AN- I know it's been like four months, but junior in college is something else. I was swamped last semester, and the trend continues this one as well. Updates will remain sporadic, and for that I apologize. However, I will not abandon this story. It has come to mean a lot to me, and I thank everyone of you for continuing to rad. Below are four quotes that fit the chapter perfectly.

"There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds."

― Laurell K. Hamilton

"Anything that's human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone."

― Fred Rogers

"Over time as most people fail the survivor's exacting test of trustworthiness, she tends to withdraw from relationships. The isolation of the survivor thus persists even after she is free."

― Judith Lewis Herman

"Some people's lives seem to flow in a narrative; mine had many stops and starts. That's what trauma does. It interrupts the plot. You can't process it because it doesn't fit with what came before or what comes afterwards."

― Jessica Stern

A week had passed since Rachel arrived at her mother's house. There was an awkward tension surrounding her and her mother whenever they happened to be in a room together.

Both of them were apprehensive to suggest deeper conversation. Rachel was not sure what to make of the woman she spent the first three years of her life with. She had vague memories of Shelby at best, and it was hard to displace the feelings anger and pain she felt on a daily basis over the past six years.

It was uncommon for to feel unsure of herself, but this is not something she ever foresaw occurring. Her mother was pushed to the recesses of her mind, a place she could not actively reach. It was unsettling for her to suddenly cohabitate with someone who was virtually a stranger. Logically, she understood that Shelby Corcoran was her mother and loved her, but emotionally she felt as if the woman abandoned her.

She was in a state of imbalance. It didn't help that they tip toed around one another. Her mother escorted her to all of her appointments. Her stitches were to be removed in another week as the wounds were not where her doctor would like.

Her nutritionist was worried that she was not eating enough, which was actually true. Rachel found that she did not possess an appetite at meal times. There were better ways to express this to her mother, which her trauma counselor was working on her with. It was apparently natural for someone who experienced trauma to rage at others or to simply not talk.

Rachel preferred the not talking method. She felt it fit her paradigm. After all, no one knew what went on in the house with the Berry men for all those years because she said nothing. People never understood anyway.

The young girl sighed warily as she entered Dr. Thompson's office for what was her third session with the woman. She was nice enough she supposed. She did not force her to communicate or anything, but simply stared at her. She was not a normal shrink, which was why Rachel had not complained to her mother.

"Hello Rachel," the red head smiled softly at the girl.

Rachel nodded her head in greeting. She had not uttered a single word in this office, or to anyone about what happened to her. The memories were painful and terrified her. She suffered from vicious nightmares where there was no one to save her, much like the ones that featured her mother. Except in these she was truly alone.

The girl's face was far from relaxed. It displayed her discontentment and a variety of other expressions that the doctor was positive the girl would not be able to identify. Her eyes were what told her actual story. They screamed of pain, terror, loneliness, and most of all fear.

The small brunette's eyes lowered to her hands in her lap. Her thumbs fumbled as her eyes darted to the doctor and quickly back to her lap. She wanted to talk to the doctor, but at the same time, what would she say?

She huffed impatiently at herself. She was ambivalent about revealing the depths of her horrific past for she did not know which reaction the good doctor would have. There were far too many.

Her lips twitched with unseen movement. Her tongue slowly darted out to wet her lips as she nervously eyed Dr. Thompson. Her hands squeezed together tightly as she opened her mouth to finally speak. "I-I," she cleared her dry throat. Was it hot? "My first memory of living with them was the very day they took me from the park." Her face burned with a shame that was not her own, but one she felt nonetheless.

"I was locked in the closet for the first time where I suffered a serious asthma attack." She swallowed nervously as her eyes squeezed shut. The memory threatened to overwhelm her. She felt the tears preparing themselves to stream down her face endlessly. "They did not know that I was asthmatic. H-hiram," she stuttered painfully and winced at his name. "He regretted it. He thought I was more trouble than I was worth. They ran through a sequence of scenarios, but in the end they knew they could not return me without severe consequences to them. LeRoy used his connections to get me my own prescription for an inhaler."

Her hands were completely white from lack of blood flow. Her face was flushed with heat as her emotions bubbled to the surface. "For the first few months, I was denied the privilege," she spat angrily, disgust boiling deep inside of her. "Of leaving the house. They believed I was not to be trusted outside for I was still adamant that I was Rachel Corcoran. I was three and quite aware of the name designated to me at birth." A frown marred her young features, giving her the appearance of someone much older than her nine years. Her eyes were haunted as if they had seen too much, which they probably had. "I wanted my mommy. But she wasn't there. The only people I saw day in and out were these strange men who forced me to address them as Dad and Daddy. I could not understand why they did this because my mom told me about my real father."

