I walk into an Iona-shaped ambush as soon as we set foot in the house. She begins a breakdown of her day with her Aunt as Declan dodges her attack smoothly and is off to take a nap before dinner. I almost wish I could follow his example, yet do not dare to ask for the same thing. I blink wearily, unintentionally watching him as he ascends the stairs. He pauses about halfway up and turns, spotting me watching him, he gives me a soft awkward smile and a wave.

Realizing my blunder, I start and turn away. Why am I blushing? After a beat of silence, I hear him continue up the steps and I am left with Iona in the hallway. As I remove my coat, she looks at me with sparkling eyes.

Oh, help me.

"Hi Cassia!"

I duck my head and smile a bit. I wasn’t expecting such enthusiasm towards my presence.

"I brought your school books home today for you, so you can have a look at them in advance. I don't know if or when you are coming to school with us, but Uncle told us you like to study, so…" She trails off, waiting to see my reaction.

I am actually quite pleased with this, so my shy smile at her grows. I love to study, it helps me to take my mind off things. Not to mention I have fallen behind with all these missed school days; it will help me to catch up again.

I did go to school, until that night with William. My teachers knew I just wouldn't talk, and they left me alone, apart from the occasional nosey question. As I rarely missed a class and always got straight A's, they left me alone a lot. My fellow students avoided me like the plague, and I was perfectly fine with that as well. I used to do my homework in the library after school. My retreat. My sanctuary. To have that again would be a blessing.

As Iona leads the way to her room where she has stacked the books, her words finally sink in. 'Uncle told us you like to study…' I'm surprised Nick knows this about me, and even more surprised that he would tell this to his niece and nephew. Nevertheless, access to study books means a wonderful distraction to me.

Pleased indeed, I look at the pile of books on her desk. There are a few subjects that I know I’ll have to get the next level of book for, but nonetheless I’m excited.

"Go on and take them," Iona grins. "We can maybe even study together. You'll share a lot of your classes with us, which surprised me because you’re a year younger than Dec and I, but Uncle told us that you were really smart so—” She laughs a bit awkwardly as if realizing that she didn’t think it through all the way. It’s actually a bit charming how she speaks her mind so carefreely. “I guess it’s not really a surprise in a school with a student body of three hundred."

Ugh, Iona. There really was no need to remind me of this. Everybody knows each other by name, probably. Gah. It will be impossible to stay anonymous in that school. Maybe I should just do online schooling.

"I can tell you where we are with the subjects, if you want to."

Yes, please. I nod, reaching towards the books, but Iona apparently isn't going to do that right now. She sits down on her bed, which is adorned with a beautiful purple bedspread, and looks up at me expectantly. "So, are you starting to get a bit used to it all here?"

Without intending to, I exhale the breath I have been holding with a gasp that's almost a sigh. I run a hand through my hair to give myself some time to think and while I do this, Iona has produced a notepad and a pencil, which she holds out to me.

"Will you talk to me?"

Looking from the notepad to her hopeful eyes, I decide to have a go. My world is upside down already, I might as well go along with it. The sooner the bubble bursts, the better. Instead of taking the notepad, I dig my phone out of my pocket and wave it at her shyly. She beams, tossing the items back onto her desk.

But, holding the phone in my hands, the words are lost on me once more.

"Why don't you sit down?" Iona asks softly. "You know you can, right?"

Carefully, I do what she asks and sit myself down at her desk. The chair is comfy, and I feel myself relax just a little bit. It’s quite soothing to be in a room that has been lived in. It’s soaked up the simmering energy that is Iona and just makes the environment more…cozy. It surprises me that I enjoy it, instead of shy away.

"It all seems to be so hard for you." Her voice is no more than a whisper now. "Don't get me wrong here, but I never thought you would be so… scared. There really is no need to be."

The wicked thing is though that I want to believe her. She's so at ease, so light and bright. She doesn't walk, she dances. She doesn't look afraid and she's looking at me with such hope in her eyes, waiting for me to talk to her. Maybe, maybe I could ask her some questions. Would she mind?
Maybe I should ask her that first.

But when I try to start typing, again nothing comes. I don’t know how to frame the words. My lips purse in frustration. I know that I’ve chosen silence, but it appears I’ve lost the fundamentals of conversation as well. If I could roll my eyes at myself, I would.

Iona makes a sound I can only classify as compassionate. "It's really hard for you to communicate, isn't it?"

I nod, seeing no harm in my answer.

"How come? Can you try to tell me that?"

Bitterness washes over me, causing me to frown. Yes, I can answer this question for her. I write down two words. Should be enough.

Not important.

"Of course, it's important!" Iona scoffs. "Please tell me why it's so hard for you? Then maybe we can help you to make it better."

She misinterprets me, although her interpretation makes much sense to me as well. But her help is not necessary. I need to clarify, apparently.

I type quickly, a few words to precede my previous message.

What I have to say is not important.

Iona, who has leaned in to read the notepad, sits back on the bed with wide, shocked eyes. "Of course, it's important!" She repeats, this time with more gumption. "We're dying to get to know you, Cassia. We want to get to know you so we can help you build a new life. Is that really how you feel?" She adds in a much softer voice, looking down at her hands and then up at me through her lashes. "Do you feel… unimportant?"

I shrug and look away, frowning a little. Like I said — it's not important. No use to dig into this.

Iona disagrees, however, and her reaction is so fierce I flinch away from her, even though we are over six feet apart, as her hands smack down onto her bed. “I can’t believe anyone would make you feel this way!” Her eyes blaze for a moment until my reaction registers in her mind.

"Sorry," she mumbles, her eyes lowered. Is she blushing? "I didn't mean to scare you. But that's kind of what I mean, too, you know? Why are you so scared? And how can you think you are not important?"

I shrug again and when I meet her eyes, I am surprised to see pain there. Pain…for me. The emotion is so strong I almost reach out to touch her in comfort. Almost. My hands end up gripping my phone more tightly. "I don't really know what you've been through, Cassia, but it's obviously horrible. And I don't know what happened to make you scared like this, but I just want to stress that there really is no need to be scared here. Really."

