Adopted by Zerkaa

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Mia's POV

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"Found them!" Freya says in a sing-song voice, placing the box of old Christmas ornaments on the dining room table.

I'm in the kitchen, sketching random people and animals into my sketchbook I've had for years now. The holidays are always a hard time for me. I was dropped off at the orphanage at ten years old during December. With an abusive alcoholic father and a depression ridden drug-abusing mother, I've never really had a proper Christmas since. Tim and Joan tried, but they didn't have much money, and getting a tree was a struggle, let alone presents for every single child and food. Bills were more important and the heaters were very expensive. 

"Josh says we can get the tree soon. It'll be so fun to decorate! I think Christmas is the most magical time of year"

I listen as Freya lists off her favorite winter activities. I grab my black pen and scribble over my sketches suddenly feeling angry with my work. 

"When you meet the rest of the Sidemen, Gee, one of my best friends, will organize a banger of a Christmas party"

"A party?" I sigh, feeling the dread grate my safety and security to the bottom of my stomach like parmesan cheese. "With how many people exactly?"

"Quite a few," Freya says casually. "It's usually a big event. You'll have to ask Gee when you meet her. She has the gues list"

I nod and stay quiet. Freya places the boxes along the living room walls where we'll be using them later on as the month progresses. She walks into the kitchen and switches the kettle on. 

"Tea?" Freya asks, taking the tea bag box down from the kitchen cupboard. 

"Yes, please," I reply quietly, shutting my sketchbook. 

"You like drawing?" Freya says, grabbing my book and flipping through the illustrated pages. "Hey, you're pretty good!"

I feel a surge of pride run through my body before being blocked by anger. I don't like when people touch my personal belongings. Especially when I've got sketches of my funeral and dead people in that little sketchbook. 

Freya frowns as she goes back quite a few pages. I roll my eyes and clock that she's also reading my suicide notes and images. 

Freya drops the book as if it burned her hands and blinks rapidly in shock and surprise. I suddenly remember that she and Josh haven't seen my self-harm scars yet.

Freya's eyes look me up and down softly. She's not judging, but I can tell she's uncomfortable with the thoughts of me sketching those drawings. It makes sense. Freya and Josh's flat is too modern and expensive for an orphaned girl like me. Their lifestyle seems so happy and put together like a perfect puzzle. Too happy for me to fit in with all my issues. If they see my scars, they'll send me back and replace me with a happy teenager who smiles and draws pretty pictures of flowers and family pets. 

I grab the sketchbook off the kitchen counter and push it under my legs where I'm sat on the counter stools. I want to shield it, but there's no point. I feel violated of my privacy.

Freya pours the ready boiling water over two teabags and hands me my mug with a small smile. I think I've scared her a little bit.

Tim and Joan never knew about this notebook. 

"I promise I'm fine," I say, stirring my tea with a small metal teaspoon. "These drawings were from a few years ago"

Freya nods but remains silent. She squeezes my hand gently as if to say not to worry. Her palm and fingers are warm from being wrapped around her tea mug and I retract my hand feeling my eyes well up at the feeling of connecting with someone.