Chapter One

(AN- This novel will contain various topics such as depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, abuse, and etc. If any of these topics are triggering for you then I suggest you not read this novel.)

She stared outside the window.

Outside.

Her face was a collage of fascination and curiosity, of awe and terror; it was one masterfully crafted to create the perfect image of the untarnished hopes and fantasies that flourished under a spotless soul and a swollen heart.

The sky was a brilliant cerulean, the clouds dancing across its sleek surface in gentle, languid movements of motion. A bird streaked passed, a blur of bright plumage and flapping wings; the picture of unbridled freedom, a snapshot of pure and utter joy.

Her slim fingers left smudges on the cool glass, a fact that gave her just the smallest fraction of satisfaction.

She watched, fixated, as blades of grass bent in submission to the wind. She couldn't help but think how delicate they must be, how soft beneath one's feet, to bow before the stubborn rush of air so easily. The sudden fluttering of a leaf caught her eye and drew her focused attention to its downward spiral. Branches were skeletal claws that reached and reached for their fallen children to no avail, the delicate filigrees falling far below and drying to nothing more than crisp husks to be trodden to dust by excitable rabbits and eager birds.

She imagined that if she could hear it, if the thick panel of clear glass hadn't blocked the noise, the outside would undoubtedly be a symphony of uncontrollable melodies, a cacophony of delightful music.

The soothing echo of slight water drops plinking to the earth.

The rustle of grass as wildlife weaved their own distinct paths.

The buzz of humming bees while they swiftly dealt out the gift of a short life to unsuspecting blossoms.

And the sound of stillness, that comforting pressure on your ears that lulled you into a feeling of complacency that could only be found in the pure innocence of noise only constructed by the inner workings of your own body and the inhales and exhales of the world.

Then there was the feeling of the sun against your skin. It had to be wonderful, a warm caress that first stroked your cheek, cascading down the rest of your body until you tingled with its burning embrace. Being enveloped by a star.

She could, of course, only imagine.

She didn't really know.

She didn't know much of anything at all.

Footsteps thudded from behind her and ripped away the spell that the notion of a breath of fresh air had cast.

"What on earth are you doing? Getting the windows all grimy again, I see." The woman's voice whipped through the room with the ferocity of someone that didn't get the opportunity to raise their voice that often, but when they did, they relished in it. The older woman often basked in the sorrow and embarrassment her tongue lashings caused, the harshness of her own voice a balm to her bitter aches.

The little girl couldn't begrudge her this. No, not all.

It didn't mean that she didn't wish she could.

The woman roughly grabbed her just beneath the shoulders and lifted her away from the alluring window with no small amount of effort. She promptly sprayed the glass with Windex, methodically rubbing it down with a faded rag that had been thrown in the wash one too many times. She was muttering under her breath, soft exhalations of senseless words no doubt distributed from a minefield of nonsensical thoughts.

The smell. All that she could smell, this little girl that dreamed of fresh flowers and clean air, all she could smell was the overwhelming chemicals that tinged the air and smothered her in a cloud of noxious fumes.

She was a match and the slightest abrasion would set her ablaze.

She tried and tried, prayed and prayed, for what was surely the sweet perfume of the flowers that swayed just beneath the windowsill.

But all she could smell was the artificial cleaner wiping her fingerprints away.

The woman completed her ministrations with a satisfied smile before glancing at the little girl. She stared for a moment, as if dazed from the blunt blows that hailed from her own mind, and frowned slowly, seemingly confused.

"You're sad. You're frowning and your hands are shaking and I know that you must be sad. But you're my little girl. My precious angel that I do so love very, very dearly. Is that not enough to make you smile? To lift your spirits and lighten your heart?" The woman's gaze was fixed on the window, her eyes tracing the overgrown yard over and over and over again quickly and ceaselessly.

The girl stared at the woman, her gaze pleading as she whispered, "But I wanna go outside. I saw other kids passing by on their bikes and they were laughing. If they were laughing, could life really be that scary? How can anything at all be as terrifying as you say when there are smiles out there that are so big and warm?" Like the beaming of the sun, she thought.

The woman began pacing in the small patch of sunlight cast by the window, wringing her hands. Twisting them around and around and around and arou-

"You say that because you don't know. You know absolutely nothing of this world filled with ignorance and sick intentions and it is my duty to ensure that you never will. And besides that, you are my daughter. My daughter whose beauty only I shall gaze upon, whose laughter is only for me to hear. You're all I have. I can't be blamed for being a little selfish with you now and again." Her voice was rising in pitch, in volume. The speed in which she was rambling was increasing rapidly and the girl knew she would get nowhere.

She never did.

And so she looked down, her heart hammering with guilt, and said nothing.

She always said nothing.

She stood there and cradled the woman as she collapsed into her arms and sobbed.

The whole time, the only silhouette the little girl could see was the shadow of a window, the blurred outline of a world into which she was unsure she'd ever step.