***Hey all! This is a TOTALLY new, TOTALLY improved version of 21 Scars! The problem? What I want to happen is already happening in other Fics. So I'm kinda screwed! Fun… So while I attempt to work that out, enjoy this! Oh, and italics are present time, and un-italics is the story Logan and Larissa are telling.***

-----

Logan's POV

"This is insane," James exclaimed. "Where did she go?"

"I don't get it!" Carlos said. He didn't get a lot of things, but this was something I didn't even understand.

"Look guys," I said, trying not to cry. "I don't know where Larissa is now, but I think I know why she left. I have a note from her here saying she was going to 'get help'."

Kendall wasn't satisfied with that.

"You have to know something more than that. You're her closest friend."

"I know a lot that you don't!" I said back, choking on my own tears. "I just can't believe she's gone."

James, who usually over dramatized things, calmed me down.

"Logan, we all hate that Larissa's gone, but you have to go back to the beginning and tell us everything you know."

I took a deep breath and started the story.

-----

Larissa's POV

An assistant led into a room with five other girls. I knew how these places worked; after all, I was a veteran. Some of these girls were druggies, some had eating disorders, or maybe someone was a cutter like me. Residential treatment facilities were places where people with all types of problems were sent to get better. I walked right into a group therapy session. The therapist introduced me, and told why I was there. She asked me to say a few words.

"I hate to be back here, but what can I say? I want to change, and I need some help."

The therapist gave an encouraging nod. The other girls just scowled.

"It's great that you want to stop cutting, Larissa, but tell us, how you started up. I mean, again. I know you were here, what, two years ago?" She checked her clipboard. "Right, when you were fourteen, but why are you here again?"

I sighed, but I talked anyway, I was kinda forced to.

"It's a long story, and it's not all mine. But I'll start with the simple stuff."

The sad part was that the horror story that was most of my life was the easy stuff.

"My mother is dead," I said. "and I hated her for years before she died. She was a marijuana addict, and she started smoking around the time she and my father started fighting. My dad left us last year. He abused my mom, and I was glad he left. My mom and I kind of slipped away from society. I didn't go to school and we got by with the money I earned from songwriting, but the checks were few and far between. I also had a part time job at a place called the Palm Woods as a maid. When cash was really tight, I sang in the streets for an extra buck or two."

One of the girls actually faked a yawn, like this was some kind of joke.

"I dealt with my parents fighting for a while, but then I cracked. It was just too much. I needed relief. Two years ago, I started cutting myself. It was an endorphin rush, and I didn't think about the consequences. But, before long, a teacher caught me cutting in the girl's bathroom at school. I was sent here, and I went through a crapload of therapy to get better. I got my scars medically removed, and you'd never know I used to carve my arms up by just looking at me."

The girls still looked bored as hell.

"Through the past couple of months, I've gotten close to someone that helped me a lot."

An unnaturally skinny girl rolled her eyes.

"So this guy 'helped' you, yet you're back here? That doesn't make sense."

She was right…

"Let's just say I would be a lot worse off if it wasn't for him. He saw the best in me, something even I wasn't able to do. His name is Logan Mitchell."

The same skinny girl interrupted me again.

"Is this some sappy, dramatic love story I'm gonna wish I didn't have to sit through?"

I nodded.

"I'll make it as painless as possible." I said. I was used to the bitchy attitude of these girls. I knew how to handle it.

She still looked annoyed, but I started the story anyway.