Taylor rested on her back, staring up at the ceiling over her bed. No one else was back in the cabin with her; they were all outside, taking advantage of the surprisingly warm November evening. The sun was beginning to set and the room was filled with the dim, warm autumn glow from the windows.

Part of her wanted to tell someone everything that had been going on inside her head, but at the same time, she was afraid that the jumbled mess would not make sense to anyone else. If the person she spilled her story to was unable to help her, then what hope would she have left? At least if she kept things to herself, she could hold onto the distant possibility that someone could carry her away from it.

Her conflicting feelings took its toll on her; she felt heavy and hopeless, ready to just give up. All she could think of was wanting to hurt herself. She was already hurting a way she could neither see nor understand. If she could just come up with something to make the tiniest cut on her arm, she would be able to take care of it, heal it, fix it.

She started to hear familiar voices as the others approached the cabin and soon enough, Shelby, Daisy, and Juliette entered into her solitude. They were lost in their own conversation, but when Daisy noticed Taylor on her bed, she turned. "Hey, Tay," she said, somewhat friendlier than usual, "Peter asked to see you in his office. Daisy caringly tapped on Taylor's foot at the bottom of the bed. "He seems worried about you," she continued as the other girls watched out of the corners of their eyes, heading over to sit on their own beds. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied without moving. "Can we just pretend that you didn't see me to tell me to go meet Peter?" She spoke quietly and looked past Daisy to the window on the far wall.

"Um," Daisy started nervously, "I'm not really comfortable with that." She moved away to her bed and sat down, waiting for Taylor to do something.

After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly pushed herself up from the bed and left the cabin. Once outside, she took a few steps towards the woods, not intending to go see Peter.

"Taylor," Peter called out from behind her. She turned to see him walking towards the cabin. "Did Daisy tell you I want to talk with you in my office?" He asked, knowing very well that she had been told. "Where are you going?"

"Yeah," she said quietly, "I was just coming to see you."

Peter watched as she stood firmly planted, half facing the woods. Her eyes looked so sad, he noted to himself, and he wondered if she would try to run. He hoped that she would not try to make it for the woods because he knew without a doubt that he could easily catch her. "Well, my office is this way," he said with a little smile, motioning over his shoulder. He sighed with relief as she slowly started walking to him.

He had a feeling that Taylor knew what conversation they would have once the got back to his office, an e knew it would be difficult for her. Once she reached his side, he put an arm around her shoulder as they walked together, hoping to ease her mind about any fears she had.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Both Taylor and Peter sit uneasily once inside his office. She sits on the couch, physically shaking at the thought of what questions will soon come; he sits in a chair only a few feet in front of her, hoping she will not shut him out. He leaned on the arm of the chair, chin resting in his hand. He stared at her, waiting for her to look up from the floor.

"Do you know why I wanted to talk to you?" He finally questioned.

"Because of group?" She wearily asked.

"Yeah," he leaned forward, resting both elbows on his knees, "but it's not just because of that, Tay." He studied her tired presence. "You've been acting differently. I thought we'd really been making good progress, but lately you seem to be…I don't know…kind of out of it." She slowly nods. "Have you been eating alright?"

She shrugs, hoping that he will move on, but he waited for more. "I don't know," she finally gave in to the silence. "My idea of eating alright seems to be a little different than yours." She offers an innocent smile, which gave him more hope that she would be open to his next questions.

"Yeah, that's true, I guess." He briefly returned the smile, but it soon faded away. "What about self-harm? Have you been hurting yourself physically?"

She looked into his eyes for a brief second. "No," she said, quiet but sure.

"No," he repeated. "Good…Have you wanted to?" He watched as she seemed to look for some kind of escape in his office. Her eyes finally met his and she gave a small nod of her head. "But you didn't," he said with optimism, "I'm proud of you for that."

"Thanks," she said, starting to pick at the arm rest of the couch.

"So do you want to tell me what was going through your mid earlier in group?" He spoke his words kindly, hoping to encourage a helpful response.

Her body tensed and she bit her lower lip, silently begging him to take the question back. "Um…" she whispered after a long moment of silence.

"Look, Tay, I can see that you don't want to talk about it, or maybe you're just scared to talk about it." He sighed as she watched him, waiting to see what he had to say. "What if, just this once, you break down all barriers? Take the risk and let it all out; don't hold yourself back – just this one time. If you don't like how you feel afterward, I'll never ask you to approach it like this again? Please?"

She paused, thinking about his proposal. This was the moment she had been waiting for, but she couldn't help but be terrified.

"Don't be scared," he calmly coaxed. "Trust me, it'll be alright."

She took a deep breath and decided to try it. "Okay," she softly started, her voice slightly shaky. "I've been having really intense memories...about the two worst moments of my life." She paused and he patiently waited. "My sister's car accident…I already told you I was with her. But my dad ended up there too. He was on shift that night – he'd rotate between firefighter and paramedic – and he came with the ambulance. He didn't know the call was for us. You should have seen the look on his face when he knelt down by my sister's window. When the other paramedics realized who we were, they tried to pull him away; he wanted to stay with us, though, while we were in the car. I think he realized that my sister wasn't going to make it and he didn't want to let her die alone…I think she was really fortunate, as strange as it sounds. I mean, we were terrified, just waiting, beat up in the crushed car. And then there was our dad. He was with her, holding her, crying with her, being scared with her."

Her voice slowly trailed off. Peter could see that her story was not finished and he silently waited, letting her acquire the strength she needed to go on. Her eyes were filled with tears when she finally continued.

"He was never the same after that," she said softly. "The way he looked at me, it was always different. I guess that's when I first started hurting myself. But he did too, you know…he started working less, never left the house. I hated seeing him like that but I didn't know what to do."

Peter nodded with understanding as she paused again. He wondered how long she would be able to hold back the tears in her eyes.

"Then one day I came home from school and I couldn't find him. I was so used to him always being somewhere around the house, so I knew it wasn't right. I checked all over and then finally went to the garage. As soon as I opened the door, the fumes hit me." Her tears started to fall from her eyes, down her cheeks, onto her shirt. But she continued; the barriers were all down now. "I knew before I'd even checked the driver's seat that he'd be there. That same song was playing – the one that played during our accident." She wiped away her tears, but more fell. Peter placed a comforting hand on her knee.

"And that was right before you came here?" He gently asked, trying to maintain his own composure. She nodded. "How did you end up in the hospital?" He asked, knowing the story was not quite complete.

"I called 911," she whispered. "The same people he used to work with were going to come and take care of him one last time. I didn't want to be down there when they came, though, so I went up to my bathroom. I cut up my arms, my wrists…I wasn't trying to kill myself like he'd done, though," she looked at him with wet, pleading eyes, hoping he would believe her. "I just didn't want to be there…and I knew I had nowhere else to go…"

She smiled uncomfortably, realizing her pain was exposed and there was nothing she could do about it. Her gaze fell back to the floor, along with the tears.

With that, Peter stood up and pulled her to her own feet. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, hoping to guard her from everything that was left. As she started weeping, he could not help but cry as well, now that she finally let him share in her suffering.