forum A Thousand Cranes // Rated PG-15 // Eris
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((Sorrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyyy guys!! I didn't mean to take so long of a break. I have the next parts written already I just have to post them which I will do today/ tonight. D: Forgive meeeee.))

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((Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd we're back. I'll post 3 this time around because I'm so sorry I've been slacking.))

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(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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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…

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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.

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((I write it on a word doc and then copy it here. I have an unreasonable love of Word. But yea I write in a type of stream of consciousness way so most of everything you guys read all comes out in one go. I barely, barely ever go back and edit. Hence some typos you've probably noticed. I'm sorry! I will pay more attention.))