Dr. Thompson listened to the heartbreaking tale of this young girl. She was stricken by everything the girl suffered through at the hand of monsters. What was the point in abducting a child if you only wanted to hurt her and break her spirit. If there was one thing she was positive, they succeeded in crushing part of this girl's spirit. Much of her innocence was lost because of the actions of the two men and their accomplices.

"I was whipped if I displeased them." She admitted. The room descended into silence with that.

The older woman gained her composure and prepared herself for the arduous task ahead of her. There was much that Rachel needed to in order to progress, but she was well on her way in the process. The first step was to come to terms with everything that happened. While the girl relayed the first part of her story, there was much more that awaited to be told.

"Rachel, I want you to honestly tell me how it made you feel when you realized your mother wasn't going to save you." Dr. Thompson was aware that much of her anger was not only directed at the two men but at her mother. Was it not a mother's duty to protect her child, and yet in the eyes of Rachel, her mother failed. Her mother did not save her from the fate that befell her.

Rachel still had a child's way of approaching things. Her mind was still in the process of transitioning between concrete thought to abstract thought. She could not quite grasp what others were feeling. She was bright, but still had a long way before she could be empathetic. In theory, she understood the grief her mother suffered from in the years following her kidnapping. However, there was a difference in knowing something and actually understanding her mother's view of things.

The young girl gritted her teeth. Her lips mashed together angrily as she considered her emotions. "I'm angry." She finally said. "I-I hold blame for her. If I had a more attentive babysitter, or if she had gone with me that day, none of this would've happened. A part of me hates her because the only thing she did was cry. I was beaten until I was black and blue. My back was whipped raw. There were days were I could not move and remained curled in a ball. I broke legs, arms, fingers, toes, I had a concussion." She pressed her palms to her eyes to prevent the doctor from spotting the tears. She was embarrassed about how emotional she had become.

"You are entitled to your feelings Rachel. Do not let anyone ever tell you differently." Dr. Thompson informed her young patient. It was important for the victims to know that they could feel however they like. There was no wrong or right way. "It was perfectly acceptable for you to be angry with your mother." She decided it was time for Rachel's first assignment. "I'm going to give you this notebook. We won't meet again until next week, and I want you to write about when you feel angry. It does not necessarily have to be related to your mother. The first thing we need to work on is you not being so angry anymore. So write about things that make you angry and we can work on triggers next time we meet."

Rachel hesitantly stood up and shuffled over. Her hand shook dangerously as she reached out to grab the notebook. There was still much wariness and uncertainty in her. She feared authority. The girl flinched as the doctor lifted her arm. "I'm not going to hurt you." She promised.

Rachel's eyes darted nervously to meet Dr. Thompson's. Whatever she was in the woman's eyes caused her to relax if only marginally. The red head would take progress wherever she could get it.

The young girl turned to the leave and paused uncertainly at the door. Her head turned slightly and murmured a wispy goodbye.

Rachel did not lift her eyes to meet warm, compassionate green ones. She hardly spared her mother a look as she stood in front of the woman. Shelby did not know what to make of her nine year old. Rachel was a mystery to her. While she displayed several of the stronger characteristics she remembered from Rachel's toddler years, there were obvious differences that were a result of her captivity and not age.

Her daughter was still tenacious, stubborn, strong willed, and single minded. However, she could also be hesitant, fearful of adults and strangers, and preferred silence to noise. It was hard to reconcile the image of her rambunctious three year old with the girl that stood before her. She wanted to throw her arms around her daughter and hold her like there was no tomorrow, but Rachel cringed away from touch.

It was like a switch had gone off in her brain after that day they spent together. She was subdued and spent periods of time in her room. Quinn collected Rachel's schoolwork, which she handed off to Lucas, who would bring it by when he had dinner with them. There was not much progress in that relationship either.

Rachel had at least stopped referring to him formally, and simply called him Lucas. He was not dad or daddy, and Shelby hated the heartbroken expression on his face. She knew it was hard on him, and deserved part of the blame in the situation they found themselves navigating. It wounded him every time Rachel rejected him, but she knew it her more when her daughter did the same to her.

