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

Started November 30, 2018 by Deleted user

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isn't that obvious?

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

I step back and wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well shit, cat’s out of the bag now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe I should just try to get some sleep.

Maybe I will be able to…

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

I didn't even dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jackie and I had just exchanged a meaningful look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I blink at the space she was occupying, and it takes me a second to realize what she just said. Family is the most important. This stings more than it should. I’ve never had that thought. Ever. Family is a foreign concept to me. Something very strange happens in my heart. It tightens with a longing so severe I fear it might crack from the strain. It feels very uneasy and unknown and I try to ignore it and concentrate on the glass with the delectable smoothie in it instead. If it is even half as good as the ice cream she gave me yesterday, I am doomed indeed.

I am blissfully alone. Emmy has left me here without worried looks or requests for reassurance. She hasn’t even badgered me about how I’m feeling. The trust she shows with this is staggering. Suddenly I know what it is about her that makes me feel somewhat safer around in her presence. She treats me like a human being, and more importantly, she treats me my age. She doesn't belittle me. Is that why I am so at ease? I decide I'll think more about that when I have time because right now, there is a smoothie with my name on it, and it demands to be drunk.

I gingerly lift the glass and let the wonderful, wonderful fluid glide down my throat. Mmmm. Strawberries. Raspberries. Sweet heavens, I didn't know a taste like this could even exist.

Before I can finish my glass, I hear a car coming up the driveway. Without thinking, I put the glass back down on the breakfast bar and wait for the driver to enter the house. It's an automatic reaction. Freeze and wait to see which way the wind is blowing whenever William comes home. If it was blowing wrong, I would usually be in a world of trouble when he walked in no matter what I was doing. If it was right, well I’d still be wrong no matter what. It just happened to hurt less.

While I am waiting, I can still taste the wonderful smoothie on my tongue and I find I am quite annoyed with the fact that yet again, I am disturbed whilst eating. I know this is entirely my own fault and my own problem; still I cannot seem to be any different. Different is bad.

Just as I realize that I can, in fact, leave the room because I probably do not have to wait for whoever is entering the house, even though my body is screaming for me not to turn my back to the door and go up to hide in my room, I hear footsteps on the porch, a door opening and an unfamiliar feminine voice calling out, "Hello? Anybody home?"

My head tweaks to the side. Who is that? Before I can do anything or even think about moving, a blond girl bounces into the kitchen, and we are both equally surprised when we see each other.

"Oh!" She squeals. Good lord who squeals like a five-year-old? I fight the urge to cover my ears, but I am at a loss as to what to do. Is this girl supposed to be here? I can't call Emmy to ask for help and surely it would be very rude if I just left the kitchen altogether. Every ounce of anxiety that had previously finally left my body is back tenfold and I tense up, not knowing what to do. My muscles protest as they once more go rigid without volition. The girl stands in front of me and we clearly both don't know what to do. I wring my hands in my sweater sleeves. It hurts a little, but the pain is distracting.

Finally, she speaks somewhat annoyed. "Hi. I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."

Well, that goes both ways. Her voice is very high and unpleasant to listen to. Fact remains I cannot answer her. So, I raise my
eyebrows with a small tilt of my head in recognition of her statement and then look down at my half full glass of smoothie. I keep her in my peripheral just, so I know she’s not intending on any funny business.

We stand there awkwardly, and the atmosphere is tensing up further at rapid speed. She’s just staring at me. Jezz. Should I get Emmy? I'm assuming this girl has a right to be in the house, otherwise you wouldn’t just step up the porch like she did. She must be familiar with the family. Maybe a cousin? Friend? For some reason I can’t imagine her being friends with Iona. They just don’t seem to match, but opposites attract, don’t they?

"You could start by introducing yourself," she then deadpans. I look up at her again, meeting hazel eyes that are narrowed slightly. How do I convey that I can’t? I should just leave. Damn being polite. I grip the glass of smoothie and start to turn away from the girl just as she starts to speak again, “Hellooooooo?” She’s looking at me incredulously. I raise my eyebrows again. Yes, I can hear you. Can I speak? No. Moving on. I continue my escape out of the kitchen while keeping an eye on her. She purses her lips in annoyance. “Ugh. Okay, whatever. So, is anybody home?" She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in an insecure and frustrated gesture.

