Author Note

Trigger warning! This chapter contains dark themes (suicide, mental hospital) so feel free to skip this chapter if needed!

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SEVEN DAYS. I haven't spoken to Rucker in seven days, and I haven't spoken to anyone else in four days.

After Rucker stormed away, I chased after him again, and he refused to acknowledge me, like I never meant anything to him.

I didn't blame him. I hurt him and he didn't want to admit it, and in return, he wanted to hurt me back just as bad. Parts of me felt like they have been shattered into a million pieces and then dipped in boiling acid.

On the second day, I just stayed outside of Rucker's room for hours until he finally came out. He pushed passed me like I was a nagging stranger on an NYC subway.

The way he looked at me reminded me of the way a murder victim's family might look at the killer — with hatred and disgust.

No one else blamed me for what I did. They said they understood, but I knew I fucked up. We could've all been dead if the killer didn't want to fuck with me.

This was the exact reason why I didn't let new people in because I do things differently than most people, and people didn't understand that. And they usually reacted by getting angry or showing pity or just leaving. So, I'd keep up the perfect persona, giving them what they think they wanted but never really doing so, protecting myself.

With my team, I did protect myself at first, but I slowly let them in. They didn't get full on Tini, but I let myself get vulnerable a tiny bit, and it got thrown back in my face. I deserved it, but I wasn't used to trusting people so easily. Even when my gut told me too.

I thought I could trust my mother, the woman who birthed me, yet she killed three of her other children. If I couldn't trust her, how could I trust a stranger so quickly? I couldn't. It wasn't in me to do that anymore. My trust had to be earned, but I should've told Rucker that off the bat before agreeing to be partners.

And now, it was my fault our team was broken up, and I didn't know how to fix it. We were supposed to be building our base, and now, we were all like floating pieces in the sea, drifting apart.

Everything just felt awkward now to me, so I retreated to my room and just stayed there, living off of ramen packets I stole from the kitchen and sink water.

I didn't want to see anyone. My mind just wanted to sink into the darkness that I created. I no longer had Tini, and I didn't even have Duke this time. I knew Khan would take care of him for me, but I missed him so much. His squeaky barks would've drowned out the voices I kept hearing in my head.

Betinia.

I kept hearing that voice over and over. I always thought someone was calling me, but what if it had always been in my head?

Salty droplets teetered down my sticky cheeks as I huddled on the floor, hugging myself. The voice came more often now. Ever since I closed myself off, I heard it at least ten times a day now.

Betinia.

It was in my mind. This whole time I was imagining it. Maybe I was crazy. Harsh bitter laughs left my dry throat, bouncing off the walls of my room, creating an echo. I was my mother.

Kill yourself.

Those sour laughs of mine increased to an almost maniacal fashion, ricocheting off the walls so much that it bled into my ears.

Kill yourself. Now!

I smiled to myself, fingers itching to do what it commanded, but my inner resolve halted me. No.

You let everyone down. Again. Just kill yourself.

Those words triggered memories of my family. I did let them down. Maybe if I had gotten home early from school that day, my mother wouldn't have done it. Why did I have to join band that day? Of all days? Maybe if I wasn't two hours late, she would've kept acting normal or changed her mind.

But I'd never know. I let them down, and here I was, doing it all over again. I was always letting people down.

Kill yourself.

No. My nails dug into my palm.

Just do it. No one wants you on this earth anymore.

Again, those words triggered another memory. The memory of when I first met Tim.

After everything went down back then, Angie and I got put into a foster home until someone would take us. While waiting, we got interviewed by Angie's therapist, Ms. Lee.

On my first session, I said that line to my therapist about my blood, and I got put into Kedarwood Hills, a mental asylum in the mountains of Colorado.

It was a horrible experience, but it was also a blurry experience. I remembered some things, but other things were fuzzy.

There were a couple of things I remembered so severely that they would forever be burned into my brain — the screaming, especially at night. Some people would scream for no reason at all. Others would be getting tortured by the different machines while some got touched by the pervy orderlies, hollering in protest or for help, but no one ever came.

The food was another thing I wouldn't forget. They'd serve us something called "mystery soup" that resembled vomit, smelled like pine and dirt and had hairy purple meat chunks floating in it. On some days, we'd have gray meatloaf and on other days, we'd have some green stinky paste on buns that could cut your skin like sharpened razors.

I refused to eat, and the orderlies would force-feed me while touching my body. I used to throw it up on them out of spite, and they used to slap me sometimes. The one cafeteria orderly — Balvin — was a sadistic fuck. One time he jacked off with my vomit, cackling at me like a demented cricket before punching my gut multiple times, making sure to leave bruises on places that would be covered.

