A/N: NOT THOROUGHLY EDITED.

Chapter 11 – Two Steps Back (Faith POV)Pt. 1

After therapy, I hung back in my room, having a repeat of the night before, Kalenah bringing my food, checking my injuries before I toed my meal to the toilet to flush it away. I had sat stiffly in the car, wondering over if I had made the right decision about telling Sonya about not always living with Dmitri. Or the how I dreamt that.

On the one hand, it felt nice to have to say that to someone, but on the other, I was afraid now.

I couldn't quell the unease in my belly.

Further more, however, what really had me wondering, was that if I hadn't been with Dmitri all along, if what I was having now as nightmares, if they were memories... why had I never remembered them before? How could I just forget all the things I saw in that nightmare? The abstract woman breathing outside, the little boy named Andy? It only got stranger in my mind after that, though, the nightmare was mixed in with things I thought I could clearly remember – my third birthday with Dmitri, the cake we made for the two of us.

My nightmares were conflicting and contradicting what I truly believed were my own memories, which led to only more turmoil, were my memories my own?

Not wanting to even tackle that, I swallowed my meds and went down the stairs for the night, knowing that everyone would be in bed already, but as I made my way to the kitchen, I saw the backs of Harleigh and Thaddeus entering her room. Hanging behind in the shadows until they were fully in her room, the door closed I went down, microwaved some water, making one cup of tea and using the rest in my powdered soup.

At first, I put the two porcelain items on the counter, until my session came back to me, my book of things I wanted to try, to do and my eyes swept up, towards the doors that led to a small table and three chairs just outside their kitchen. Carrying each cup, then finally my phone, I sat gingerly, pulling my good foot up and laying the other on one of the empty chairs.

Still chilly, mid-September – I sat when my hand around my powdered soup, swallowing thickly, so hungry and wanting to ease and give my aches a break. I had written this moment in my journal of things I wanted to experience. Reaching for my tea, I sighed. I didn't think Sonya would understand, or anyone else, they had been experiencing this all their life. I, on the other hand, had written in my journal one day that I wanted to have tea outside on our safe house balcony. It was strange that we had one, but never used it – for reasons I now know where so far into the untrue that I carried a bit of shame.

I wanted to experience, the wind blowing, soft or hard, the chill while the warmth of my tea heated my insides. I wanted to watch the sunset, rise or night skies without a glass barrier. I wanted to see the stars, enjoy the silence that sometimes comes with the night. And so I sat, resting back, enjoying this small moment.

Thick woods, pine trees shooting up towards the sky surrounded the Conrads' house, but there was a bit of backyard space, nicely taken care of. Looking out, from the porch area I currently sat on, to the bottom of the trees, I slowly let my eyes wander up, a smile breaking out when my vision traces the nearly pointy tops.

The midnight blue, cloudless sky above making the treetops look like pencil tops.

"What's got you smiling so wide?" the question, not frightening me because in truth, what would the owner of the voice do? Go cut down all the trees so I couldn't admire them? I rolled my eyes at the thought, while I tried to calm my racing heart.

Shuffling to the empty space next to me, his phone in his hand, and a cup like mine in the other, Samson sat down. "Wow it's chilly – you aren't even wearing a sweater," he noted, but I could only look back at him, eyeing his sleeveless shirt with questioning eyes. "How come you don't come out of your room when we're all around but you're out when you think the house is sleeping?" the words blurted and I'm not even sure he meant to ask it with his eyes wide.

Sighing I reached for my phone, "And don't say that you think you're not welcomed to join us because you are, I mean it would be rude if mom and dad let you come live here, and asked you to sit out and expect you to be on the outside Fatima," my hands stilled right over my phone. There goes that name again.

Why do you call me Fatima? I typed out a bit miffed and looked for his name within all my new Conrad contacts, sending it.

Sipping my tea, when his phone chimed, Samson snorted, "Oh so you do know how to text," he muttered and I had to duck my head a bit. He, Talia and Harleigh had all texted me earlier, but their texts didn't warrant replies in my opinion.

"I call you Fatima because it is your name," Samson pauses before finishing, "it is a beautiful name, do you know what it means?" Samson carried on and I was only a bit startled and unsure that he knew what my name meant when in truth I didn't know myself. Was Fatima a well-known name? I didn't think so, and it had never really crossed my mind that it had any sort of meaning, not now and not when I was on the mountain.

'Dmitri how did you name me?' the memory of my younger self-blooms, and warms my chest. 'Your father and mother asked that you be called Fatima Safiya Ashlynn, but you're my little Faith.' I close my eyes to dispel the memory, to shake it away, but it's not so simple. "It means daughter of the prophet,"Samson spoke, missing my minor internal battle.

