"Which seat would you like to sit in?" I hate it when they patronise me. Why can't I just be normal? What went wrong?

I sat in the middle chair, and then straightened it out until it was exactly in the middle of the other two chairs. Shelby sat down on the right and Manny, the other care worker sat on the left. The Cullen's all sat on the other side of the desk.

"Sage. Do you know why I called you in here?" Manny asked.

"No."

"The Cullen's have taken a special interest in you." He said.

"Would you like to talk to them? Maybe take them to your room? Show them around?" Shelby's eyes glittered at the prospect of getting rid of me.

I looked at the Care Workers. I looked at the family. The staff looked unsure, but shut the door behind them.

"Hello." I said.

"Hello." They said.

Silence.

"I have OCD."

Carlisle smiled. "We know."

I was confused. If they knew about my condition, why would they still want me? As annoying as Candy is, she is pretty much a perfect daughter. So why did they want me? And not anyone else? There are twelve of us altogether. That is ten more options rather than me. And anyone out of any other Home they could choose. But no. The broken toy they want.

"Then you're an idiot." I told him.

He smiled again. "Maybe." He twiddled his fingers. "But idiots don't save lives."

"What?"

"I'm a doctor. And Esme is an interior designer."

I exhaled, and sounded more exasperated then I meant to. "They are very respectable jobs."

"They are. And I have a tenure position at the hospital, so we'll always be able to provide for you."

Something must have showed in my face, because Esme added "Okay, let's not get too serious."

"Why do you not want any of the other girls?" I questioned.

"We don't… Take people like that." Edward said.

"Is everyone crazy here, or is it just me?" I asked, under the table I traced the shape of my scars.

"Plenty of people will adopt those children," Esme explained. "But we don't want them. We just want you."

I sighed.

"We take people that are most people would just overlook." Edward replied. "To be frank." He added.

I didn't care when people said stuff like that, what bothered me was when they thought I cared.

"Most families just want the babies are the toddlers. But we adopted all our children, and they were teenager, that everyone overlooked."

"But you don't know anything about me!" I yelled.

"That's why we're here, to get to know you." Rosalie said.

I kicked my chair over and it clattered too loudly on the floor. Everything seemed too loud.

I ran up to my room, wiping the tears from my eyes.

I just wanted to be normal. I could feel the OCD. I could feel it in my head. And it became stronger with every bad feeling. And I couldn't stop it. I couldn't even if I tried. I needed some antidote. And I didn't even need to think twice. I grabbed the blood stained razor from my draw. I took them from pencil sharpeners. People are stupid; they should really make it harder. I pressed the razor to my wrist, and slashed it across quickly. Pain welled up inside my brain, but I didn't mind it. I liked it. It was my antidote, to all the bad. A distraction.

But it ended too soon. And I didn't feel enough. I slit again, across the first, to make a cross shape. It stung, and my instinct was to hold my arm. But I watched as blood seeped up to the wound, but never overflowing. I watched it, and poked it, and squeezed out more blood, until I started to feel dizzy. I laid down on my bed. This was always the way. OCD, razor, cut, sleep. Every day.