I look at her for a long time, wanting to believe her. But my evil mind whispers that someone as sweet and fierce as Iona would of course have no reason to be afraid. I wonder if she ever even did something wrong and upset her parents. At all. But there is something there… Fierce Iona blazes with happiness for a reason, no? Because she’s lived a good life. A happy life.

Huh. Maybe—Maybe I can believe her a little?

"Hey, why don't you tell me about your hobbies? I want to get to know you," She smiles, all energy again. "And I can tell you about mine, too. As you know I like to design clothes, well design a lot of things. I like architecture too—oh!" She interrupts herself. "We should go shopping some time!"

Noooo. Please, no.

Looking at me with a slight frown between her brows, she backpedals, with a casual smile. "Okay, maybe not. Not yet. Do you want me to help you to shop for clothes online? Because, obviously, that's a hobby of mine, too." Iona laughs, and the sound is so pretty and free I can feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, too. It lifts the tension in the room a little. “So, tell me one of yours. A hobby."

Oh, we're playing the trade game now? But I don't want to tell her what I like. It's a weapon to them if they know what I like. Then they can take it away. I have to play this safe. I place my hand on the stack of books on Iona's desk.

She chuckles, shaking her head. "Nu-huh. Tell me something new."

Ah, drat, she's not buying it. I hesitate, wondering if bringing up my violin would open a can of worms that I am not ready for. Like playing in front of the family. Ugh. My faces heats with stress at the thought. Keeping that a secret seems like a good idea still. But my love for music is a hobby, no?

I flip my phone screen towards her and point to the little music icon.

“Oh music! Duh. Of course. What do you like to listen to? I have a soft spot for indie folk.” Iona says leaning back on her bead a little to point towards a few posters on her walls. I type out ‘classical’ for her to read as I take a closer look at her posters. She hums quietly, murmuring that she figured me for the classical sort. I recognize a few as being some of my favorites and smile at her, pointing to them and then tapping my heart. “No way!? Look at that. Something in common. Well now I have an excuse—and a buddy—to go to concerts. We’ll have to see if they are in town soon. What else?”

I’ve never been to a concert before, the idea a little daunting because of the crowds, but the experience itself would be amazing I would think. Maybe one day I’ll go along with Iona, if she still wants to invite me.

I look about her room, and finally point at her bookcase. I love to read.

"I knew that, too," Iona smirks, "buuuuut I'll let it go. Any other hobbies?"

I shake my head, keeping my violin close to my heart where it is safest. She switches subject and she asks me innocent questions, each time providing some personal information of her own before waiting for my answer.

My favorite color? Blue. (Hers, at this moment, is purple)

My favorite movie? Anything without romance, but if I had to pick one, Mulan. (She lists about fifteen titles I cannot remember for the life of me)

My favorite book? Hard question, but Robinson Crusoe is always a one that I can sink into. I love adventures. (Again, she lists so many titles I can't remember even one).

Iona hates Trig but loves History. She sometimes wishes her hair would grow longer but 'it gets hopeless when it's even an inch longer than it is now.' She does like the color though, and it's all hers even if nobody believes it. The inky black is a little outrageous in its darkness, I would believe that she dyed it too, if Declan didn’t have the same color. She hates that Declan is such a grump these days and that he used to be so extroverted before high school. She misses him sometimes.

Iona looks at me expectantly when she says this, but I don't know what she wants from me. I'm not going to volunteer an opinion, although I do understand the shift into introversion. Iona grins when I remain stoic and continues her one-sided conversation. I don't know how she does this — doing all the talking and still making me feel I am really a part of this conversation. I’m enjoying myself and she knows it.

We sit quietly for a moment, Iona looking content with that secret smile on her face I have seen her wearing before.

That funny feeling in the pit of my stomach battles with my anxiety again. Or maybe I am just too tired to care and keep my guard up. I don't know. It's not like I am too scared to be with a person in a room. At least not with a person like Iona. Honestly, I think I may be the most comfortable with her out of everyone I’ve ever met.

Yet I can't bring myself to tell her the truth. I touch the scarf around my neck absentmindedly, trying not to think back to that horrible night. I still don't know what was worse; what he said or what he did.

I fought. I hurt him. I never hurt a human being in my entire life. I never fought back. But I fought William.

No, don't think of that now. See, this is what happens when I get tired. I can't fight the memories anymore and my internal monologue isn't doing anything to placate my fear. Iona interrupts me before I can drown in my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. As soon as her words register however, I wish she had kept quiet.

"Does it hurt?"

I look at her and blink, suddenly vividly aware again of my surroundings.

“Your neck. Does it hurt?"

Touching the scarf again, I shake my head slowly. Emmy asked me this too, I was still sore then, but it doesn't really hurt anymore. At least, I can still feel it of course, but it no longer really registers as 'pain' in my book.

Iona looks worried and takes a breath to speak, but then decides against it and looks away from me.

Wait a minute. What is she hiding? What is she not telling me?

I want to ask her, but I can’t find the words. As I sit and wait, unsure what to do, I notice that for once, she seems to be lost for words, too. Which makes me sad, because I like the sound of her voice, the way she brings me into conversations without having to say a word. She makes me feel included, my own age…safe. When she looks back at me, there is so much sadness in her eyes I feel the need to comfort her. Until she speaks again.

"I am so sad for you," She whispers. "I wish I knew how to reach you. But then again, you've not been here for a week. I guess it will take time." Her shoulders slump in obvious disappointment, which confuses me. What did she choose not to tell me, and why do I get the impression she is disappointed because I am reluctant to communicate? The thought that she would want to know me baffles me. Yet, it really seems this is what she means.

Fuck. I have to end this before it can really hurt me. But somehow, I can't seem to bring myself to tell her who I truly am. I'm too ashamed. And even though I know I don't deserve it, it's so unbelievably nice to talk to someone my age, to actually experience something I've so far only seen happening in movies or around me at school. I would almost wish I had something fun to tell.

I sigh and look at my hands, which I am wringing again. What am I doing here still? Iona is quiet — she is probably waiting for me to get the message and leave. Yeah, best to get up now and take what I was given and enjoy that. Never ask for more.

I get up and start to pick up the study books. I have to figure out what chapters they are currently on at school, so I can try to catch up before I go. I shouldn’t be that hard. At least, I hope. Maybe I can ask Iona, as she did promise me. Although I dread the prospect of being around so many strangers, I'm pretty sure I can keep my own and I am looking forward to the refuge of school and studying.

