Trigger warnings:
Mention of self-harm.
Sexual assault.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Yet, as I lay tangled in the sheets, every inch of my body felt as heavy as the weight of my emotions. It was as though I had fought battles throughout the night, both within myself and in my dreams.

My eyes, swollen from hours of tears, struggled to open against the encroaching dawn. The remnants of heartache and sorrow clung to me. The mere thought of facing the day ahead was an overwhelming prospect, a journey I lacked the strength to embark upon.

I dragged myself to sit up, each movement an arduous task. The lack of restful sleep weighed me down, a constant reminder of the turmoil that had kept me awake. My body ached, my limbs protesting any attempt to rise. The world beyond the windows seemed distant, a place where normalcy reigned—a concept that felt foreign and out of reach.

With a heavy sigh, I swung my feet to the floor, planting them on the cold surface as if testing the waters of a turbulent sea. The echo of my racing heartbeat reverberated in my ears, matching the rhythm of the clock ticking on my nightstand. As I tried to steady my breathing, the exhaustion that had seeped into my bones became palpable, a force that threatened to pull me back into the depths of my unrestful slumber.

A knock at the door made me had me scrambling back into the bed and under the covers. "Alina?" Angelo called softly from the hallway. "Are you awake, Lina?"

I sighed, not wanting to ignore him. "Yeah," I called, "I'm awake."

"Are you decent? I need to talk to you before I go to work."

"Come in," I said meekly, rubbing my knuckles into my eyes. Angelo opened the door and peered around it, smiling.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your sleep," he said, striding to my desk chair and sitting, "but we have to have a conversation about ... yesterday, about what happened yesterday."

"Angelo, I don't want-"

"I know, bambina," he murmured, shifting in the chair, "but we have to. I will listen to everything and I will be here for you, no matter what."

I had avoided the talk since yesterday, feigning sleep when Killian and Angelo got home after midnight.

"I- I do appreciate that, Angelo," I said and shook my head. "But I don't want to talk."

He sighed, closing his eyes before glancing at me, perplexed. "I know you don't, Alina, but it is something that I cannot let go."

"Killian is pushing the matter, isn't he?" I snapped. "Can't he mind his own business?"

Angelo chuckled but sobered quickly. "He's worried about you, Lina. Killian - he's got this overprotective side to him when it comes to the people he loves. He loves you, Alina, and so does Soren. And I love you with my whole heart."

I wanted to say it back, but my mind got too panicked. The words got stuck on my tongue. Angelo didn't notice, he kept talking. "No one wants to have a difficult conversations, Alina."

Should I tell him about Michael?

No, no I couldn't tell him.

"How about I ask questions and you answer what you can, does that sound fair?" I swallowed and knew I wouldn't get out of talking about my self-harm, I realized.

"Are you going to talk about it with Killian?"

"No, not unless you want me to," he said. "I won't tell anyone of our conversation unless you want me too, and I can only imagine how hard it can be to talk about ... about your self-harm, but I also need to know some things so I can ensure your safety."

I nodded, wringing my hands. "Okay."

Angelo rubbed his face with hid hand and gave me a gentle smile before asking me questions but the one I couldn't answer, or answer truthfully. "Can you tell me a little about when and why you started to self-harm?"

I instantly reached up and pulled at my hair, a habit I had when uncomfortable. "Alina, don't do that," he said and caught my wrist in his hand, gently lowering it. "You can tell me, bambina. I want you to know that you can tell me anything in the world."

"I was bullied, in school," I mumbled, sighing. I wasn't lying, it just wasn't the entire truth.

"You look pathetic," Caitlin snarled, lips curled in a sneer.

"Bullied?" He said, sadness relishing his features. "I am sorry to hear, Alina. You didn't deserve to be bullied."

"They said I deserved it," I whispered, my brain racking up every insult they ever said, my heart tearing apart with each flick of memory. Angelo stood up and sat on the edge of my bed.

"You did not deserve anything those little bitches did to you, bambina," he said, eyes flashing with anger. I knew he wasn't angry with me, but for me. "What are their names? I'm gonna call their parents."