But I could only blink at the etymology of my name, daughter of the prophet? I snorted, right. More like the unwanted child. The sting that I was not being searched for and the abstract woman leaving me behind serve as proof if nothing else.

"But why don't you interact with us more? We would all like you too..." Samson continued, not looking at me while as I drank my tea, sipping I glanced at him from time to time. "You don't have to behave as though we've all banished you to the attic," his tone exasperated.

"Or is it because you're an only child? Not use to having so many people around?" again he goes on with the questions and answers as though I'm not there. "It does get overwhelming at times, but it's fun, and plus I know that Amy and Samantha are dying to get their hands on you," I gasped at his words. So that's how it was in this house? The little ones get the first taste...

I had to admit, though, it made great sense, no one would expect that tiny little Amy and Simon with their large innocent seeming blue eyes were a threat. No one would – certainly not me – raise a hand at these children.

"Hey – hey... Fatima, what did I say," his voice thick with worry breaks through the nagging thoughts plaguing me. Could I run? Escape before the Simon, Amy and Samantha got their hands on me? Not yet. Struggling to stay single-minded I focused on Samson's blue eyes. Noting that strangely the grays in his eyes seemed larger. Blinking, my eyes burned, "Are you okay? You started gasping..." He asked apprehensively still.

In a trance, I nod. Only when Samson blinks, do I feel like I can finally look away. Why? 

"Why do you panic so much?" he asks, placing my phone back on the table, pushing it near me, the question removing whatever stupor I felt. "Is that why your parents sent you-"

I pick up my phone and type furiously, not sure why his words bothered me so, or the heat I was feeling inside, I send it with an added glare, I don't have parents. 

"Oh – oh – I'm sorry," he apologizes swiftly, but it doesn't matter to me. I've never had parents. I type those words, and after looking over the words, I sent the text. There really was no point at all in lying about that little piece of information. When I was in the hospital, the only person or people that came to see me was Walsh and Patricia. Surely by now, they've come up with other excuses for the little attention my missionary parents have shown me. 

My tea cold, I sigh, and a shiver takes over my whole body, though I believe Samson is staring past me, through me really, he stands abruptly. "I'll get you a jacket – or blanket?" he asks but is heading inside before I give him an answer, and back while I still question why he's being so kind to me. From Samson's first impression I thought for sure he hated me with no real reason too. No that's not altogether true. I thought it had something to do with Taylor Rosario. With the glare she was giving me, from movies and books I've read, I've deduced that she is interested in him.

Although, considering it's no longer about how you feel – emotions now irrelevant – people are matched to create the maximum potential for producing a child that will be intelligent enough to find a solution – I stiffen before I can even finish that doltish thought. And that ache in my chest hits when I realize the meaningless and outlandishness of that belief I held onto tight. People are free to love one another, choose the person they seek to have a romantic relationship with. 

When Samson returned with a thick quilt like the blanket I looked at the thing with disdain, for once, I was as cold on the outside as I was becoming on the inside. Covering my shoulders, he finally sits opposite of me. His face was screwed up in concentration. Samson opens his mouth, closing it twice"Were you put up for adoption? Did Walsh and Patricia adopt you?" he carried on but when I frowned, "Hey – never mind – that's none of my business," his voice went from caring to nervousness.  

We sit in silence, the minutes passing by, my sadness growing, I had everything I wanted, but nothing at all, I concluded.

But I was utterly dissatisfied with my end point. 

"What's with the frown?" His thick brown eyebrows are pushed together, blue eyes intense and focused on me. "Don't feel like talking tonight huh?" he mumbles, looking away. I hadn't said a word, how did he know? Probably the same way Sonya knows I answered myself miffed, but when it was nearly two in the morning, the pain in my arm and foot creeping back up, I reached for the crutches so I could leave, lifting one cup to bring back to the kitchen, yawning, Samson waved me off, "it's cool, I'll get them."

Not wanting to be indebted to him, I lingered but he just took them, rolling his eyes and going inside, coming back for the quilt, folding it while I limped my way into the kitchen. The cold breeze carrying my hair around me, until I closed the doors with a sigh.

"You need any help getting upstairs?" I only lifted a brow. How did he think I got downstairs? My invisible wings? "Hey no need to give me that look," his hands lifted, palms out towards me, a hoarse chuckle between.

What look?I wondered, not expecting an answer since it wasn't said out loud but, Samson just continued with his whispery chuckle, "It's the look you give, your facial expression is priceless, it's like you're saying 'really?' but in a skeptical, sarcastic kind of way," he explained, "your right eye brow lifts, you purse your lips and your head tilts to the side." Just as he finished explaining, I could feel my brow lifting, ready to arch – gritting my teeth, I look down and away before limping to get my water. Snickering his way up the stairs, I followed Samson who for someone that was uninjured climbed up those steps mighty slow.  Once he made it to his room, he turned to me, "Thanks for talking to me," I didn't really talk, not that I said it out loud.