"Where are you going?" Iona asks, genuinely surprised. "Did I upset you?" Her eyes are wide in concern and I hastily shake my head, no. She didn't upset me. I am just leaving before it gets painfully awkward, is all.

"You don't have to leave, you know," She says, patting the bed next to her. "We can watch some TV together if you are tired of talking? Maybe something tacky like Dr. Phil is on?"

Before I can protest, she has turned on the TV and is flipping through the channels so fast she cannot possibly know what is on. Then she stops finally and sure enough, Dr. Phil looks both sullen and annoyed while talking before an audience. I’m immediately intrigued.

"Sit down, silly," Iona says sideways at me, but she is smiling, almost chuckling. She doesn't mean harm with that word, it seems. Come to think of it, didn't Declan use the same term with me with the milk last night? I didn't even notice it back then. I've never been called silly in what I think is a playful manner.

It's very new to me. Then again, almost everything that has happened in this house is new to me. It's not that I don't know it exists, I just feel like I don't deserve it directed at me.

Oh, how I wish I could escape that thought spiral, if only for five minutes. It would be so relaxing.

I go to sit down, on the very edge of Iona’s bed, careful not to jostle it or her too much, Iona looks back at me.

"Hey, weren't you at the hospital today?"

Yes. I nod carefully, then tilt my head to the side. Why?

"How did it go?"

I really don't want to talk about this. It was daunting and stressful to go through, I’d rather just forget about it and move on. Thankfully I won’t have to visit the hospital again anytime soon. That doctor Nick had examining me, Sue, really was nice, though. She put me at ease, and she helped me through it. She didn't act like she was surprised at all that I was anxious, and the stress ball really helped. I still have it. It’s in my room.

I shrug, carefully, feigning casual nonchalance so that she won’t ask any deeper questions.

"Are you healing well?" She asks softly and for the first time I notice true insecurity in her voice.

I cock my head at her new tone, wondering where her sudden shyness is coming from. It's almost the same hesitation she showed just now when she asked about my neck.

What does she know about this?

But I nod, to answer her question, making sure to meet her eyes with a smile. Comforting her.

Communication really is hard. I can’t find the right words, or facial expressions to convey that I am not worth all this worry. That's why I don't do conversations. Maybe I should tell her that. But then I want to tell her too that I don't mind listening to her. I do realize however that it wouldn't be fair to ask her to do all the talking. In a conversation it's natural that the speaking and listening goes both ways.

Unaware of my inner monologue, Iona speaks again. "So, will you be able to eat normal food again?"

Yes. I smile a half smile at the prospect, and she grins in return.

"You must be looking forward to that," She says making a face. "I can't really imagine that fluid stuff tastes any good. Seriously, chocolate and orange? Who thought of that combination?"

My smile widens at her mock scandalous outrage. I look down, realizing I am shy about my reaction. But I completely agree with her, because she is right. In fact, I have thought this exact same thing myself on more than one occasion.

Iona shows me her radiant, full smile when she sees mine and she claps her hands, leaving me in amazement. "Ha, I knew you could smile," She smirks like a sly cat that finally got the mouse. "You have a lovely laugh; do you know that?"

Not knowing what I should do with this piece of information, I look away. To my utter mortification, I find I am blushing, and I try to let my hair fall before my face to hide it.

Iona leans forward a bit and her blue eyes are big and sincere when she tries to catch my gaze. As I look up to meet her eyes from under my lashes, she smiles the kindest smile I have seen so far.

"Nobody ever told you this, huh?" She asks gently, but there is more to her question.

She knows. She knows I never get compliments.

She looks one last time at me, then turns her attention back to the television.

I look at my hands, which are once again gripping the other in my lap. A lovely laugh? I know people pay each other compliments some time to be nice, and that they don't actually have to mean it. Still it is beyond me why someone would actually want to go through the effort of make-believe like this for me. I want to believe that Iona is not messing with me, because the sincerity is radiating off her.

Maybe there is something lovely about me–?

Emmy interrupts my reverie by calling the family to dinner.

I jump up again. Gah. There really is no need to react so violently to an Aunt calling her niece and nephew to dinner. I'm startled by my own reaction, no less.

Iona sees my face and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Do you want to eat in your room again? Or do you want to join us for dinner?"

I hold up one finger.

Iona’s eyes go wide for some reason, but she doesn't elaborate. Then she precedes me into the hallway. "I'll bring you some food, okay?"

Having eaten some solid stuff for the first time in weeks, I am now very drowsy with the amount of energy it takes for my belly to process it all. Add this to my lack of sleep and my general discomfort — although God knows where that is coming from, because I am pretty sure this is not only from exhaustion —I really wish I could go to sleep.

Still, I feel I have to bring my dishes downstairs first. It’s only polite. And I can take care of myself. Yes. Exactly. Ah, well, let's get this over with. The sooner I finish this, the sooner I can go to sleep.

When I arrive downstairs, I can see that the family is seated at the kitchen table. My step halting, I see four pairs of eyes looking up at me, the conversation falling silent.

Oh, excellent. No, this isn't painful. Not at all.

Emmy stands in the kitchen doorway and her face lights up when she sees me. "Hi Cassia! Did you like your dinner?"

I did, so I nod. Behind me, Declan breaks the eerie silence by coughing. Thank you, thank you.

"Hey, we were going to play Catch Phrase, do you want to join us?" Iona asks at the same time in her chiming voice.

I look over my shoulder at her. Then I look at the others, and again they're all watching me. I don't like that. I don't like that at all. I don't mind being in one room with a person like Iona, but with the entire family… No, I would feel like I was intruding on them. I’m not really a part of this family. Besides, my body is begging me for sleep.

And my mind is tired. Gah. I realize I’m still standing with my tray in the middle of the room. I duck into the kitchen, leaving the unanswered questions behind me. I should have known I wouldn’t escape that easily though.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Emmy asks softly from behind me as I wash my dishes. I look over my shoulder at her. I do. I so, so do. I nod once.
"Go to bed then," She says. "You must be exhausted. Come." She guides the way upstairs and I follow her, too tired to be worried. She precedes me into my bedroom and looks around. Then she tuts, putting her hands on her hips.

