It was a dreary night, silent even. Not a peep of sound besides the wailing whispers of the wind pelting against the branches of the oak tree inches away from my window. The darkness taunting me, reminding me it will always be there even after the brightest of days. Alone in the drenches, haunted by the memories stored in a very deep part of my brain aching to get out, to be heard. Calling out to me, only I won't listen. You can hear faint noises of people arguing downstairs yet I'm not afraid because this was my everyday norm. Glass breaking at the impact off a hard object. I put on my earphones to drown out the noise.

"It'll all be over soon..." I whispered.

Just close your eyes and focus on the sounds vibrating on your ear drums. One... Two... Three... Three seconds passed. The only noise I hear is the Beatles singing to me, bringing me peace.

"Black bird singing in the dead of night,

Take these broken wings

and learn to fly. "

I took off my earbuds to see if the dwelling chaos that took home in my shelter left, nothing. I slide out of bed and tiptoe to my door, slowly opening it, still nothing. When I go to close my door, 'Pow! Pow!' Two blanks leaving a gun, and my mother screaming out. I dropped my phone and stepped away from my door when I heard the staircase creaking as a new monster makes its way to me next. I quickly close it.

"It'll all be over soon... This is it." I repeated at least three times to myself. Trying to contain the drumming of my heart. "This is the end."

And then I woke up. My palms were sweating, my heart was racing like a horse, and my head was pounding. I ran to lock my door before I realized it was just a dream. A very vivid, very bad dream. A grave feeling fell over me. It wasn't just a dream; it was a memory that was repetitive. There was stinging on my left arm, but I didn't bother looking because I was too focused on trying to control my breathing. The feeling it left me with was compelling, gloomy, and above all, petrifying. Someone tapped at my door, but I didn't bother to respond or open it. What if it was him? What if he found me? What if-

"Clarity? Are you awake yet?"

The voice snapped me out of the hypnotizing compulsion. Right, he couldn't have found me here, this was the safest place for me in a very long time, possibly in anytime of my life. I look at my arm finally when I glanced at the floor next. There was blood that was dripping on the wood from the scratches I've created on my forearm. Fuck, they're going to keep me here, I need to keep my cool until I step through that door. I ran to my dresser and grabbed a sweater, "Yeah! I'm awake. Give me a minute, I'm getting dressed." I threw it on while wiggling up a pair of sweats and ran back to the door, swinging it open. Resting my arm up on the doorway, I stare at my case worker Julie. "What's up?" Flashing her a smile.

"What's up?" She slapped my arm in a playful manner. "Aren't you glad to finally be getting out of here?"

"Oh, is that today?" I scoffed. "Not like I was counting down the days; I was actually enjoying it around here." Smirking.

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"Right... Well do you have your bags ready? She should be here any minute now."

"Yeah, yeah of course. Meet you downstairs in ten?"

We spoke a few times more before Julie went back towards the stairs and I closed the door. Wow, I'm really leaving... my heart started racing again remembering what happened while I was sleeping.

"Quit it, Claire. Get a grip." Snapping at myself.

I gradually made my way to the bed before getting on my knees to reach for a box under it. It was an old wooden box made of bamboo. It used to be my mother's before... before it happened. She used to keep her most cherished things in here, hoping one day to give it to me when I was older, and she was long gone. I guess we didn't plan for it to be this soon. Opening the box with a key, I hold a picture of her. She was so pretty, the prettiest actually. Every guy wanted her. Single, widowed, married, it didn't matter. Any room she walked in she attracted attention. As beautiful as she was, she had the kindest soul. And she took care of me every way she could, even if what we thought was the worst situation raised, and yet anywhere we went, things started to rot. Nothing good ever came out of it. How could she let this happen? How could she leave me? Countless nights at motels, all the nights she left me alone so she could work, all the men... I shivered. Someone's hand grazed over the strains of my hair, making me snap my head around. Looking up, there she was. It was like she never died, like everything was really just that, a sick dream my head made up to play with the thing I was most afraid of.

"You ready to get out of here kid?"

It was my mother's sister, Evony. Twin sister as a matter of fact. So many emotions toiled in. Anger, grief, disbelief, and nostalgia. I was leaving this place to go live with the very thing that will remind me of every single little thing that has happened to me. Out of all the preparing this psych ward tried to get me ready for, they never prepared me for this. Closing the box and shoving it in my book bag, I nod and stand up to my feet, muttering to myself, "Do I have a choice?"

The drive was awkward. Silent even with all the forced conversation from my aunt. She was going on and on about literally nothing. How beautiful I grew up to be, the memories she has of me as a toddler, not one thing about her sister though. My mother is dead, but she's still a memory. She isn't forgotten. Aunt Evony was going on about dinner tonight and she can make something different if I dont like it. As she's listing the things she can make, I space her out. She has a black Chevrolet Trax. The outside brims of the windows were chromed as-well as the wheels. You can smell she was waxing her car before she came to get me. Such a horrid smell.. her inside was really clean too. Not a smudge on the windows, no seat stains nor decomposing of age. She had a lavender car scent hanging from her mirror though you can't smell that at all with the coating of the wax, it was a really intensifying smell.

“So Claire, I was wondering.."

"Clarity. My name is Clarity." I cut her off. What gave her the right to call me by my nickname? She never once came to see me after the drastic events. Not even a call, or a letter. Hell, she wasn't even at the funeral! Her own sisters funeral.

"Clarity." She spoke in a cautious tone. "I hope you don't mind, but I didn't know your favorite color so your room is painted pink. I figured that was a safe color, you being a girl and all."

"Including the factor that was my favorite color the last time you saw me. " I looked over at her.

"Right! You were-"

"Four. I was four. You haven't seen me in fourteen years."

Her grip tightened on the wheel, as her eye's avoided my gaze. "I'm so sorry Claire.. Clarity." She cleared her throat, fixing her mistake. "It was hard on me and I didn't know how to handle what happened to my own sister."

"She was my mother. You think it wasn't hard for me? I was six!!! And where were you before that?"

"Clarity you were somewhere safe. What right did I have to take you from that?"

"You were my aunt. You think I didn't want to be with family? And somewhere safe? I lived in a mental facility because they believed I was incapable of living with other human beings!"

"Your social worked adores you."

"Yeah, she acts like family more than my own. I'm glad she'll still be around." I muttered to myself, slouching down into the seat. "And my favorite color is red by the way."