."

Emmy, wisely, refrains from judgment. I believe I know what she thinks of the annoying blonde I ran into last Sunday. After a few more minutes of silence, Emmy’s curiosity gets the better of her. "That must have been a tough decision. How did she take it?"

"Not very well. I think I really hurt her." Softly, concerned. Another strange rustling. It almost sounds like he’s rubbing his face is frustration.

"But it wouldn't have been fair of you either if you had stayed with her when your feelings weren't sincere. I think you did the right thing, Declan."

"I hope so. She just turned really vile on me. I hope she gets over it soon." This time his voice is more bitter and annoyed.

I tune out the rest of the conversation because my brain is fried, and I really don't want to go through the effort of discerning words anymore.

We reach the house not long after and Emmy pulls into the garage.

"Cassia, sweetie? Are you awake?"

I open my eyes immediately and she chuckles.

"I guess you are. Come, we're home."

Home.

I must say I like the sound of that.

Home.

Home.