"When you feel better, we can go out sometime to get you some things to make this room your own," Emmy says gently while she pulls the curtains closed. "I'll take those clothes you don't want with me. We'll get you your own things, of course," She continues, pulling covers off my bed. Jeez, woman I can do these things. "I can imagine it's not very comfortable to walk around in borrowed clothes. Maybe William will send you your things soon." She looks up at me carefully as I narrow my eyes at her. What does she know about this? Has she spoken to William?

Oh God, has she?

Emmy notices my reaction and sits down on the chair by the bed. "Sit down, please, Cassia," She says softly. Warily, I do as she asks, folding myself onto my bed. My heartbeat is picking up again. My faithful companion in times of distress.

Whatever she had to tell me, I’m certainly not ready for. I guarantee it.

Emmy stakes a slow breath, obviously thinking about what she is going to say. Maybe this is it. If she has indeed spoken to William, he will not have gone gently on me. She's probably sorry she had me come here, after all. My breath begins to speed and my vision fogs.

But I like it here…

"Take a deep breath, Cassia sweetie, there is no need to be so tense."

Doing as she says, I notice that I cannot quite catch my breath enough to take a deep one. But when I exhale, my heart seems to calm down a tiny bit and some anxiety evaporates. Huh.

"Let me just start by saying again that I think you are doing wonderfully. We don't expect you to fit in within days. Maybe you just have to get used to us trying to involve you in our family life. Can I ask you something?" Emmy folds her hands in her lap carefully, one finger over the other.

Meh. This usually means something tricky is coming, but I nod anyway.

"Did you talk often with William?"

I shake my head slowly. This is an odd question for sure. Apart from his barked orders, he never really talked to me. He had other ways of making his intentions abundantly clear. Wincing, I try to focus back on the here and now again.

Emmy looks down at her hands, once more. When she looks up again, she smiles apologetically. "I don't know what to say anymore. I can voice my hopes, I can tell you again and again that there is no need to be scared. There is no place for violence here. Our kindness is not a mind game. We will not hurt you. We want you to be at ease and happy here. I wish you would tell us what you are afraid of, so we can try to take away your fear. I wish you would allow us to get to know you."

Her words shake me. Badly. But I am not worth getting to know. Doesn't she know that? If she has spoken with William, she must surely realize I am not worth knowing. There is nothing to me.

Sighing, I shrug and my jaw tenses. I'm weary and tired. I really don't want to have this conversation right now. Or ever, for that matter.

Emmy looks up at me again and waits until I meet her gaze before she speaks. "Do you remember what I told you this morning? You are the one in control here. We want to give you a peaceful and comfortable home, but you will have to accept our help. I'll just keep saying it and who knows? Maybe one day you'll start to believe it."

I look at her, unmoving.

"I'm not your therapist, Cassia. I don't want to be, either. I want to become a mother—or auntie, if you will–for you, if you will let me. I can never replace anyone, and it would never be my intention to do so. But I do want you to know that if there ever is anything that has you worried, anything you would want to talk about, you can come to me. If you have questions, or insecurities, or fears, or when things aren't going the way you want them to, please let me know. Talk to me. I think a lot of your anxiety can be eased if you would ask for security."

My breath escapes in a gust. Once again, I hadn't realized I was holding it. She has a point, of course. Then again, I have asked quite literally for retribution and they told me they didn't do that.

God why is it so hard for me to believe their words?!

What did those men do to me?!

I almost flinch at the venom in my own mind. Where did that come from? Those men did nothing but what I deserved. I know that. They both reminded me every day. Whose words are those? Whose thoughts?

Words. My evil mind spits them out like bile. What good are words? Peter used to tell me all the time all would be well. Yet every time I thought that he meant it, that this time it would be all right, his mood would turn, and he would become so mean it was downright frightening. The only sounds he could ever get out of me were screams.

My breath is hitching once more as memories are starting to flood me and I fight to stay still, to not show Emmy my distress. I am beyond relieved to see her getting up and starting to leave. I’m on the edge of everything I know, one more shock and I might just tip over and plunge into something I cannot return from. That scares me more than anything else.

She stops at the door to my room. "You know you are welcome to come and join us downstairs." It's not a question. "It is by no means our intention to make you feel shut out. If you decide to come down later, please do so. You are a part of our family now, Cassia," Emmy continues. "I sure hope you will soon realize this yourself."

Her words hit me right there where it hurts the most. My heart splinters. Christ. What the hell. When I don't react, she nods once with a sad smile, and leaves the room.

Oh God, Emmy, you're killing me with your speeches. You really are. What am I supposed to do with your words? Are you really that kind? Because frankly, it terrifies me. I’ve never known this warmth this kindness, but I want it so badly. I really do. I just can’t get myself to take it.

Because what do I do if it’s taken from me?

Later, I'm sitting on the floor, next to the door which I have opened a crack. Bursts of laughter erupt from downstairs and the sound finds its way up to where I am. I listen to their banter.

The James family. They are easy around each other. I have not yet seen them fight. Nick and Emmy correct their niece and nephew but do it in a way I never thought possible. Declan and Iona listen. With one word they correct their behavior, and that word is never a threat.

I haven't seen any threats yet. Nor have I seen any violence. Just as they promised.

I let my mind wander to the events of the day. Last night with Declan. Nothing alarming happened and there were no signs of danger. I was safe. When he said he didn't know how to talk to me, it really sounded like he was talking more to himself than to me. He wasn't accusing me of being impossible to be around. I had the feeling that he thought the awkwardness of the situation was his fault.

I think I have sixth sense for knowing when people are annoyed with me, and last night, this wasn't the case. I am pretty sure about that and it amazes me for more than one reason. I used to annoy William and Peter to no end, just by stepping into the room. The fact that Declan asked me to stay… I don't think I even have words for that. He wanted me to be around? Could that have been mere politeness? And this morning, when he was angry, he didn't act it out on me. In fact, he helped me when Emmy didn't know if she could leave me alone or not. He guessed I would like the idea of being alone for a little while. How did he know?