This is a question that I can answer. Ever so slightly, I nod, once. I consider moving a little faster and to go stand behind the breakfast bar, but maybe that would be a little conspicuous. Her agitation is making me nervous and I don’t know how to fix it. I’m sure that this girl can’t use sign language so why even bother? For the first time probably ever, I wish that she would keep asking me questions, so I can answer them with a nod or a shake. I just want to diffuse the tension before it reaches a breaking point. I try to begin my escape again, but she takes a step towards me and I know it’s futile. She will just follow me if I walk out. I put my glass of shake down and sigh quietly, praying Emmy will come rescue me.

Or a meteor comes and crashing into the kitchen. Either or will work.

The girl is losing her patience now and rolls her eyes. "Oh my god, you can, like, speak to me, you know?"

Shit. I look at her again and then suddenly comprehension dawns. Could she be Declan’s girlfriend, Lola? She must be. Who else would visit this house and enter like she's been here a thousand times before? Interesting taste the man has, but who am I to judge?

"Wow," she mutters under her breath. Then she looks at me and says very loudly, while articulating in an exaggerated manner and pointing at her ears, "Are you deaf?"

I almost smile at how ridiculous she looks but decide against it and shake my head. Where is Emmy when you really need her?

sips tea and rereads this beautiful work of art for the fifth time

(WOOT WOOT 100 POSTS BB)

(That was to this. And I have more to read! What glory!)

The girl I think is Lola rolls her eyes once again and this time her whole head moves with it, her hands lifting in exasperation. I can't really blame her. People tend to have these types of reactions around me when they meet me for the first time. I shuffle my feet and look down, suddenly feeling guilty about how I make others feel around me. I’m not doing it on purpose. I’m trying so hard to be good…

"Then why won't you speak? Do you have sore throat or something?" she adds, looking at my scarf now.

Oh, good she gives me an out. I think it's safe enough to go with that, so I nod. Yes.

"Ah," the blond sighs, annoyed. "Could have said so. So, is anybody home? Is Declan here?"

I don't know the answers that she need so I shrug. I’ve been slowly inching away from her as her agitation grew, hoping she wouldn’t notice, but I’m still not close enough to the kitchen door to slip out quickly enough so she can’t stop me.

I’m about to bolt when we hear footsteps coming down the hall and finally, finally Emmy comes through the door with an empty platter in her hands. "Why, hello Lola. What a surprise," she says pleasantly, but vacantly, before she looks at me and then back at Lola again. "I see you have met Cassia?"

Lola — indeed — looks at Emmy with a questioning look in her eyes. "Cassia?"

"Yes, didn't Declan tell you? Cassia has come to live with us. As part of the family."

Lola looks dumbfounded but is apparently not at a loss for words, and she certainly doesn't know when it's time to stop talking. "I'm sorry, what?"

If Emmy is surprised about Lola’s oblivion, she doesn't show it. "Cassia is the newest member of our household. She has come into our foster care yesterday. Cassia, this is Lola. She's Declan’s girlfriend, so you'll see her around here every now and again."

I had deduced as much, but I still nod. I try not to think about what Declan sees in Lola. Obviously, I know nothing of that stuff, so I shouldn't bother with it.

"Foster care?" Lola says then, incredulously. "Isn't she a little old for that?"

Hello.
Hi.
I’m still standing right here, Blondie.
I will count to ten and then I will leave.

Emmy raises her eyebrows at Lola’s question. Finally, I see a spark of coldness in Emmy’s warm exterior. I’m shocked. I thought nothing could get to this woman but apparently a high school aged blonde with a whiney voice is enough. "No, Lola, she is not too old for that. She is seventeen and she needed a home, which we gladly provided for her."

One…

"Wow," Lola breathes, turning to me with a hand on one hip. "So, you're, like, abused or something?"

The room freezes. Emmy is shock still, her eyes wide.

I do not like the eagerness in her voice when she asks this, and I certainly do not like this line of questioning. I flinch at her words and look down, rapidly retreating to the refuge of my mind. Fuck this. I'm not even going to count to three. I won't make it until two. Would it be rude if I just left the kitchen? I gauge the distance between myself and the doorway and debate bolting right this second, but I do not want Emmy to think I’m rude.

"That's none of your business," Emmy says flatly, icy eyes flashing and now I am sure that I was right to assume that she is not very fond of this girl.

I clench my fists now, nails digging into the skin of my palms. The pain distracts me from my heart, which is picking up speed at an alarming rate. I hold my breath to try and calm it down. I cannot break down now. I might as well shout it off the rooftops then how fucked I am in the head.