I managed to laugh. "You're not doing that," I said, shaking my head. Angelo cracked a smile. We talked for a while longer, telling him I'd started self-harming about two years ago, which is how I accumulated the deep scars on my stomach

He reassured me he wasn't angry and that he loved me, before he excused himself to go to work. I stayed in bed for the rest of the morning, not wanting to move, sore and tired. Killian came with breakfast and after arguing with him, ate the berries and toast. Afterwards, I sank back into my blankets, closing the curtains he'd opened before falling into a hellish slumber.

+++

I slipped into the kitchen, hearing music play. I yawned, despite sleeping all day and night, waking up in constant panic from nightmares.

Killian swung his hips side to side, dancing to a pop
song as he cooked dinner, making me burst into laughter. He whipped around, narrowing his eyes. "What did I say about sneaking up on me?" He snapped.

I shrugged, taking a seat on one of the stools. "I can't remember."

"I can't remember," he mocked in a high pitch voice.

I snorted. "I do not sound like that." He chuckled and I gestured to the stove behind him. "What are you making?"

"A bacon and cheese casserole."

"Sounds good. Killian, I wanted to, uh, say thank you for helping me yesterday." I had to swallow the lump forming in my throat. "I'm sorry,"

In a heartbeat, he dropped the utensil he used and stalked around the island, stopping beside me. He reached out and took my hand, squeezing it. "You never, ever have to thank me for helping you when you need it most. You're my little sister, as stubborn and sassy as you are, and I will always protect you."

I gave him a sad smile. "Even from myself?"

"Especially from yourself."

"Angelo told me that you'd be taking me to see a psychiatrist?"

"Finch. He's good, I promise."

"He's your friend?"

Killian nodded and I feared the worst, that he'd use his friendship with Finch to know everything I said. Except my brother seemed to be reading my thoughts and shook his head. "I will not ask him anything about your sessions, Alina. Finch is a stickler for rules and that would be unethical. He's only allowed to disclose what happened during the session if he deems you a danger to yourself or others."

"Okay," I said, which made me feel better. "When are we leaving?"

"I'll have Carlotta watch dinner while we're out. Let's leave in ten. Why don't you grab a snack and then a jacket? It's raining out." Such a mother hen.

I nodded, hopping off the stool and making my way upstairs. I grabbed a rain jacket that we bought during shopping, a sea green colour that I picked out, my favourite colour.

It dawned on me then that all three of my brothers had been welcoming and accepting of me. They bought me clothes and shoes and accessories, everything I'd lost in the fire, they replaced.

And I repaid them by hurting myself, scaring them.

How pathetic.

"Alina," my older brother called up the stairs. Killian and I headed out of the mansion, my brother deciding on his Jeep instead of the black SUV in the garage. "Are you ready to go in, bambina?"

"No, but does it really matter?"

Killian reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "Let's go inside, I'll wait in the waiting room for you." We went inside the clinic and to the psychiatric department. Standing beside the receptionist was a tall man, probably over six feet, with raven black hair and a soft smile. He turned when we entered, his smoke grey eyes landing on Killian and I.

"Alina, this is Finch."

Finch grinned, offering his hand. I shook it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Alina." He lead us down the hall and to a office. "Come in, sit wherever you like. Killian, go wait in the waiting room, please."

My brother scowled but turned back to the waiting room. I snickered, taking a seat on one of the chairs beside Finch's bookshelf. He had colourful abstract paintings hanging on the wall, with a comfy looking armchair and a matching sofa. "Today I figured we'd just get to know one another, that's why I booked an hour and a half," he said, sitting in the armchair across from me. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his arm veins. His grey eyes studied me as he grabbed a notebook and pen from his desk behind him. "Why don't you start by telling me how you've been doing since you've found out about your family, your brothers?"

Finch radiated kindness and a thoroughness that I appreciated as I spoke about my brothers and how I adjusted in their care. He spoke softly and tried his best to keep me talking. "I can only imagine how overwhelming it is to have three new older brothers," he said, chuckling.

"You have no idea," I mumbled, thinking about how overprotective they had been over the last few days.