And then Emmy. What did she say to that doctor in the hospital? That I was very traumatized? What did she mean by that? Aren't traumatized people usually victims? But I am not a victim.

Certainly not? That’s laughable.

My breath escapes in a gush as I remember something else she did. She stood up for me in that hospital. She saw I panicked and although I really think I was the one at fault here, she told the doctor that the exam was over. She stopped him and thus eased my panic.

How come I did not notice this at the moment she did it? I was only worried that I had upset her in some way, when in fact she was upset with the doctor.

Huh.

That's twice in one day that somebody stood up for me. I can feel myself frowning at this realization. This is a very peculiar notion, indeed. Why would they do such things?

And Iona, earlier today. Was she actually paying me a compliment? And apart from all that, why would she ever bother to try and have a conversation with me? It's not the first time she has done this, either. She even went through the effort of getting my books…

I think I have a ton to think about. I wish I wasn't so tired. This is a lot to process and then I'm not even looking back yet to how the days have been here so far. It's so different from what I know.

Why do I have a lump in my throat? Why am I close to tears?

I don’t understand what I am feeling.

Another burst of laughter floats towards my room. I listen to the voices talking but can't discern the words. Then I freeze as apart from the banter, I hear soft footsteps coming up the stairs. Shit. Who's approaching?

Just as I want to get up to close the door, I hear someone calling.

"Declan, where are you going? It’s your turn!" That’s Josh’s voice. He must have come over after dinner.

"Just going to charge my phone, I'll be right down." His voice comes closer as he's reaching the top step.

His footsteps are quiet, like a cat. I never noticed that. I should remember this.

"Ooh, in case your mistress calls?" Iona asks, singing the 'ooh' almost like a catcall.

Declan laughs, heartily, telling off his sister.

"Keep quiet, Dec, in case Cassia is sleeping," Emmy’s much softer voice drifts up.

Cassia is not sleeping. Cassia is contemplating whether she should get up and lock the door or not. Cassia is in a mental crisis over how kind some people can be, and it really confuses her.

If I do it now, Declan will hear it. As he is supposed to be going to his room, he will walk right past me, he might not even notice that my door is open.

I'll just have to keep quiet.

He goes down the hall indeed, and in my room, out of sight, I listen to the family laughing down the stairs and to Declan moving around beside me. His room is directly next to mine, it seems. I never really noticed that.

He comes down the hall again much sooner than I anticipated, and I haven't gotten the chance to get up and close the door. Again, if I do it now, he will notice, and I don't want to attract attention. I hold my breath, listening to what he will do. To my utter alarm, he doesn't go down to the ground floor. His footsteps halt — and turn towards my room.

Holy crap! What the hell?

He arrives before I can do anything and he stops at my door, pushing it open slightly, carefully. I can see his frame, his face as he looks inside the room. He hasn't looked down yet.

"Cassia?" He asks softly. The moonlight peeking between my curtains illuminates his face, softening his features, although his usual frown has smoothed out to a soft smile as well.

Oh my God what do I do?

Then he looks down and I gasp. I feel so tiny with him towering above me.

"Oh shit," He says, stepping back. "I am so sorry. Did I scare you? It's just, I saw your door was open and the light was out, so I thought that maybe you had fallen asleep, and…I was just gonna—close—the door…" He trails off, still looking down at me.

I think my mouth is hanging open still as I look at him with wide eyes. I can't even move now. I'm in much too vulnerable a position to try and get away. My breath is speeding up and my heart is thundering out of my chest.

Don't panic don't panic don't panic don't panic.

Declan looks at me for a moment, then to the stairs, and back again, a hand trailing up to his hair. He tugs it a little, leaving it in a bigger disarray even than it already was.

"I'm sorry," He repeats, his frown returning slowly.

We look at each other and again I find myself drawn to the intensity in his eyes. Even in the soft light they are so very blue and sharply focused on me. Like he can just look right through me if he tried hard enough. He sighs and does something that amazes me. He steps back and flops down to the floor, crossing his legs Indian style.

Um?

Declan is sitting outside my room now, and I am in, leaning against the wall still, frozen on either side of the door. The frame is between is like an invisible border of security. I have to look sharply to my left to see him properly. He’s already looking to his right at me.

"I feel like I keep upsetting you," He says after a moment of thinking. "I am so sorry for that because I really don't want to."

He looks at me searchingly, but I don't know what he is looking for. I quirk my head to the side, hoping that he will go on.

"But the milk last night was nice, right?"

I nod, smiling a little bit. It was nice. Somewhat stress inducing because he is still a bit of a stranger, but nice.

"This will sound really weird and maybe very egoistical to you," Declan continues, looking down at his lap where his hands are fidgeting, he moves them to his sides where they still. "but I'm kind of—hurt– that you seem to be so scared of me."

He looks back up at me when he finishes and I look back, confused to say the least. My lips part in surprise. He’s hurt? I’ve hurt him? I—Oh no. I never meant for that at all. How do I show him that I’m sorry? It’s not his fault that I’m a wimp. Certainly not. Scared is my default setting apparently.

I look down at my own hands, which are knotted in my lap. Thinking of my earlier random bravery, I reach out with two fingers and gently touch the back of his right hand. A single tap and I rest my fingers there for just a moment.

He inhales through his nose, keeping perfectly still for me while I do this. But he is staring at me so intensely that I can’t look up from his hand, but I can feel his gaze on my face."You don’t have to be scared."

I think you’re right, Declan…

"Dec! Are you coming? It's your turn!" Declan and I both jump, and I snatch my hand back into the safe territory of my lap. It's Josh again. Annoyed.

Declan looks over his shoulder and calls down the hall that he will come down. When he looks back at me, he smiles that crooked smile that Iona wears sometimes, too.

"I guess I have to go. You sure you don't want to join us? It's fun."

Oh, I bet it is but, I’m not ready yet.

Besides I need to go to sleep, seriously. I shake my head, giving him a tiny apologetic smile.

"Okay then. Good night, Cassia." He gets up and I lean back a little. He steps away and turns slowly, his tall frame disappearing down the stairs.

Exhaling shakily, I look straight ahead, seeing nothing. I don't even have words for the relief that flows through me. He didn't barge in. Nothing happened.

I'm okay.

No panic attack.