Balvin loved to mess with the girls in the hospital, especially me. One time he decided that if I didn't eat this next time, I'd get the hose — a huge tube they'd force down my throat that would inject liquid food into my tummy. It was an embarrassing and painful process.

"We'd have to strip you naked," he whispered to me during a break as he touched my neck. "We wouldn't want your gown to get dirty."

A girl named Jessika with electric-pink hair saved me from this torture. At breakfast, she sat with me and told me to use the mustard packets and smother my food with them. It masks the bad taste.

It helped a bit. I mostly just used it on the crusty potato chips they gave us at every meal. The cafeteria people saw me eating and Balvin couldn't touch me anymore, but that wouldn't be the last of him.

After that day, Jess and I became really good friends. At first glance, I didn't know why Jess was in here. She didn't seem like me, but after talking to her for a few weeks, I learned a lot about her. Jess had a habit of lying and making up stories. Apparently, we'd go on wild adventures together in the hospital. Sometimes it wasn't just us, but two mutual friends would join us sometimes too. I used to argue with one of them a lot too, apparently.

But none of that was true, and we only truly ever hung out with each other. I never told her that though. I used to pretend with her because her stories sounded so much fun and it was sort of an escape for me. Her stories made my stay a bit easier.

Angie visited me about five months in, telling me that Tim, a friend of our dad's, would be taking care of her now because none of our family wanted her or me. I was deemed crazy, and Angie had a past herself, but it wasn't either of those things that made them not want us.

None of my mom's family wanted us because they would forever be followed with the judgment of what my mother did. They wanted to wash their hands of the whole situation and start over.

My dad's family didn't want to be reminded of their loss and looking at us reminded them of their murdered son.

Tim was my dad's childhood friend. He was always deployed overseas so that's why we never met him Angie said, but now he wanted to take care of us because our dad would want that. Angie laughed at that, saying she hated him right off the bat, but she would be moving in with him next month because he was better than the foster homes. She also said they'd be moving to the outskirts of New York City and that her name would be changed. Mine too if I got out.

She then whispered in my ear when the orderlies weren't looking to get the fuck out of here. To act fucking normal. Fake it or create someone new for the close-minded world because if I didn't, I'd be in this place for the rest of my life.

When she left, I went to my dark, cold room and listened to my roommate who was bond to her bed with metal ties chant in her crying voice, "I'm not crazy. I'm a good girl now. A good girl. I'm normal. I'm a good girl. I'm not crazy."

I closed my eyes and chanted that to myself for next month until those words became my reality and my brain split, burying my real self, creating a new normal image in its place — Betinia.

Of course, my therapist was wary of my sudden change, thinking I was lying, but I gave her all the answers that she wanted to hear, and she still wouldn't let me out. Not until the judge on my case felt sympathetic for me and wanted a second opinion on my mental health.

The second opinion deemed me as no threat to myself or others and that I was just grieving for the loss of my family. They recommended that I should be released.

A month later, I was released, walking hand and hand out the doors with my leggy therapist who committed me in the first place. The judge kept her on my case because of our history together. I was stuck with her until I was eighteen. Since Ms. Lee worked for the state now, she got transferred to the NYC branch and would be seeing me there three times a week.

"Are you afraid to meet Mr. Woods?" Ms. Lee asked as we emerged through the steel doors of Kedarwood Hills.

I didn't answer her at first but glanced out into the crisp open air, embracing the sweet world again. The world she took away from me for so many months.

I hated her so much that I wanted to stab her in her Achilles and watch the blood leak from her ankle as she tumbled down the three flights of stairs. Hopefully breaking all her bones on the way down, so I could hear those delicious cracks. Or snaps?

Did breaking a bone make a sound? Was it silent? Or did it sound like the rice crispy cereal — snap, crackle and pop? Those questions ate at my mind as my palms moistened, wanting to push her, wanting to test my theory.

Stop it. No. She deserves to die. No. I run this show now. Because I let you. We agreed this was best. Do you to go back there? Back to Balvin? He's already dead. Remember? What? No, he's not. You really did block it out, huh?

"Betinia?" Ms. Lee asked again, snapping her fingers.

I pulled from my thoughts, stuffing Tini down deep. I was about to answer her, but I got distracted again.

Ravens flew passed us from above, reminding me of freedom. The air tasted sweet, and the wind nipped against my skin. Everything appeared so vibrant and colorful.

When you're locked away from the world for so long and you're only used to seeing nothing but black and white, you appreciate the small things. Just the gentleness of watching a fat bee land on a daisy was beautiful to me.

"Did you hear me, Betinia?" Ms. Lee asked, pausing on the top step.

