Chapter 1
Cassidy Charleston looked around her new foster home. She had been adopted just rhe year before but after the event with Brown Paychiatric and getting kidnapped, that family was no longer trusted to watch after her.
Her past haunted her daily now, flashbacks whirring around in her head. She bit her lip, closing her eyes as a tear ran down her cheek.
She had her own bedroom, but might as well not have. She was constantly being checked on, as if she were a glass dove about to break
It was different than when she was in the hospital. Here, at least, she went to school. And she was allowed to cover her wings.
Suddenly, a voice interrupted Cassidy from her thoughts. She looked towards a red headed man, standing in the doorway of her new bedroom.
"What did you say," She inquired as she glanced up at the man, Jack, yawning. She was tired as she had been brought here at midnight.
"Are you alright? I'd like you to get settled in so you can get some rest. Your social worker mentioned she arranged an emergency session with your therapist."
"I wish I didn't ever have to deal with Stella again. She's such a bitch."
It was clear Cassidy hated her social worker. She always would.
"Well, too bad. Please just have your lights out in ten minutes," With that, he left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall then thumping down the stairs.
She could hear low whispers in the kitchen. Undoubtedly about her.
Cassidy closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Then locked her bedroom door and thumped down on her bed. She was tired of always being the center of attention.
It was bad enough constantly feeling like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. It was tiring feelinh like fainting whenever she stood up.
Of course, she had told her therapist about all this and her therapist had wondered if she wanted to try inpatient again. Cassidy had declined the idea, too fearful after what had happened in her past.
After everyone had turned against her, making her turn against them in return. She remembered being restrained, being punched, Matt being there for her.
Then, suddenly, he was gone. She should be able to recollect how, but she couldn't. Was it the trauma part of her brain protecting her memory or something else entirely?
She ruffled around in her room, slamming draws, trying to find her sharp tools. She eventually did. Then put music on her phone, full blast.
She dragged it across her wrist, watching the redness pool on it. She shouldn't enjoy it, but she did. The sensation it brought to Cassidy was a mixture of numbness and joy.
She was lost in her thoughts, imagining, getting ready to again swipe blade against her skin when she heard footsteps rushing up the stairs and down the hall to her room.
She faintly heard a knock on the door to her bedroom. She didn't answer it, hoping it would just dissipate. Hoping the person knocking would get it. She had to do this! It was her only escape.
Unfortunately, the knocking just got louder. She heard it turn to pounding. Then rushed and tried to squeeze under her bed to hide. She heard the turning of keys in the bedroom door. Then it opened.
"Cassidy!" Jack kneeled in front of the girl, panic in his voice. He looked at her, worried. "What have you done?" He peered down at her wrists and held his hands against them, trying to slow down the bleeding.
"Victoria, call an ambulance, she can't breathe! I can't stop her bleeding." He screamed out to his wife.
A black haired, pale woman entered the room, talking hurriedly to the 9-1-1 operator on her phone. "No, I don't know when she did it. Yes, she is conscious. Yes she can hear us." She turned to Cassidy to ask a question the operator asked. "Cassidy, when did you do this?"
"Ten minutes ago." The teenagers eyes were getting droopy.
She woke up in a hospital bed, looking around. A doctor was talking to her foster parents, his yellow scrubs identifying him as being from the psych floor.
"Hello?" She asked them, her voice weak.
The adults entered the room, the psych resident sitting beside her bed. He frowned. "Cassidy, you cut pretty deep. I want you to be honest. What was the goal?"
"To get help. To get relief. To die."
He nodded and opened the file on his lap, making some notes.
"Alright, I'll leave your foster parents here. I'm going to go make some phone calls. I must say, I think they're going to want to hospitalize you. So I'm going to contact your social worker."
Two weeks later, Cassidy stared up at a brick building, sighing as the transport counselors looked at her.
She was hesitating going inside. As much as she wanted help, she was also afraid to get it. What if this place was the same as the last?
