A/N: I didn't really want to put this up here; but my best friend persuaded me to. Anyway, the following all took place before the COTT gang met unless stated otherwise; written in Theresa's POV.
Disclaimer: I don't own COTT or Theresa.
Theresa, age 8
She promised me she'd never leave. She told me that she would be there for me the whole way. She told me that one day she was going to watch me walk up that aisle and she would be sitting in the front row cheering me on despite the tears in her eyes.
She lied.
I don't blame her though. It's the doctors I blame. They said that they tried their best, but it wasn't enough. They just let her die like that.
It was a horrible experience.
I visited her everyday and sat by her bedside, watching as that fiery spark inside her slowly died. As each day passed, Mom got weaker and weaker…
Until one day, we lost her altogether. The doctors said her body gave up, I retaliated by saying that it was them who gave up on her.
I could tell that the doctors didn't like me very much; to them I was that obnoxious whiny little brat who wanted her mommy. I didn't completely disagree with their opinion though, because I did want my mommy more than anything else in the world.
Stupid cancer. It was what made her sick; it was what made her die.
Daddy didn't react the way I expected him to. During the day, he drowned himself in his work and not once did he cry in front of me or in front of anybody else for that matter. But sometimes, when I sneak past his room in the middle of the night while on my way to the kitchen for a glass of milk, I can hear his silent sobs echo through the halls.
I barely saw him anymore; he was always too busy to spend time with me.
I was a mess after Mom's funeral. My grades dropped, I lost all my friends, and I became a troublemaker.
When my behavior got too far, the school principal called my dad. I got a long lecture that night; and as punishment, my dad transferred me to an all-girls private school and made me take up karate lessons to teach me discipline.
Needless to say, I was miserable. I had no friends at my new school (where I was nicknamed 'The Wicked Ghost Girl' because I had become so pale and rude) and I absolutely despised karate lessons.
But one day after karate lessons (wherein I was being particularly difficult), the coach pulled me aside and we talked. He was a middle aged Asian man with long graying hair tied back into a ponytail.
"Look Theresa," he said to me, "I know that you're going through a rough time right now, but your constant bad behavior is affecting my class."
"What are you going to do? Call my daddy? He probably won't care anyway," I had replied obnoxiously, crossing my arms.
Coach Hayashi (that was his name) looked at me sternly before his face softened. What he said next surprised me. "No, I'm not going to. I'm not going to punish you either."
"Why not?! I mean, aren't you the slightest bit mad at me? I've been completely obnoxious and to you and everyone!" I had exclaimed in shock and surprise. When I was being obnoxious or rude, teachers would always phone my dad.
"Theresa, I know it's hard. You just lost your mother. (How'd he know that?) You must feel alone and you must think that nobody cares. It's okay Theresa. A lot of people care about you. And it's okay to cry. Nobody will laugh," he said gently, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder.
And just like that, I spilled my guts to this stranger who I never got to know until that day.
That same night, as I quietly snuck out of my room for yet another glass of milk, I stopped by daddy's door and heard him cry again. This time, instead of walking away and waving it off, I knocked quietly on his door and waited.
I heard a shuffle of footsteps followed by a door creaking open and then there he stood in front of me. My gosh, how he had changed! His eyes were bloodshot and tired. His once vibrant red hair was graying; and he seemed older somehow, taller.
"Hi daddy," I said softly.
"Hello Theresa," he replied, motioning for me to enter his room/study. "How have you been holding up?" he asked, taking a seat behind his large mahogany desk.
"I've been… a mess," I answered truthfully, bowing my head in shame. I heard him sigh.
"I'm sorry Terri," he said. This has been the first time since mom died that he called me Terri. I couldn't help but smile a little. He continued, "You don't deserve a life like this. You deserve the best; but it's just that I've been a mess since your mom died."
"I know daddy," I told him quietly, "I hear you cry sometimes."
He gave me a surprised look, but before he could say anything, I continued, "We lost mom, daddy. It's okay to cry. It's nothing to be ashamed about. You don't have to hide it anymore."
Daddy smiled at me and sat me on his lap; and we talked. It was just like old times before Mom's death. We just sat there and talked about everything and everyone.
Things got better from then on. My grades went up and I became more sociable. I caught up on all the things I missed while I was depressed. The real me managed to outshine the angry, dark façade I put on.
That night as I sat on my daddy's lap and talked, I could feel my world changing. It wasn't dark and gloomy anymore; it had become bright and cheerful. That was a defining moment in my life; because it was at that moment I knew that everything was going to be okay.
A/N: There you have it, please review!