scarred.

{3} trouble.

Note: Thank all of you who have been leaving ultra sweet comments~ I read every one of them and they always make me smile :}

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{3}

T H R E E  |  T R O U B L E 

“I was out.” I told Angela as I sat in her office. Anxiety filled my system like water pouring into a glass. The dark wooden walls and floors of Angela’s office only made things worse.

She sat across from me on her desk chair, brows furrowed together, hand open as her fingers pressed on her temples.

“You were out?” She echoed, her brown eyes looking into mine. Her voice had a hint of anger—the type that defined the superiority of a parent scolding their child, ready to ground them for a good month or two.

With my hands in my lap, my back straight, and my mouth tight, I nodded, “Yes.”

Outside, I could hear the thunder of the clouds as they crashed together. It had started raining right when you, Alexander, dropped me off at St. Joseph’s a few minutes earlier. Maybe it signified something.

Or maybe it was just a cloudy day with a sixty percent chance of rain from the start.

“Jill,” Angela started in a suppressed voice, easily showing her control over her anger, “You snuck out when you know very well that it’s not safe to be walking around the city without an adult with you! You’re just a child, but you know to obey the rules we have set here.” She sighed deeply, lowering her voice when she spoke again, “You’ve just never done this before. I’d expect something like this from one of the other, more troubled kids. Not you. You’ve always been quiet and obedient. What happened, Jill?”

I bit my lip. If only Angela knew that I was the most troubled kid here at St. Joseph’s. But I suppose Angela didn’t really catch onto things like that easily.

“Why don’t we talk this out?” She shifted in her chair, crossing her legs and placing her hand under her chin, leaning on it.

You could say Angela ran things around the orphanage. She watched the kids, knew them all by name, knew their stories, knew their personalities… But I guess she didn’t know me as well as we both thought.

Sure, she knew my story. Knew about my parents—Mom’s murder, Dad’s jail sentence. But she didn’t know about my cuts, my thoughts, and my plans. Plans, as in plans to kill myself.

You did, Alexander. You knew about all those things which made me… me. Broken Jill. Shattered Jill. Numb Jill.

But there was something about you that made a part of me want to grasp a new title—Strong Jill. But that was going to take a lot of work. A lot of fixing and healing. And help, too. Tons of that.

“Jill?” Angela said my name, looking deeply into my eyes as if looking hard enough would reveal what thoughts I was lost in.

“I don’t know, Angela.” I said to her, not showing any emotion on my face, “I just don’t know why I did it. I guess I just wanted some fresh air. My anxiety was a little high. I just felt it would help.” What a lie.

Another deep sigh came from Angela, “You’re sure about that?” She looked at me with her eyes alert. I could really tell she wanted answers.

I didn’t answer right away. Too many things were distracting me. Was that a part of my depression? Stopping to contemplate everything? Sometimes it was different though. Sometimes I just looked over everything, both large and small.