I shook my head in annoyance as I looked towards the muddy brown door of my room. I could hear his footsteps stop outside the thin wood blocking us. As I watched the door handle turn, a feverish panic crept into me. Trying my best to push it away I maintained the irritated mask I wore. I wouldn't let even him see me slipping and showing weakness. Lightning cracked outside my window.

I knew what he was going to say, it would hurt him more than me. I knew I wouldn't like it. I knew I would kick and scream but ultimately have to follow through with his orders, as much as I didn't want to. I heard the middle-aged man take in a shaky breath as his eyes looked up at me. The pain on his face sent an ache through my heart. Why was I doing this to someone who loved me more than anything?

But I wasn't doing anything to the people around me. I was doing it to myself, it wasn't my fault if they let my self-inflictions hurt them. Maybe they would eventually learn to mind their own business. I wasn't a danger to anyone. Anyone but myself, at least.

Was it even considered a danger when I didn't see the outcome as dangerous? I wanted to wreak havoc on myself, not anyone else. I wanted to continue my own internal battle without hurting anyone around me. The pain of others offered no comfort to me, which was how I got here, after all. I would never do anything to put another being in the state of mind I was in. No, that would only add on to my hatred of myself.

"I can't help you anymore." His voice cracked as he spoke. "I'm sending you away."

I rolled my eyes and stood, reaching out to grab the suitcase I already packed. "I'll stay with mom until you decide I can come home."

This was normal now. For the last few months this fight happened weekly. I would go to my mothers; she'd be fine with me for a few days before having the same reaction to me. I bounced from house to house, and nothing felt like home anymore.

My mother was already outside anyway, providing a quick escape from this argument. Nothing could ever get these confrontations over fast enough for me. But today, today was different. I knew I'd be in hot water after coming home from disappearing for a few days. I knew I wouldn't hear the end of it. I came home ready for a fight.

But what I expected was not what I got.

My parents had been waiting for me. The distress filled the house and hit me like a brick the second I walked into it.

It was an intervention.

My father shook his aged head, his hands coming up to run over his stressed features. "That's not where you're going, Lacey." My eyes widened for a second as the panic rushed through me full force this time. This wasn't what I expected. It didn't take long for rage to replace the panic. Letting out a scream I picked up the glass of water on my nightstand and threw it across the room. Though I could tell this alarmed him, my father didn't even flinch as the glass shattered on the wall next to him.

"Where exactly am I going then? You can't send me to a rehab; I'm not addicted to anything. And I'm not going to a hospital, I'm not crazy." But I felt crazy, I felt unstable. I had turned into the posterchild for mental illness. But that wasn't what this was; this was just a hard time in my life. A mountain to climb and get over, if only the people around me would understand that would take more time than they were giving. The words didn't hold the same confidence as before as they came out of my mouth in a barely a whisper, "I'm not crazy."

It was a lie I had been fighting hard not to believe.

A man stood behind my father now, at first I was scared. His odd robes didn't fit in with the normal male attire I was used to seeing, and I hadn't seen him while I was marching to my room. I would have thought he was an intruder if I didn't notice his hand tenderly on my father's shoulder, his blue eyes looking back at me sympathetically.

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. This always happened after one of my panic attacks, the sudden spike in my blood pressure led to me feeling depleted when it finally came down. But this wasn't the same. The rain outside was seducing me to close my eyes, to let sleep wash over me. I felt like I hadn't slept in weeks.

They were serious, not letting up this time. This time was different for all of us. The smallest part of me was thankful for that, the part that had been desperately searching for happiness and was disappointed every time. There was a slither of hope inside me that I could be happy again. That whatever they had planned would actually help me.

But the bigger part of me knew this wouldn't help. I had been let down to many times, contentment wasn't real, and it was an illusion. Happiness only lasted a mere second for everyone before sadness and trial would take over their lives once more. This was a truth I had come to know.

There wasn't enough energy inside of me for me to even fight when the strange man wrapped his arms around my now slouched body. What was happening to me? No matter how hard I wanted to move, I couldn't. I was too tired.

The man looked down at me, as if he could tell my entire life by simply looking into my eyes. Sorrow washed over his face, "Submit to sleep, Little One."

And I did as I was told.

A:N

Hey guys! I just started this, I promise it picks up later in the story. It's set before TFA, before Ben is Kylo Ren. It's a prequel for an idea I have later. Please review! Thanks.