I glanced up at her with a bright, fake smile. "Sorry. I was looking at the birds." I let go of her tight hand, pulling my hand behind me so I wouldn't push her. I pointed to the birds in the trees across from us on the slow two-lane street. "Aren't they beautiful, Ms. Lee? Watching them just brings such a smile to my face." My voice dripped with sweetness and happiness.

Ms. Lee pushed her glasses up on her nose, eyes narrowing. "Yes, they are very beautiful creatures."

"I am very excited to meet Mr. Tim," I said, nodding to her as I pulled my dress down. "Angie says he's really nice."

"Yes, I've been keeping up with Mr. Woods for a while now and he is a very nice man," Ms. Lee said, watching me.

Right after she said that a red car zoomed down the street and parked at the curb in front of us. A tall lean man crawled out of the car, kicking the door shut behind him. The first thing I noticed about him was his scruffy five o'clock shadow.

"He's on time as always," Ms. Lee said, gripping my hand hard as she pulled me down three flights of crusty stone stairs. It took a lot of deep breathing not to push her.

Tim prowled toward us like a cat, every movement precise and calculated. He wore a red plaid shirt with a loose black tee underneath with ripped jeans and beat-up boots.

He stared at me with his bright green eyes that reminded me of green jolly ranchers. I instantly liked him. Mostly because whenever someone looked at me who knew about my past, pity always rimmed their eyes. Not him.

Tim looked at me like he knew me forever, a warmth ringing in his candy eyes. A genuine grin formed on his lips. "Hello, Tinia," he said, instantly giving me a nickname. "I'm Tim."

I met his smile with my own cheerful one. "Hi, Mr. Tim. Nice to meet you."

He extended his hand to me. I snatched my hand from Ms. Lee's tight grip and grabbed his outstretched greeting. It felt warm.

"Last time I saw you, you were in diapers." Tim let out a hearty chuckle and turned to Ms. Lee, humor leaving his face. "Nice to see you again, Traci."

"Hello again, Mr. Woods," Ms. Lee said, putting a strand behind her ear and shaking hands with Tim. "Nice to see you again."

"Likewise," he said, even though he sounded like he didn't mean it. "Do you need me to sign or do anything else?"

"No. Everything's been arranged and finalized as of yesterday," Ms. Lee said, staring at me. "It's not usual protocol for her to go home with you like this. I and social services would usually fly with her and check out—"

"The courts already said it was okay for me to pick her up here," Tim said, extending his hand to me. I grabbed it eagerly, moving from her side to his side.

You should've at least kicked her in the twat. Shut up. We're not even a mile away from the hospital yet.

I needed to get a grip on her, or I'd be back here again.

"I know. I read the report. I guess you still have powerful friends," Ms. Lee said with a slight bitterness. "You and Doctor Romo served together, right? And the judge is an old poker buddy."

"I have no idea what you're talking about Traci," Tim said, meeting her eyes. "Doctor Romo and Judge Hackett are professionals, and they did their jobs. I had no influence on their choices." He paused. "Maybe you're the one bringing personal matters into professional business."

An iciness pierced the atmosphere when both their eyes connected, making the once vibrant lighting dimmer. What was going on? I didn't understand what was happening, but the awkwardness could be sliced with a scalpel.

I think they used to do the dirty turtle dance. What? What does that mean? I don't know. Angie used to say it.

"I'm always professional," Ms. Lee said, shattering the coldness. "Betinia. Do you feel comfortable leaving with Mr. Woods? Do you want to fly with me instead?"

Fuck off, bitch. "I'll be okay with Mr. Tim. I feel comfortable with him," I said, looking from her to him. "Is Angie here too?"

"No, she wanted to come but had to an overnight trip at school," Tim said, and then we all lapsed into silence again. "So," he said, trying to speed things up. "Our plane leaves in a few hours, and Betinia will see you on Monday? For her first appointment?"

"Yes," Ms. Lee said, nodding and turning to me. "Have a good flight, and you have my number in case you need to talk. My flight leaves at seven tonight, so I might not be able to answer after that."

"Okay," I said, patting my pocket with her card in it. "I'll call you if I need you, Ms. Lee."

No, we're not. Shut up.

Tim inclined his head at her in goodbye and walked to the car. He put me in the backseat and buckled me in. My eyes watched the mental hospital through the closed window, seeing the filthy barred windows and peeling paint. Goodbye. Forever.

I was so glad it was finally over, but I would miss Jessika. I didn't know why she was there, but I hope she got out one day like me.

As the car rode down the street, it was filled with silence until he asked, "Want to get something to eat before the airport? You're probably hungry."

I was starving. "Yes, please, Mr. Tim," I said, sounding polite. I needed for this to work, for him to believe me.