I’m safe.

I touched him.

Again.

Wow.

I remain in my position on the floor, although I have pushed the door a bit more closed again. Slowly, my heartbeat finds back its usual rhythm as the game resumes downstairs and laughter trickles up once more.

He asked me to join them. But I am not a part of the family downstairs. Not yet. Well maybe. I don’t know. I rub my temples. This is exhausting. Leaning my head back against the wall, I listen some more to the James’ laughing and having fun. With a sharp pang I realize that I do want to be a part of this. I regret not taking the invitation.

Maybe next time.

Because there will be a next time right?

(My bbyz. Such love. So adore.)

(HA. I suppose it is. We haven't explored much of his character just yet but we will certainly get the chance.)

(Oh girly, don't worry this is still considered 'the beginning'. I'll let you guys know before the end comes.)

(Oof. Same. Saaaaaame)

(I don't want to give anything away. But I will say that I have a good ending in mind for her.)

Trigger Warning

If you are not comfortable with mentions/implications of abuse please do not read any further.
PM me and we can chat if you want to know what happens next.
–Please remember that this story is about Cassia's recovery and that process is never easy, nor a straight line. There are ups and there are downs. I want to make sure that everyone understands that although A Thousand Cranes may have a happy ending, it is always a battle to get there. It's always been my intention to accurately tell/show that sometimes it's not so easy clawing one's way back from the bottom.
–Also, please remember that not everyone's journey to their happy ending is the same. I'm not saying that Cassia's story is the same for all those that suffer abuse, but it could be. Please be respectful. Unfortunately, I have taken a lot of inspiration for this story from my own life, so if there is something you have a problem with, please be sure to PM me so we can discuss further. Refrain from hateful commentary.

(All this is my work. Please don't steal it.)

(I'll leave this post for an hour so everyone has a chance to see it and then continue posting the story.)

He's here.

My eyes fly open and scan the twilit room without moving, without blinking. I can't see him on this side but he's here. I can smell his cologne. It’s sharp and vile, searing the inside of my nose and throat like inhaling flames. I want to run, but I’m frozen where I lay. Please, oh god, let this not be happening.
He holds his breath when I hold my breath, and I can't hear him, but he's here. I know he is.

Very slowly, I turn in my bed and look around the room. My heart skips a beat and my breath hitches as I make out his silhouette to my left. Tall, imposing, huge against the pale moonlight.

"Cassia Marisol," His voice drawls, "Why are you lying in bed?"

"I'm sleeping," I whisper. My voice is hoarse, and my throat hurts when I speak.

"Are you, now?" Peter stalks forward slowly, his long hair dancing around his face as he moves.

I nod, forced into honesty, eyes getting wide as he approaches the bed. He towers over me; the tension is palpable in the room.

"Why are you being so lazy?" he asks, his voice dripping with fake sympathy.

"I—I haven’t been sleeping. I’m scared." I croak. My voice is shaking, and I curse myself for showing this weakness. It's my own fault, after all.
His face changes, hardens. The white of his eyes is fierce against his bronze skin and his mouth turns into a hard line. "So, you brought this onto yourself," He says flatly. He shakes his head. "What am I going to do with you? It's your own fault, Cassia. When will you ever learn?" Sighing, he steps back.

"Get up. You have no right to be in bed. Do your chores. I expect you to be waiting for me tonight.”

My breath escapes me as pure fear takes hold of my body. Oh no.

Walking to the door, he stops to look over his shoulder. "Oh, and don't tell your mother. You wouldn't want to upset her, now would you? Besides, you remember what I have told you, no?"

"Yes." I whisper. My heart shivering in my chest. I really think it may stop for good this time.

"Remind me." Peter purrs.

"If I ever tell her, she will hate me forever."

"Good. What else?"

"If I ever tell her, you will hurt her, instead of me."

"And?"

"And she will leave me."

"Good girl. Remember, it's all your doing. You have brought this onto yourself."

When I blink, he has left the room.

Struggling to obey his command, I untangle myself from the damp blankets. I am shaking badly when I make my way to the door.

Have to get up.

Have to get about.

Cannot give in and show weakness.

This is my fault.

My fault.

And the consequences are waiting for me.

"Close the door, Cassia."

Spinning around so quickly I almost lose my balance, I have to fight to prevent my knees from buckling immediately after when I see William on the other end of the room.

Wait… what?

My breath escapes in a gust and my heart almost crashes out of my chest. He is holding something, tapping and turning it over and over in his hand.

His belt.

No. No, please, no.

"I said, close the goddamn door."

With badly trembling fingers, I push the lock closed. Turning back, I find that I am in his bedroom. The carpet smells like his cigarettes and the scent of stale beer hangs heavily in the air.

Without speaking, William snaps his fingers and points to the wall.

I tear up and my vision blurs when I shakily make my way over to the other end of the room. I brace myself against the wall and wait. Every fiber of my being tenses up in anticipation and I grit my teeth to get through this. If I'm lucky, he'll tell me what I've done to deserve it.

I hear the faint whistle of the belt, my body tenses so harshly my teeth bite into my cheek. The taste of blood fills my mouth, but the blow never comes. Alarmed, I look over my shoulder.

He's not there.

I am no longer in William’s room. I don't know where I am. The tiny living room is unfamiliar, but something about the sweet smell that hangs in the air is familiar.

I'm lost. I sink to my knees and hug myself.

Closing my eyes, sounds invade my senses immediately. The sounds of someone bustling around in the kitchen. Of a blazing hearth next to me. Of a door closing, indicating that someone is leaving.

I am seven again.

When I open my eyes, my mother is standing before me. Her hands are on her hips. She's angry, but her features are blurred, like an unfinished oil painting. I can’t remember what she looks like, but I can feel her angry radiating off her.

What did I do?

"Say it again," She hisses.

What did I say? The words escape my lips before I can think them out in my head first.

"Peter hurts me, Mommy."

Her features sharpen further, her eyes are glowing like flints. This face I know. "Don't you ever talk about that!" She screams. The hot poker glows in the dark and comes flying at me with a speed and accuracy that startles me. Holding out my hand to prevent it from hitting my face, the fire makes contact with my skin. The pain is immediate and all consuming. What is this? It hurts so bad. My heart breaks in my chest, but somehow still beats with a furiousness that frightens me.

