Chapter 12.

Callie's eyes burned, her tears blurring and distorting her vision. She set her paring knife aside, and swept her forearm across her face, trying to find relief from the sting of the onions, to no avail.

As she worked beside Stef, in the quiet of the kitchen, she began to think. She hated the quiet; it was times like these when her troubles came out of the dark areas of her mind, and into the light. As she cried over the onions, thoughts wandered to the day before, in the poolhouse with Brandon. When he told her he loved her. And how she said nothing in reply. His face had darkened with hurt, but he still kissed her whenever they were alone. If she didn't feel the same way about Brandon; if she felt nothing in return, it would have been easier to let him down. She wished it hadn't been so hard.

"How are the onions coming along, sweetheart?" Stef asked, glancing over at her. She laughed when she saw her tear-streaked face. "Aww, honey. You're too cute. Here. Let me help you." She took a damp paper towel, and wiped Callie's eyes for her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, managing a smile despite the stinging sensation that remained.

The fight with Mariana also weighed heavily on her mind; it happened after Callie had mentioned her trip to London without thinking.

"You're seriously just going to abandon Jude again, right after you came back?" Mariana cried. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm not 'abandoning' him," Callie tried to explain. "This isn't just some spur of the moment thing, either. I've been planning it for months. It has nothing to do with Jude. It's for school."

It was then that Mariana told her that she was more of a sister to Jude than Callie was.

"Excuse me," said Callie, growing irritated. "Did you teach him to tie his shoes and read? Did you sing to him when he woke up screaming for our mom? Because last time I checked, that was me."

"Maybe not, but I'm the one who's been there for him all this time," her foster sister told her, matter-of-factly. "You've hardly even seen him in the last three years."

Callie's face crumpled with hurt as she regarded Mariana. She was so angry, she wanted to slap her. "You don't know what I've been through," she snapped. How could she explain that she could hardly handle her own problems, let alone her little brother's, after she'd left the Fosters?

"I know I've made mistakes," she admitted. "But at least I'm trying. I'm trying to fix our relationship."

"That won't make him talk again," said Mariana. "I blame you. Everyone does."

"That's not true!" Callie shouted. But in the back of her mind, the ugly little voice that her depression spoke in asked her: isn't it?

Callie squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing a lump in her throat. Next to her, Stef hummed softly as she browned ground beef in the skillet. Callie hadn't told her about the fight. She knew Stef thought their family was going to be okay, now that they'd apologized to each other for the past. If she knew that Callie and Mariana weren't speaking, it would ruin everything for her.

Besides, she could pretend to be okay, but part of her knew that she was still afraid to confide in her foster mother.

"Take away her weekend visit with us." Stef's words creeped into her thoughts. Suddenly, Callie could hardly even look at her. She'd thought she'd put those words behind her now that they'd made up. She didn't know why they refused to leave. She wasn't supposed to be angry anymore. She was supposed to have let it go. Maybe Stef would be hurt if she realized Callie couldn't do that yet, as hard as she was trying. Maybe she would decide that it was mistake to let her back in the family?

The truth was, integrating herself back into the family was a lot harder than Callie thought it would be, and her heart ached with disappointment.

She didn't even realize she'd been cut, until she glanced down at the onion; it was slick with blood. She gazed down at her hand, numbly, and dropped the paring knife on the cutting board.

"Oh my gosh," said Stef, the color draining from her face. "You cut yourself." She turned on the faucet. "Here, honey. Put it under cold water."

Shaking, Callie put her hand under the spray, as Stef hunted for a dishcloth. After her hand was rinsed, a clean cut appeared, fresh blood blossoming from it.

Stef took her hand, and wrapped it in the soft cloth, applying pressure to it. As she held it there, Callie tasted the salty tears that ran down her face. These tears weren't from the onions; it was as if her sorrow were seeping from her cut, along with her blood.

"It's okay baby, really," Stef promised, trying to comfort he. "I know it hurts. But, see? You don't even need stitches."

Callie shook her head angrily. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" She frowned with confusion.

Sinking down to the floor, Callie folded her knees to her chest and sobbed.