No, instead I nodded and just as I was going to scurry off, "sweet dreams... and thanks for the guitar strings, Fatima." I had a moment; my stomach flipped crazily, as he said my name, my right toe stumbled as I limped away. Holding onto my stomach, I shook my head, hopefully, I wasn't coming down with the stomach flu. 

I entered my room, locking the door and took my meds before slowly crawling into the bed, pulling the blankets up to my neck. When I wake up the next morning, stretching out, I prepare to take a shower, wrapping up everything that couldn't get wet, and entering the bath.

Halfway through, just after I've washed out the conditioner from my hair, the water turns cold and then tampers out completely, 'They want to control everything Faith, everything... they say when you eat, how much, you are timed in the shower should they allow you to have one...'

Immediately pain spikes all over my body, intense and sharp, my muscles feel as though they're being tightened, pulled on stretched. A tingly feeling settles all over my skin and so slowly, after forcing myself, I dress robotically, unsure of what was coming next but knowing that whatever it was I didn't want to face it naked. My breathing so shallow, my throat aching, burning more than normal, I slowly sit on the bed, bring one knee up, holding my self tightly when all I really want, is to run away.

I could run for days. Not realistically but, Dmitri made sure I ran on the treadmill for hours sometimes, and while at first I didn't like it. Eventually, when I grew and he would leave often, I liked the burn. But now, now I knew my body would fail me, but the growing urge to run increased to the point where I wanted to run away from this broken body. 

Was that even possible? 

I keep my eyes open, trained on the door, waiting as my heart beats so loud, I feel like I can hear it everywhere, it alone no matter how much I want to listen for the coming approach. Seconds turn into minutes, and I can hear Dmitri in my head, mocking me, 'silly girl.'

"Faith, honey," Kalenah calls her voice muffled, and the phone chirps. "Did you get the text, sweetheart? We have a few broken pipes-" my hand slowly uncurls from the death grip I have on the clothes I put on, and shakily reaches for my phone.

Good morning Faith dear, I hope you've slept well. Ansel forgot to heat the pipes and we had a few that burst. We need to shut the water off at 10a.m. It will be off until five in the afternoon. I made you Oatmeal with cinnamon for breakfast – Kalenah

Putting my left-hand flat on the bed, my neck stretches up, my back straight I gasp before I can even begin to respond to what the text says. I frown at myself, as I pick the phone up again,to reply, my calm comes slowly, "Okay well the oatmeal can be reheated when you're ready for it." Is all I hear, as slowly I uncurl onto the bed, my eyes still somewhat focused on the door.

Time continues to pass and eventually when I'm back to normal I head down to the kitchen thankfully it's empty, and though I don't want to eat the food Kalenah prepared, I'm salivating and take a few bite when I heat the oatmeal scurrying to my room before everyone else comes home. My head aches, feeling heavy, and knowing that my earlier panic drained my energy, my stomach uneasy, I crawl back under my blankets cold and let my tiredness pull me under.

I wake up again, my body protesting in the worst way possible, everything has a biting feeling, and my skin is sore as though it's been pinched endlessly while I slept. With blurry vision, I note that my blanket is up to my neck like I pulled it, but the movement of my head, makes my stomach lurch and I'm crawling from my bed to the floor. Scrambling – with a spiking hot tingling pain beneath my skin – I vomit – my head smacking against the porcelain toilet. Heaving with blurred vision, red twinges with what was expelled from my stomach.

'They make you sick, make you weak Faith,' Dmitri says from his spot on the bathtub edge.

Stretching my hands out, I reach for him, needing him more than ever but like when I was alone on the mountain, I blink and I'm alone again. Misery settles over me, why was Dmitri always leaving me? And even though her eyes were cold, the abstract woman left me too. I lay my head back down, as tears roll down the side of my face.

Sonya's question, plays on my tired mind, Faith, what do you want to achieve? Name three things, five words or one sentence.  

Happiness, love and I want someone I could trust, someone that doesn't leave.  

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© 2016 roxann_season All Rights Reserved 

*hints * hints * hints*

So, what'd you all think?

Do you want another POV aside from Faith's? Let me know who...

Those that were having trouble understanding what's going on, I do hope that you're not confused anymore. Also thank you for sharing some of the things on your list. It was awesome to read them, especially the one about wanting to climb a mountain, but being afraid of heights... you're my long lost afraid of heights that want to climb a mountain twin :)

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until next time,

Roxann

P.s. if you're reading Scratch **spoilers ** it was 'V' that died, not 'L.'