My mother leaves me. She takes off the day after she hits me with the poker. I stand in the doorway, watching as she throws clothes into her suitcase. She doesn't look at me.

I don't dare to speak.

My hand hurts. It’s swollen and infected, still bleeding a little bit.

Tears slide down my face constantly and my head gets bumped into the wall as my mother pushes past me roughly with her luggage. “Mommy—” I try to grab her arm, but she yanks herself away from me. Not looking back, she walks out of the house without a word. I run into her bedroom to look out the window and see how she gets into a car on the right side. I don't know who drives it. The car is red and looks fast. It peels out down the street and I can hear my mother laughing. I follow it with my eyes until it turns the corner and I can no longer see it.

She’ll come back.

A hand, in the nape of my neck.

"See, what you have done?"

The blow comes from behind and I am unprepared. I lose my balance and fall to the side, against the wall. The second blow I don’t see coming either.

By the third blow, I have closed my eyes.

By the seventh, I stop counting.

I don't cry out when Peter kicks me.

I don't make a sound. I think it's safer to remain quiet from now on. His rage is loud enough for the both of us. There's nothing I can do. I've brought this on to myself. I have learned my lesson now. It's all my fault.

My fault.

I curl up on the ground, fist my hands in my hair and wait for this to pass. But the pain becomes too much, it’s all too much. Too much. Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch.

I open my mouth and scream.

~O~

"Cassia! Please, open your eyes. It's okay, honey, it's okay. Please come back to us. There is no danger here. Cassia? Please?" It's Emmy’s voice and it's frantic, breaking on the last word.

I’m tied up in my blankets, my hands twisted in my hair in a deadlock grip. I’m curled on my side, gasping, my heart beating so quickly I may pass out. I look around the room frantically, trying to see if they are still here. Peter and William. My mother. They were here in my safe place. Then I close my eyes again, too scared to really see what's around me.

"Cassia? Listen to me carefully. I know you can hear me. Peter is not here. William is not here. They will not find you here and we will not send you back to them. Do you hear me?" Her voice changes, becomes stronger, more determined.

"You were dreaming, sweetheart. You are with us now." Nick voice. It’s so strong and sure.

I can't get my breathing under control. Everything hurts and my breath is rattling with ick that is stuck in my throat.

"Try to count with her," Nick’s voice again, softly.

"Yes. Cassia? Will you count with me? One, you're okay…"

No. I am not okay. I am, most definitely, not okay. They were here, Emmy! They were here in your house. Taunting me. Don’t you understand that I won’t ever be safe from them? Peter. William. My mother. They made sure I would never forget. Haunting me even now.

Shaking my head vigorously, I clamp my arms shut tighter around my face and pull my legs closer to me.

"Cassia." Emmy’s voice breaks and I can hear she's crying. She puts her hand on my arm and I tense up, waiting for what is going to come. "Please let us be there for you, sweetheart."

Her hands move from my arms to close around my wrists and my breathing stops altogether, leaving the echo of my racing heartbeat in my ears. Softly, Emmy tugs at my arms, trying to pry them away from my face. This has never happened before and it's altogether alarming. It doesn't matter what comes now. My body is too tired to fully prepare or to fight so I let go and let Emmy touch me, move me. She’s so warm, that I don’t think I would have been able to resist her if I tried. I’m so starved of touch and she is so gentle, so different from the touch that I’m used to that I’m lost.

So completely lost.

"Look at me," She breathes.

I do as she asks and see that her face is wet with tears. Inhaling shakily, I look at her, waiting.

"Let us be here for you," She repeats softly, and her hands slide to hold my own, squeezing tightly as if the pressure will help convey her sincerity. "There is nothing to be afraid of here."

Carefully, I move my eyes from hers, looking around the room. Checking. Nick is standing behind Emmy, one hand on her shoulder, gazing at me with warm concerned eyes. Past him at the door, both Declan and Iona huddle together, twin looks of worry on their similar features. Declan’s bedhead is truly wild, and Iona looks as if she too was crying, although her cheeks are dry. My gaze goes to every corner of the room, leaning forward a bit to peek into the bathroom, and back to gaze into my closet.

They aren’t here.

Peter. William. My mother.

They never were. Emmy is right—

“Cassia.” She starts, her obvious distress triggers mine too and tears finally spill over.

I’m so relieved. All the pain, all the humiliation, all the insults… Nothing. Didn’t exist. A nightmare. I am so tired. I don't want to bear it anymore. I feel so empty inside, like they carved me out to only leave a shell behind, but I don’t even care right now. I’m so relieved. I’m safe from them for now.
I slump forward, no longer caring what will happen, and cry. I don't have the energy to hold them back anymore.

When I feel Emmy’s arm around my shoulders, I don’t jerk away, and her hold tightens.

"Oh honey," She whispers, her arm feels warm and comforting around me. She really carries the sun inside her, doesn’t she?

She's hugging me. She's actually hugging me.

I have craved this for so long and at this moment, I want it so much that I can't make myself push her away. The fear of getting hurt no longer can win it from the intensity with which I want this. Let them take it away from me later. If I can have it now, if only for a moment, I will take it. I'll pay for it. It's worth any price. Just let me have this.

Breathing heavily, I finally give in completely and sobs tear through my body as I let go.

"Ssh," Emmy whispers as she scoots closer to me pulling me more tightly against her chest. She is so soft, smelling of lavender and roses, and although I am momentarily alarmed, my body refuses to fight as the wonderful, wonderful feeling of this embrace.

I'm still crying as without volition my own hands grip Emmy’s arm and I hold her tight. Gripping her like a terrified child. I have dreamed of this for so long. Hoped against hope that someone, some day may hold me just for a moment.

Please. Don’t let go.

"Ssh," Emmy says gently again. "You're here now. You're safe. You're with us. You're home." It becomes her chant, she whispers it into my ear as she holds me. Finally, finally, I believe her.

I can feel Nick’s hand move from Emmy’s should and caress my hair, really the only part of me that he can reach at the moment, and my sobs continue. I never realized how starved I was of anything that resembled affection. I need it more than I need air right now.

I need this.

A family.