Stef lowered the temperature on the stove, and sat down beside her, placing her hand between her shoulder blades. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Two Years Earlier:

Callie wrapped her arm in a paper towel, squeezing it, trying to stop the flow of blood. It soaked through the towel, staining the quilted pattern red.

"Callie, can I borrow your..."

She whipped around to see Sophia, gaping at her in horror. "Get out of here!"

"Callie, what did you do?" her sister cried. Her eyes swept over the razor blade on the blood-splattered counter. "You have to tell dad!"

"I don't want to," she snapped, gritting her teeth. But she was starting to get scared. Every time she lifted the paper towel away, the cut filled with fresh blood, without letting up.

"Please, Callie!" Sophia was in tears. "You're scaring me. If you don't tell, I will."

Defeated, she sighed. "Fine. I'll tell him. But he won't care."

She left the bathroom, and padded down the hallway to the stairs. She found Robert in the den. By the time she reached him, she was shaking, genuinely afraid.

"Callie?" he asked, looking up. "Do you need something?"

She held up her arm. "I need help."

He took a sharp intake of breath. Callie could literally see him processing what had happened. "Did you do that to yourself, Callie?"

She nodded, feebly, burning with shame.

"Oh my god," he said, hurrying from his desk. "Come with me." He led Callie to the bathroom and held her arm under running water.

After several minutes, he shut the water off and wrapped a clean towel around her arm. It was still bleeding. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

"I don't need to go to the hospital," she protested. "I'll be fine!"

"You need stitches, honey," he told her, in a calm, steady voice.

She shook her head, now in tears. "I'm not your honey."

He sighed impatiently. "You don't have an option here. I can call an ambulance, if you'd rather go that way. What will it be?"

She said nothing in reply. Robert gave her a stern look. "Go get your shoes on now."

An hour later, Callie was sitting in a partitioned room, wearing a paper gown, watching the ER doctor stitch her wound. The black sutures looked like spider legs breaking through her skin.

After her three stitches were sewn, and her wrist was bandaged, the doctor took Robert aside, whispering with him. Callie strained her ears to hear what they were saying, but she couldn't make out their words.

When they returned, Robert looked at her apologetically. It was the kind of look he gave his daughters before buying them some extravagant gift. "Callie," he said, quietly. "The doctors are going to take you to another part of the hospital, so you're going to need to get-"

"What part of the hospital?" Callie interrupted, frightened by his vagueness.

He looked to the doctor, unsure. "Well, a lady is going to come in and ask you some questions first. Then, they'll probably be taking you to the psychiatric unit, so we can be sure you won't hurt yourself again."

"The psychiatric unit!" Callie cried, horrified. "I don't need to go there. No!"

"Please don't shout," he gently scolded. "You're making a scene."

"I'm not going." She pressed her hands down, firmly gripping the table she was sitting on.

"I can't have you in the house if you're a danger to yourself, or the rest of the family," he explained. "Especially Sophia."

"I'm not a danger!" she pleaded. "It was just an accident."

"People don't 'accidentally' do what you did," he told her. "Don't you want to feel better, Callie?"

She looked him in the eye, her jaw clenched. "I hate you. And I'll never feel better."

He shook his head, his eyes full of hurt. "I'm sorry you feel that way. And I know you don't think so, but this is very hard for me, too. Do you think I like seeing you suffer this way?"

He regarded her with tears in his eyes. "Get dressed. I'll be right in the hall."

"Hey. Talk to me, baby," said Stef, turning Callie's head to look at her. "Please?"

"It's just been hard," Callie sighed, trembling. "Coming back here. I wanted things to be like before, and they're not."

"Oh, honey," Stef breathed. "I know it seems unfair, but it's unrealistic to expect things to be exactly the same. As much as we hate it, life has to go on." She put her arms around Callie and kissed her cheek. "It will get easier, love. Mama and I'll help you."

"Mama doesn't trust me," Callie told her. "She thinks I'm going to let Jude down again. And- And I'm-"

"What?"

"Never mind," said Callie, looking away.

"Whatever it is, sweetheart, you can tell me." She brushed back Callie's hair, so she could look her in the eye. "Please?"

"I'm still kind of mad at you," Callie admitted.

"Do you know why you're still mad?" Stef asked, without a hint of bitterness in her voice.

