Chapter 3

Like Black on a Raven

It was a new day and Lydia was filled with a sense of rightness as she slipped on her black cardigan. This suited her much more than the bubblegum pink, bedazzled sweater that her step mother had insisted to get her.

Delia's argument was; "This color simply screamed to be worn by you, Lydia! It perfectly compliments your skin tone and I would know best because I am an "arteest"!"

Lydia glanced over to the offending sweater that she had thrown into the back of her closet, and stuck her tongue out to it disdainfully.

She took one last moment to look in the mirror, giving an affirming nod, before she made her way downstairs to start her day.

Delia was washing a bowl in the kitchen sink when heard footsteps coming down the stairs. She smiled to herself as she stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands dry on a kitchen towel while greeting Lydia cheerfully.

"Gooood morning! Lydia, are you ready to go?"

"I am." Lydia smiled, while smoothing down her cardigan once she made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Delia stopped every thought and action, when her eyes landed on Lydia's attire. Her brain seemed to reboot, assessing what was before her, and came to the conclusion that she wasn't pleased one bit.

"Where's the clothes I got you?! Just look at you! You're totally unapproachable Lydia! You'll never make friends looking like THAT!" Delia yelled, hurt by the child's choice to not use the clothes that she had so generously chose for her.

Charles bolted out of the kitchen when he heard Delia blow up. He was still gripping his favorite, cheesy looking, coffee mug. The mug had a cheerful looking rainbow that connected two happy looking clouds. The word "SMILE" was emblazoned, in bold black font, underneath and was being sheltered comfortably by the colorful arch. In his haste most of the coffee had tragically dribbled out leaving a dotted trail from the kitchen to the hallway.

"But I don't want to make friend or fit in! I want to be me!" Lydia yelled back to the red-head. She couldn't stand it. Why couldn't they let her be who she wanted?

Charles walked over to his daughter and put his hand on her shoulder. He hoped she'd calm down and understand what they were trying to do.

"Pumpkin, we have been talking and we were thinking that perhaps it would be best that we start taking you to go see a nice therapist. I've already scheduled an appointment for next week." Charles smiled to her as best he could, to reassure her that it was for her own good.

Lydia's blood stopped. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Were they really that desperate to change her? Her blood started to flow, once more, but then quickly turned to a boil.

"I'm not going! You can't make me go!" This was too much for her and she going down without a fight!

"Now see here young lady! We most certainly can." Delia put her hands on her hips and squinted her eyes. Lydia knew she was just trying to flex some authority but she had NO RIGHT to force her to do anything.

Lydia had had enough. How could she make them understand just how much she didn't want this?

"No! I'd rather kill myself than go talk to someone who will tell me to change who I am!" She screamed and whirled around to stomp back up the stairs.

Delia spun to face Charles as she roughly grabbed and shook her husband's shoulders.

"See! She is suicidal! We simply MUST do something!" She pleaded with panic in her eyes.

Charles sighed and put his head down feeling utterly defeated.

The preteen stopped in her tracks. Her feet felt like lead and wouldn't move from the step she was on. She had never known that it was possible to get so angry in her life as a rage filled her.

"At least if I was dead I wouldn't have to deal with you people!" Her face was deep red as she leaned over the banister and roared to the parental figures below.

Lydia suddenly realized what she had just done and the things she had just said. Her rage immediately switched to grief and shame and as fast as she could up, she ran up the remaining stairs, bolted down the small hallway, and immediately locked her bedroom door behind her. She could barely breathe as she held her weight against the door.

Her whole being hurt and she had to let it out. Her canopy bed gave her an enticing embrace when she flung herself upon it. Promptly, she released everything and let her sorrow flow.

Her tears and sobs surged forth intermittently, in long bursts, throughout the day until the sun melted away on the horizon. Exhausting herself was the only way she could fall asleep and get away from it all.

It wasn't a long rest before she awoke to her mouth and throat feeling parched and sire. She lifted her head, looking out towards her widows walk, and saw that it was now night. Her eyes burned and blurred her vision while her heart felt as rough as her throat. She needed water but, unfortunately, that meant she would have to go downstairs. The thought of seeing them, upset her and she didn't want to start crying again, or worse, get into another fight.

Lydia crawled over to her bedside table to check the time on her coffin alarm clock. While it wasn't too late, she began to pray that they both had gone to bed early. She mustered her guts, corralling them as best she could, so could be brave enough to go downstairs to quench her desert like mouth.

She cracked her door open to just a slit, so she could spy down the hallway, looking for any evidence of movement. Luckily, she didn't hear or see anything, but she wasn't going to risk being caught. As stealthily as she could, she slowly tip-toed down the stairs, but just as she was about to make it to the bottom; she heard a sound come from the living room.

It was a voice that caught her attention. She listened carefully, and recognized right away that it was her father talking on the phone. She could hear him clearly and she could even tell he was pacing back and forth. Sitting down, she quietly listened in.

"I'm sorry for calling you so late in the evening but this is important. I desperately need your help. I'm worried my daughter is going to harm herself. I don't want to do it but Delia and I think we should commit her until she's better. I need your advice. Yes. Yes. Oh. Good. You say that place is good? Will they really be able to help my little Lydia? Oh thank you." His voice shook with a mix of guilt, panic, and then relief.

Lydia had heard enough, as her tears blurred her vision as they flowed down, uncontrollably, once more. She couldn't believe her ears but she did indeed hear what her father said. She was soon going to be imprisoned and ripped away from everything that she loved.

She sat up stiffly and made a decision right then and there.

She rushed, quickly and as quietly as she could back up the stairs and began to put her plan into action. From the back of her closet, she snagged her camping backpack and, in a frenzied blur, she began shoving clothes into its belly. For the next stage of her plan, she had to be patient, as she sat next to her closed door and listened closely.

After she was completely satisfied, that everyone had gone to bed and was completely asleep, she glided back downstairs to get the rest of the supplies she needed. It was hard to keep quiet, as her hands shook and her breath was ragged from the fear of being caught. She ran to the cupboard and indiscriminately grabbed canned food before raiding the camping supplies.

And with that, she dashed off into the night and ran in a direction that was away from town. She wanted to be as far away from "normal" society as humanly possible.

"The woods are pretty thick and no one really goes in there. So that's it! I'll go into the deepest part of the woods and never come back. I don't even care if I die." She huffed as she bounded down the hill.

Standing at the edge of the woods, she gave one long sad and final look to her house on the hill. It no longer felt like a home to her. Isn't home supposed to be a place where you feel welcomed, loved, and accepted?

She had only one ally that she thought she could trust completely, but even he had betrayed and rejected her.

"Oh father…. How could you? Why couldn't you just accept "me" for me."

In this cold and harsh world, she was now utterly alone.