(I hope those are 'good' woahs?)

I don’t have anymore nightmares the rest of the night. When I open my eyes again to the morning light streaming through my windows, I’m still tired, but not the debilitating kind of tired that I have been for the past few days. I actually feel somewhat energized. I smile, allowing myself to relax back into the plush of my bed, listening to the twins get ready for school down the hall.

Seems like another day I get to skip. I wonder if Emmy is waiting for me to say something? I would like to go—mostly to get it over with at this point, but still… I like school. It would feel good to start going again.

Another day of acclimation. Stewing in my own thoughts and not being able to help with anything around the house. I purse my lips in a frown. I really do not enjoy feeling like I have too much time to do nothing but think. Now it seems that is all I have. All the time in the world to think myself into a ball of anxiety. All the time in the world to remember how I’ve messed up royally, since I stepped through the front door of this house. All the time in the world to remember Emmy’s warm arms around me.

I try not to linger on that memory. I think the chances of that happening again are slim and I would never dare to ask for it. But oh, it felt so good to be held like that. How I've longed for arms around me that were reassuring, not restraining. I gave in, pushed away my fear and took the risk. It's the best gift I could ever receive.

I jump as Emmy announces her presence with a knock on the door and comes in when I clap my hands. Gah. I won't ever get used to the respect of my personal bubble. Or the fact that I even have personal space too respect.

I feel very awkward seeing Emmy the first time after ‘the hugging incident’, but she doesn't seem to notice it, nor does she seem to be uncomfortable around me. She doesn't bring it up, and I am grateful for that. It means she also won't laugh at me for wanting to be held, to be hugged. She seems—happier—actually. More comfortable as she steps into the room. I sit up, moving to sit cross legged under my blankets. I’m not so nervous as she approaches, but I can still feel my embarrassed blush on my cheeks.

"You were sleeping earlier when everyone else was waking up." She smiles as she steps up next to my bed. She's carrying a steaming mug — presumably some broth. I've been living on that over the last days along with pieces of French bread. I flat out refuse the fluid food. It comes out quicker than I get it in. I won't eat it anymore. Besides, who can turn down warm bread and soup?

"I brought you something to drink. How are you?"

I nod carefully — I'm better now. I still feel awkward and shy under her gaze. Have done since she put her arms around me. It's hard to admit how wonderful it felt.

It's harder to admit I want it again.

"You look a bit better. Hey, what do you think of maybe a shower and changing into clean things? I can clean the sheets on your bed in the meantime?" Emmy sits on the edge of my bed as she hands me the mug. I take a careful sip, closing my eyes as the incredible warmth and taste spill into my empty stomach. I set the mug carefully on my night stand, pulling Emmy’s attention away from chores and to my hands.

That is a good idea. But what about school? I don’t want to fall behind too much.

It’s vaguely surprising to me how much ASL I remember, I haven’t been able to properly use it in years, but now it all comes flooding back to me as I accept that it’s a better way to communicate my needs than nods, shakes and finger motions.

Emmy considers, chewing her bottom lip. "It’s funny that you say that, I was thinking about it this morning as well. If you think you are ready, we can get you in whenever you want." She hesitates, looking concerned. I can guess where her thought process is going. She’s worried about all those kids being in my personal bubble. “I was thinking maybe we’d finish out the week, just to make sure you are as acclimated and healed as much as you can be here, before we push you into a new environment.”

Well, that’s considerate, but unnecessary. I can do school, no biggie.

I’m sure.

Right? Right.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

I huff to myself. No, I definitely can do this.

I would like to give it a shot.

My words are hesitant, as I do realize where she is coming from. I know that I can be—difficult—to say the least. Emmy only wants me to be comfortable, but she’s got to understand that I need this too.

She is looking at me, searching for something on my face. When she finds what she’s looking for she speaks again. “Okay, okay. But let me chat with your principal first, okay?” She adds as an afterthought. I nod, conceding. She probably has to explain everything about me to them, maybe even share my file. That’s going to take time and understanding. I sigh quietly, wringing my hands. Just more and more people that have to know about me. Emmy smiles at me reassuringly, gestures to my mug of broth with a gentle “Drink.” and then she is out of the room.

I finish my mug of broth in no time. Humming at the full feeling in my stomach. I’ll have to ask Emmy for the recipe. I could drink that broth for the rest of my life.

Freshly showered, freshly clad in clean sweats and t-shirt. I crawl in between fresh sheets, feeling better instantly although, I have put my shawl back on, as I feel better with my neck covered. The bruises have healed enough where they are only truly visible to those who know where to look, but I’ve gotten so used to the extra coverage that I feel woefully exposed without it.

I could read, but my eyes are still a little strained from exhaustion. Although the library does call my name. I should answer Jackie's emails, but I don’t really know what to say to her just yet. She’ll want to hear about my progress and I really don’t think that I have accomplished anything since I’ve entered the James’ home. I am still not very well. I just have a hard time realizing it. I have been used to suppressing my discomfort for so long, I don't know how to recognize it anymore.

The phone they gave me beeps on the nightstand. My heart skips a beat at the sound and tentatively, I reach out to pick it up. A text message. From whom? I press the button to read it.

How are you?

XO Iona

I look at the screen for a long time, completely lost. Should I reply to this? But what do I say? Finally, I type something.

I'm okay.

I press send.

And then on whim, I send another:

: )

Because happy faces are nice. I don't really know why my heart is hammering in my chest right now. I keep holding the phone, not really sure what to do. Minutes tick by and I start to wonder what I am waiting for, exactly.

The phone beeps and vibrates again, tearing me my reverie with a jolt.

Glad to hear you're better. Now that I know you text, it’ll be easier to chat!

Declan

What.

I save both numbers into the phone. I have a whooping four contacts now. Somehow this makes my chest feel funny, but in a good way. I don't know how to answer the message from Declan so I just send another happy face. Hopefully, he gets it that even though I can text, ‘chatting’ is still rather difficult.

I just keep looking at it long after the backlight of the screen dies down, I can see my own smile reflected back at me.

Would you look at that.

A smile.

(lol I love the 'whoas')
(Did Declan do something wrong though? I must admit he is the most challenging of the characters to write. Constructive criticism is appreciated, of course.)