Emma stomped into Mr. Nolan's office, and slammed the door shut behind her. The man sitting behind the desk looked up at her with steely blue eyes, an unamused expression plastered on his face.
"Please, sit," he said, gesturing the undoubtedly uncomfortable plastic chair before him. The girl yanked the chair out much farther than necessary, and sat down, putting as much distance between herself and the counselor as possible. With her arms crossed, her chin tucked down into her chest, and her eyes the tattered converse hanging off of her feet, the girl was obviously very closed off, and on top of that, very angry at being summoned to the counselor. David sighed. Another tough one.
"Do you know why you're here?" he questioned. She didn't move, still refusing to meet his eyes. He heaved another deep sigh, and shuffled some papers around on his desk, anything to keep his eyes away from the bruises adorning her face, and extremities, and the small cigarette burns in neat little rows on the top of her shoulder that disappeared under her shirt. The things he tried his most to ignore were the horizontal marks across her wrists, jagged, angry red marks marring her wrists. She seemed to notice where his eyes fell anyway, sharply pulling down the sleeve of her shirt.
"I'm gonna take that as a no then," he stated rather awkwardly, adjusting his already perfectly straight tie. She didn't move, her eyes still trained on the ratty shoes.
"Emma one of your teachers is worried that you are depressed," he blurted out. She moved her head up slowly, and he was shocked at the intensity of the glare leveled in his direction. The fierce green eyes held so much sadness, and anger, and something else. The something else resembled the remains of what had once been a burning fire. It flickered in the emerald pools only for a moment, before it was gone again.
"Who?" she asked quietly, almost emotionlessly.
"It doesn't matter," David shot back quickly. "The point is, other teachers agree with this one's observation. You cut yourself off Emma. In PE, you get there early, do the exercises by yourself, and stay after to clean up, almost like you're avoiding people. In your core classes, you're either staring at your desk, or reading, like you're afraid of having people notice you. I've seen your scars Emma. I can help you. You're not alone."
"You don't understand," she muttered. He looked at her, sadness filling his eyes, threatening to spill down onto his cheeks.
"I think I do," he responded. "Emma whatever this is, you can get through it. Your grades are fantastic, you read above a college level, you're smart, obviously dedicated and hardworking. There's prog—"
"I DON'T NEED A PROGRAM!" she suddenly yelled, standing abruptly from her chair, knocking it back onto the floor.
"Then what do you need?" Mr. Nolan asked, his composure faltering more than before with her outburst.
"You just don't understand, you people never do," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Then make me understand Emma," Mr. Nolan pleaded. He rose from behind his desk, swiftly moving around to the front, and perching on the edge. "I just want to help you. Please, make me understand." Emma sank down against the wall, and rested her head on her knees. The two sat like that for a while. They made an odd pair. The man with the mussed dark blonde hair, the hard blue eyes, and the perfectly straight tie, perched on the edge of the metal desk, a single tear running down his cheek. The girl with ruffled blonde curls, eyes that used to hold so much light, dulled by the scars covering her body, curled into a ball, with her face buried.
"I had a family once Mr. Nolan. They gave me back," the girl's voice filled the quiet room.
"Emma you aren't the only foster child attending this school," David started, before Emma cut him off again.
"You don't get it. You never will either. You haven't been bounced around from place to place, never wanted, never loved. I have. I've been through hell, put up with things no one should ever have to put up with. I've been used as a fucking punching bag, I've been kicked, tied up, burned, I've been tortured. And I should feel something," Emma said, looking up at the man, her eyes watering only slightly. "I should hate the people that did this to me. I should hate this God forsaken system. But I don't feel anything for them Mr. Nolan. Not a damn thing. This thing called emotion, it's almost foreign to me now. I don't hate anybody, I don't like anybody. I'm not even angry anymore, and I used to be angry all the time. I'm just—I'm just sad."
The man looked at the girl. Both of their tears were falling freely now. He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it, because no words could bridge the gap he felt opening up between them.
"I know you want to help Mr. Nolan, you want to be the knight in shining armor that swoops in and saves the day. But this isn't a fairy tale. You can't save everybody Mr. Nolan. Some people are just too far gone." And with that, Emma Swan disappeared out the door.