We got this. Don't worry. Then shut up.

I closed my eyes, burying her so deep that my gut hurt. It was so easy to keep her away in the hospital, but it would take practice to keep her down in the real world. It was so easy for her to get triggered.

We rode for a while and stopped at this 60's diner on the side of the road. I ordered a club sandwich, and he ordered a double cheeseburger with fries, a milkshake, and an apple pie slice.

"You sure all you want is a club sandwich?" he asked me, giving our menus to the waitress who hurried away.

"Yes, Mr. Tim," I said, trying to sound extra sweet.

"Drop the Mr. Tim crap." He sipped his water. "Your bitchy therapist isn't here. Just call me Tim."

I stared at him in shock. "What?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry I shouldn't have called her that."

"It's okay," I said. I didn't like her either.

"She's the definition of a hell bitch," he muttered and then realized he cursed again. "Shit — sorry fuck. Sorry shit. Sorry."

Him cursing and scolding himself made me laugh. "It's okay," I said, wiping my cheek.

He sighed, letting the tension leave his face. "It's not, but this whole having daughters' thing is new to me."

"You don't have your own kids?" I asked.

"Nah, I signed up for the marines at eighteen and that's been my whole life," he said and took another sip of water. "Didn't want to have to put a wife and kids through the nightmare of worrying if I'll ever make it home or not."

"So why take us?" I asked.

Tim paused, letting the waitress put down his chocolate milkshake. "Your dad and I made a pact that we'd take care of each other's families if anything happened to either of us. And I'm keeping my word on that. I retired a few months ago."

"Did you retire because of me and Angie?" I asked, feeling bad.

He must've sensed my sadness because he shook his head. "I was thinking about retiring for years now. I should've been done it, but I felt like I never had a reason to. Now I do, and I'm happy with my choice."

That made me feel a little better. "What was my dad like when he was my age?"

Tim smiled, getting lost in thought. "Smart. No, he was fucking intelligent." He shook his head. "Sorry. But yeah, he was intelligent, always studying and reading. And analyzing everything. He thought the world was a giant puzzle that needed to be solved." He laughed. "We were total opposites. He was the smart rich kid and I was the fucked-up poor shit — that's what his family used to call me because I was always getting him in trouble with me. But your dad never turned his back on me. I owe him a lot. He saved my life a bunch, and I would do anything to help him."

I looked down, playing with my napkin. "I miss him," I said, feeling my voice crack. I remembered how he used to pick me up and tickle me until I giggled. The sudden image of his dead body and blood covering his fingers hit me. I jerked as my chest rumbled, tears falling down my face.

"Me too," Tim said, and he touched my hand. His warmth drove away the coldness sinking through my body, erasing the bloody image. "I'm going to do my best to be a good guardian. Just give me a chance and don't hate me too much."

"I don't hate you," I said, sniffing. My hand wiped my sticky cheeks.

"Your sister does," he said with a sigh.

"Angie hates most things," I said and we both laughed. "She'll warm up to you. I did."

He eyed me. "You're not lying, are you?"

"No," I said with a genuine smile. "You're the first person who hasn't looked at me like I'm damaged." Those words sort of slipped out and I coughed. "Um sorry."

"You're not damaged," he said, looking at me. "You just got dealt a tough hand in life. And I'm here to help you get through it." He smiled at me. "I know you might not trust me now, but I just want you to know that you can. I will always be on your side, rooting for you, even if you're wrong. I will be your constant reminder that someone on this earth wants you here. Just like your dad was for me."

His words touched my heart and brought more tears to my eyes. "Th-thank you," I said.

Tim coughed and sipped his milkshake. "That's enough emotional shit for one day," he said as the waitress dropped our plates off.

"You okay, sweetie?" the waitress asked, standing next to me.

"Yes, I'm just really happy," I said, giving her a genuine smile. "Umm... can I have strawberry milkshake?"

I prefer Oreo. Shut up.

"Sure, sweetie," she said, taking out her pad. "Is that it?"

I looked at Tim. "Um, a piece of apple pie too?"

Tim barked out a laugh. "Honey, bring us the whole pie!"

That memory faded from my mind like a drop of water in the desert. I smiled. Everything he said to me that day was true. He was always there, taking my side even when I was wrong.

Tim wanted me alive, and I wanted to see him again. I needed to see him again and thank him for always being there and for being the dad I lost and needed.

Kill yourself. NOW!

"No," I muttered, ramen wrappings rustling around me on the floor. My head rested on my knees as I breathed in deep.

A sharp knock at the door hit my ears as voices followed. I crawled over to it in the darkness, trying to see who was there.

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