"The visits," she finally told her. "I can help it. I'm trying to let it go, but I can't."

Stef nodded, tears in her eyes. "I know it's hard, honey." She held Callie a little tighter. "Are you sure you're just mad, or maybe a little scared, too?"

"Maybe," she replied. She wiped her tears away with the back of her wrist. "How do I know I can trust you? I felt like you were turning your back on me. How do I know you won't do that again?"

Stef was quiet for a few minutes, alone with her thoughts and tears. "I wish I could make everything up to you," she finally confided, slowly and quietly. "But I understand why you're still mad at me, and you don't have to feel bad about it. I still love you exactly the same."

"Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve to be loved," Callie told her. "By any of you."

"Everyone deserves to be loved," Stef replied. "Including you. I'm so sorry about what happened back then. The way you were acting was a cry for help, and I should have recognized that. But I promise you, Callie, I never turned my back on you. I thought about you every single day. You were always in my heart."

She gave Callie another kiss, this time, pressing her lips against her temple. "I know that trust needs to be earned, and I can't expect it to happen instantly. But you can count on me now, honey. And I'd like to start earning your trust back. Will you let me?"

Leaning against her foster mother, Callie weakly nodded. "Can I... show you something?"

"Of course," said Stef. "What is it?"

She held up her wrist, revealing her scars.

Callie went to her room and grabbed her pillow, ignoring Mariana.

"Where are you going?" Mariana asked, looking up.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch," Callie told her. "I just need some space."

She did fully intend to go to the couch, but she stopped when she came to Brandon's door. It was open, just a crack.

"Brandon," she said, letting herself inside. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," he said, tugging his earbuds from his ears. "You okay? You look upset."

"It's Mariana," she admitted, closing the door behind her. "I can't sleep in the same room as her."

"Did something happen?" he sat up, his brow creased with concern.

"We had a fight," she told him. "Can I crash with you?"

He moved over, making room for her in his bed. "Of course. Get in."

She crawled into bed and reclined on the pillow. Brandon nestled in next to her, wrapping his arm around her. "What was the fight about?" he asked. "If you want to talk about it."

She placed her hand against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He was so warm; so real. "It was about Jude," she confided. "She said she's more of a sister to him than I am, and it kind of hurt."

"Oh," said Brandon, quietly. "I'm so sorry she said that to you, Cal."

"You don't have to apologize for her," she told him. "It's not your fault. There's more, though. She also said everyone blames me for Jude's mutism."

Brandon closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening. He took a deep, calming breath. "Did you tell moms?"

"No," she replied. "I don't want to start trouble. I'm trying to fit in, here."

"Well, what she said isn't true." he told her. "No one thinks that."

"Then why did she say it?" Callie asked. She knew that things said in the heat of the moment were often the truth, in it's purest form. They were the things people were secretly thinking, but held back until they exploded.

"I don't know," he sighed. "She loves Jude too, and I guess she feels protective of him. But that doesn't make it right or true."

The way he spoke with such sincerity, Callie couldn't help but let herself believe him. She rested her cheek against his chest. "Thanks, Brandon."

"No need to thank me," he said. He brushed his lips against her forehead.

It escalated from there until they were kissing, tangled in the bedsheets. Callie paused mid-kiss, when she felt Brandon reach between them and rub her through her panties. She bit back a moan, and grabbed his wrist. "We can't do this here," she whispered. "Someone might hear us."

He nodded. "I know. I know. You're right. I guess I just got carried away." He blushed. "You know what you do to me."

"It's okay," she told him, releasing his arm. She pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

"Can I give you a back rub?" he asked.

"I'd love a back rub." She rolled onto her stomach, and Brandon began kneading her tense muscles.

"That's nice," she breathed. "Don't stop." She felt herself relax against his hands, growing sleepy.

Brandon moved down to her lower back, massaging it in slow, gentle circles. "Callie?" he said in a soft voice. "I just want to tell you that I meant what I said yesterday. And I'm not going to take it back."

Suddenly panicked, Callie pretended to be asleep, breathing evenly.

"Callie?" he asked again. Several seconds passed, and he sighed. "I love you."

He leaned down and kissed her shoulder, then turned off the lamp, and stretched out beside her.

To Be Continued