"Did Declan know you were coming over? I think he is upstairs." Emmy’s words sound muffled, like they come from another room. I'm retreating further into my mind.

"He is right here," I hear his voice just before he steps into the kitchen, and I am ripped violently from the sanctuary of my mind and again painfully aware of what is happening around me. I need air. I suck in a shaky breath, which draws an alarmed look from both Emmy and Declan as he moves by me, but they both refocus on Lola.

Declan is taller than I remember from last night. When I glance at him from the corner of my eye I see that his inky hair is a complete mess and as he rakes a hand through it, tugging at it a little before he lets it go, I can understand why. Lola makes me want to pull my hair out too.

This time, I do move to go stand beside the door. I'm afraid he will be pissed with me for how I behaved last night, and overall, I just feel safer with the barrier of the island between me and everyone else. Especially now. Damn it.

Lola, in the meantime, has flitted over to Declan and nearly knocks him off balance with the force of her hug. He returns it, using only one arm and the entire thing looks uncomfortably awkward. Then again, I know nothing really about love so I shouldn't even try to put labels to what I see.

It's stressful enough that apparently, I'll get to see a permanent live show of public displays of affection in this house. I can feel the worry on my face. I’m not sure what I would do if they were to want me to participate in hugs and affectionate touches. I shudder at the thought. There’s no way I can do it.

Declan pulls back from Lola and looks over her shoulder at me. "Hey Cassia," he says hesitantly, and my eyes flash up and meet his for several seconds before I look away again. He's not angry. I can see that in his icy blues. Surprisingly they’re warm and inviting and he’s even smiling a tiny bit. I'm very sure about that, even if I don't have a very clear head right now. I clench my fists a little tighter, deliberately digging my nails into my skin. It burns. Good.

"I just introduced Cassia to Lola," Emmy says in a voice that makes the hairs in my neck stand on end. "It seems that Lola was unaware of Cassia’s arrival."

With a heartbeat that is all but crashing out of my chest, standing in a room full of people who are completely oblivious, I focus very deliberately on keeping my breathing under control. My jaws are clenched together so fiercely my ears ring. Something is going to happen, I can sense it. Here it comes, Emmy is going to show her displeasure and reprimand him and in turn he will blame it on me. I know it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should have tried to talk to Lola more. I should have been more welcoming. I should have been more anything.

"Um, yeah," Declan frowns and a hand pulls through his hair again. He's obviously not going to give more of an answer, and he's not afraid of Emmy. He's not afraid? That's… confusing. She’s about to explode. Right? I’m so confused. She looks remarkably calm except for the single blonde brow that is arched at Declan. Her arms are crossed on her chest and the one hand that I can see is clenched tightly into a fist. I could be watching a tennis match as my head is shifting from looking at Emmy to Declan and back again. Keeping tabs. I need to be prepared should someone lash out. Instead, Declan looks down at Lola with a shadow of a frown flickering across his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Surprise!" she squeals, and she even makes jazz hands to emphasize her outburst.

Declan smiles at her, but it’s forced. "Hey, why don't you go to my room, I'll bring us some drinks, okay?"

Lola looks up at him. "Why didn't you tell me about her?" she asks, jerking her head in my direction at the last word.

I’m. Still. Here. Blondie. Christ.

"We'll talk about it later. Just go upstairs," he sighs, nodding his head into the direction of the stairs. Lola finally concedes, blonde hair bobbing around her, as she throws a sour "bye!" over her shoulder and saunters off.

I stare after her and I'm not sure what I should think, so I settle on being confused. It's all I feel lately, it seems. Shit, I need to breathe. Again, I am rigid with anticipation. Okay, now that Lola is gone the arguing will begin. I take a tiny breath to steady myself.

"Declan James, you didn't tell her?" Emmy asks, and I can hear disappointment only. There is no anger in her voice.

"Never got to it," he grumbles, avoiding giving a real answer, then walks around the bar to the fridge. I scuttle away from my corner to put some distance between him and me as he moves. Declan looks up at me from his bent position at the fridge and there is something in his eyes I can't really decipher for some reason. It's almost like he is sorry for something. He fills two glasses with soda, studiously ignoring his aunt while he's working.

"You do remember what we discussed about visitors?" Emmy asks carefully. She’s folded her hands carefully on the counter, a picture of calm. Except for the rigid tension in her shoulders and disappointment clear in her eyes.