"What kind of relationship did you have with your mom?" He asked and my heart clenched. What could I tell him?

"Did she ever have an inkling about your self-harm?"

I shook my head, playing with my fingers in my lap. "No, she never knew. If she did, she never said anything," I murmured, believing that if she did, I'd have been in therapy before now.

"What about your father ... sorry, Michael, right?"

I grimaced at the name. Finch noticed, eyes narrowing. "How did your stepfather and you get along?"

"Fine."

"Okay. How about friends?"

"Didn't have many."

"How are you coping with going to a new school? I know it's difficult, especially in the middle of the school year. I was a military kid, we moved eight times by the time I was ten."

"I haven't attended yet."

He chuckled. "Very well. How do you feel about it then?" I stared at him, not wanting to answer. He stared back, a small smile playing on his lips. "Alina, we can sit here in silence, that's totally okay with me, but your brother told me about the incident yesterday. We don't have to talk about it, though I want you to know I'm an excellent listener and will not ever judge you."

I knew that sitting there in silence would be uncomfortable as fuck. I knew that I couldn't leave early or Killian would force me into another appointment. I knew, deep down, that talking would feel good after keeping everything that happened to me bottled up.

I shifted, sighing. "I was bullied at my old school," I admitted and Finch smiled sympathetically, and for the next forty minutes, we talked about Caitlin West and the crap she put me through,

+++

Angelo, Julian, and I were watching a movie, The Golden Compass. Angelo sat between Julian and I, with his arm around my shoulder and Julian's head in his lap.

I picked at the popcorn, not hungry.

"How's your session go, bambina?" Angelo asked after the movie ended, as Julian went to get us all drinks. I didn't want to talk about it, shaking my head. "Do you like Finch? If you don't like him, we'll find you another therapist."

"I don't want to go back."

"It's okay, I'm sure Killian will find-"

"No, I don't want to go to therapy at all."

Angelo sighed. "Bambina, we talked about this. Seeing Finch is important because he can provide you with professional support, guidance, and tools to help you address the underlying issues that contribute to your behaviour. He can teach you healthier coping strategies, help you understand and manage your emotions, and work with you to develop a personalized plan for recovery. Seeing Finch, you'll have a safe and non-judgmental space for you to explore your feelings and experiences, ultimately helping you break the cycle of self-harm and work towards better mental and emotional well-being."

I scoffed. "Jesus Christ, you sound like Killian!"

"Take that back, bambina," Angelo said, crossing his arms, pouting like a child. I rolled my eyes and stood up and walked out of the room, heading for the garden. "Alina, come back here."

I ignored him and slammed the door shut as I walked out to the moonlit garden, my sanctuary, my safe haven. I sat on one of the stone benches at the far end, leaning down, my head in my hands.

I can't do this, I thought, I need a release, I want to feel numb, I want to feel something other than this pain, this emotional turmoil in my heart.

I couldn't do anything though, because Killian said he'd come to my room before I went to bed to clean my wounds. I took out my phone and looked at my photos, blinking back tears as I crossed some selfies of my mom and I.

"Lina?" My head snapped up, Soren appearing beside me. "What's wrong?"

He smelled of alcohol, again. He reached out to touch me and my mind exploded.

He came in, stumbling. "Alina, you're so fucking beautiful," he slurred, unbuckling his belt. I tried to pull away from him but he grabbed my ankles and dragged me back, grabbing a handful of my hair and breathed in my face, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes consuming me. "Take off your shorts, bitch."

"No, no, please," I pleaded, pain scorching my body.

"Don't move," he snapped, crawling on top of me and pushing my wrists down over my head. He reached into his back pocket and grabbed my arm, twisting it. I screamed as he clasped the metal around my wrists, securing me to my bedpost. "You are mine, Alina, all mine. You will never be anyone else's but mine."

"Stop, please don't touch me," I screamed, shoulders being shook, Soren's face inches from mine. "Step away from me."

His face dropped, eyes widened as he stepped back and Angelo and Julian sprinted into the garden, followed by Abel.

+++
Thanks you for reading!
I know how difficult it can be to read about triggering topics.
- Charlie 🧡