Wronged

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- Anna's POV -

Dakota, my older brother, used to always be so poetic. He was witty and over-averagely intelligent, like me. I always had someone there, someone who was stuck to my hip through thick and thin. And that was him.

Notice these words are past tense, and not present.

He left me when I was ten years old, knowing exactly what and who he was leaving me with. I'm not even sure why he did leave. He was treated like royalty in that house. He was never beaten, molested, or touched at all. He was praised for anything he said or did. And on top of that, Dakota had me, someone who loved him more than anything.

Nothing added up. Once he was gone and I knew it for sure, I had so many questions. Why did he go? Why didn't he take me with him? It was always the "why's" that killed me the most. I knew they'd never get answered unless I saw him again, which never did happen by the way.

Now, I really don't care. Obviously he had his reasons for leaving me behind. That's his business. We're not even considered siblings anymore - at least I don't consider us siblings anymore. So why does it matter? At least I got out of there, and at least I was given some self defense technique and skill.

Of course, if he had taken me with him, it is quite likely that none of my trauma would've occurred. I could've been normal. Happy. Living with a brother who can protect and love me.

Yet Dakota is just another living piece of proof as to why I trust no one. Another person who shattered me into little bits and pieces of myself. Different versions of myself that are cut off from the real world. It is rare that I expose my old self to society. Actually, it's only happened twice.

Those times were yesterday, and a few years back when I had a relapse in a mental tantrum. Doctors pinned me down and gave me meds, telling me that this was my last warning before sending me back to the institution.

If they saw me against a liquor store in the shape I was last night...

I sigh and rid of those violating thoughts. I'm never going back to the institution, no matter how messed up I really am. That place is a psychotic prison. Sure, I'm jacked in the brain, but I am just too observant. I understand things too easily and overthink everything, leaving me with hundreds of vulnerable wounds sitting in a cabinet full of salt that could potentially rip over all over me. That's why they held me at the institution. They wanted to research me. I wasn't a person there that they wanted to fix; I was an experiment they wanted to see broken until I healed on my own.

They only had a certain amount of time before they had to legally release me, so they did what they could: stuck needles in my skin and looked into my brain. It didn't take long for me to realize that me being brought in was just a trap to analyze a unique body and thought process. I immediately acted healthy again, starting acting like an average human being with a troubled past. I just shut out and acted like a stubborn teenage girl. It worked, and they had to lawfully discharge me after a year.

I suppress an annoyed groan from coming out of me that wanted to escape because of my mind going off the rails again. Don't think about it.

I instead focus on Aiden's arms that are currently encircling my body close to his. My back is pressed up against his chest, his slow and consistent breathing informing me that he had not yet awakened.