She did not know what it would take to connect with her. The only person it seemed who did was the one refusing to talk.

Dr. Thompson smiled kindly as she waited in the doorway to talk to her. Shelby glanced at Rachel whose eyes remained downcast. It was a recent habit of hers. "I'll be right back." She kissed the girl's palm. Rachel nodded and took a seat in her mother's vacated chair.

"Rachel is making progress. For now just be patient with her. She will talk when she is ready. Do not push her, or she might close herself off more than she already has. Right not she is trying to process what she is feeling. She does not know herself, which is why you just need to let her come to you. If she had questions do your best to answer them." The older woman was sympathetic to the young mother in front of her. Shelby was in her late twenties, early thirties, and had to manage taking care of her daughter and her career. It could not be easy.

Shelby had expected the counselor would say as much. While she would love to get inside of Rachel's head, for now she knew that Rachel needed to the time to reflect on everything that happened to her. She needed to accept it, but not let it define her.

"Thank you for all that you're doing." She wasn't sure what else she could say.

"It is nothing. I want the same things you do for Rachel."

Shelby nodded and shook her hand.

The drive home was silent. She was accustomed to the silence, and it seemed that she would remain that way. Her eyes sought out her daughter in the rear view mirror. Rachel seemed in a world of her own making as her eyes held a far away look. She was lost inside her own mind, and her mother decided it was best not to bother her.

Rachel exited the car and brushed past her father as he got out of his car. Lucas arrived a few minutes before for dinner. Rachel did not extend a greeting to him, which was all too common. No one had breached the outer shell, let alone the inner shell. For Rachel receded into herself.

Part of her desperately wished to unload her burden onto another soul for it felt illuminating to speak to her counselor about it. But it was different because Dr. Thompson had the ability to remain impartial about the entire situation whereas her parents would be unable to. She didn't want to hurt their feelings, which she was aware she was by her constant refusal. She was a perceptive, precocious child, quite cognizant of her affect on others.

Dinner was her first step on a long road to recovery. She sat there inattentive as her parents attempted to make strained conversation at best. It was apparent to anyone who was well acquainted with both of her parents that they still held amorous feelings for one another, but were both too obstinate to get out of their own way. There were bitter feelings still clouding their judgment. Rachel personally felt they were stupid for not seeing what everyone else did.

Her fork scraped noisily across her plate as it did every night. She pushed her vegetables from one side to another. A bite or two made it to the inside of her mouth, but for the most part she did not eat. She sensed her parents' eyes on her, and felt uneasy with that knowledge.

She knew they did not mean her any harm. It was the opposite in fact, but she didn't know how to open up to them. They were trying. That should be what counts.

Silently, she counted to five as she mentally prepared herself with a deep breath. She felt the air flow through her, felt the contraction of her ribs, and slowly pushed the air back out. Her eyes gradually raised up and her hand unconsciously tightened on her fork.

This is hard. I-I d-d-on't know if I can do this. It was her father's earnest gaze that compelled her say something at last. He had never done anything to deserve her scorn. He knew nothing of her existence until she was gone, and yet spent the last six years of his life dedicated to searching for her. "I want to thank you." Her voice was still raspy from disuse. "I know it hasn't been easy with me not talking, but I ask that you remain patient for a little longer. I'm not ready to talk about things just yet. I can't." She exclaimed vehemently. Tears burned her eyes and she dismissed them with a swipe of her fingers.

Her parents gaped at her openly. Neither parents was prepared for her brief tirade. They felt the raw emotion behind her words, and despite what they wanted, they conceded to her wishes. She was their first priority. They could not afford to allow her to slip through the cracks, or she would be lost to them. They had to put aside their own pettiness for the well-being of their little girl. She was what was important.

"We can do that." Lucas replied tenderly. "Just know that we are here for you sweetheart." If there was one thing Rachel did know throughout this whole mess was that there were people. She just didn't know if she could trust people not to hurt as she was hurt in the past.

The Berry men had left visible and invisible scars. While she would always see where the visible ones marred her skin, they would heal. It was the invisible ones were the ones that ran deep. They infected her to the depths of her soul. They were the ones she would never be rid for as long as she lived. They could not ever fully heal. They inflicted their damage, and they did it well. They had done their job.

She only hoped one day she could heal part of what was broken.

AN- I hoped you guys enjoyed it. Sorry again for the long wait. Thoughts on the chapter?