Declan looks up at me again before shifting his gaze over to his aunt and I can see annoyance flashing across his face, but somehow it seems that this annoyance has nothing to do with Emmy. He stands turning to face her fully scowling, "I didn't know she was coming over, or else I would have prevented it. Now, if you don't mind," he adds, then picks up the glasses and leaves the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

Emmy and I both look after him. "I really don't see what he likes in that girl," she mutters after a moment. "I'm sorry, you never heard me say that," she adds as an afterthought and smiles mischievously at me.

I just look at her, still rigid. I'm fervently trying to think of ways I can leave this kitchen and be on my own to calm down a little. Unfortunately, none come to mind without being considered rude. Thankfully, Emmy saves me again, “Interrupted again while you were eating? Do you want me to leave so you can finish?"

I'm not hungry anymore. I'm actually pretty nauseous after this encounter with Lola and what she said, but mostly the way she said it. I just want to be alone.

I shake my head, stiffly, because my body won't allow movement so much.

"Cassia? Are you okay?"

No, I am not. I swallow thickly and frown. My body begs me to run and I can feel tears of desperation well into my eyes. Wrong wrong wrong. She’s wrong. What she said was all wrong.

"Did Lola upset you, with her question?"

I do not want to talk about this. Ever. I'm breathing very fast now, nostrils flared in the effort to suck in enough air with each breath. My body is preparing itself: fight, or flight.

Emmy looks at me, and her eyes wide open and warm as she regards me. "Don't run," she whispers. She holds her hands out to me almost as if she’s asking me to hug her. "Please don't run away from us."

Her plea confuses me, and I am caught off guard by her posture. It’s so inviting. Something I know I don’t deserve. A single tear slips over. Oh, god. Furiously, I wipe it away roughly with the palm of my hand. Damn this all to hell. I want to run, but where do I go?

Emmy interrupts me by gasping and looking very alarmed. "Cassia, you're bleeding!" She's coming towards before I can even think about moving and she grabs my hand without warning.

I go rigid immediately as I feel her fingers encircle my wrist. This is an all too familiar feeling, and I know all too well what is going to happen next. Disappointment doesn't even begin to cover what I feel right now. I have let them coax me into a feeling of safety and now it's about to be blasted away with the force of ten atomic bombs. I have let down my guard and this is what I get in return. So, she was angry. How could I have been so mistaken?

This cannot be happening. Please, let this not be happening. Emmy holds my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and when I feel her fingers close around my other wrist, every nerve ending in my body switches to high alert. Hyperventilation sets in swiftly. Emmy looks up at me, aghast, and releases my hands immediately. "I'm sorry," she breathes. "Oh my God, I am so sorry. Did I alarm you?"

I pull my hands into my body, almost doubled over them. Protecting them. I let out a wheeze, staring at the ground. She let go. She didn’t hurt me. She let go. My brain seems to stutter on this, but I can still feel the warm imprints of her hands on my wrists. I start to shake and slide towards the ground. Emmy’s legs come into view as she steps closer to me but it’s her hands coming towards me that’s send me into a faster tailspin. I jerk up and meet her startled eyes before I bolt from the kitchen.

I hear her call my name twice before I make it into my room, but I’m too far panicked. Dashing into the room, I slam the door behind me, but I’m still running. I pause to pick up Jackie’s quilt and then I’m hiding beneath it.

In the tub.

In my cocoon I begin to count. Trying to calm down, but it doesn’t help. The numbers stop after 10 but I’m still not breathing right, not thinking right. I soft sob escapes my lips. If the counting doesn’t help what will I do? Panic until I pass out? Wonderful.

My hands are twisted up in each other and the quilt and it hurts. A lot. I let go one finger at a time and slowly put them into their own pockets in my sweater. A crunch alerts me to the fact that there is paper in one pocket. Still shaking, I bring it out to look. It’s a useless scrap of nothing but just big enough for… no. I swore that habit was broken. It hurt too much to watch my dreams be destroyed. I stare at the paper for a few more moments, smoothing it out between my palms. Ah what the hell? I can’t get any worse and hurt and panicked than I am right now. Why stop?

I place the piece of crinkled paper on the side of the tub and begin folding.

Just my semi-daily acknowledgment of how this story moves my heart I guess.

No problem, it’s a pleasure!

Dude you got my hopes up so much. I yelled.