Sara sat, cradling her sweet tea as she stared at the porch floor. They'd been sat out here for a good 10 minutes, and Catherine began to wonder if Sara had forgotten she was there. She considered speaking herself when-

"I- My father. And- and mother, I guess." She took a deep breath to steady herself. If she was going to tell this story, she'd damned well tell it right. She bit her lip. "When I was a little girl, my father used to beat me, and my mother didn't give a shit; if he was hitting me he couldn't hit her. Then- then I got older. He said- He said it was time to pay rent. I was 8, I didn't know what he meant- but he meant sex. He raped me. That went on for a while. He beat me, rape me, and beat me again."

Catherine tried to speak, but Sara held up her hand.

"Let me- Just let me say this, okay? Okay." She smiled a watery, half-smile. "My bedroom was in the cellar- so that nobody could hear me scream. It was the room furthest away from everywhere. With whitewashed walls, no heating and a single bed. My family lived on the ground floor, and the first floor up was the bed & breakfast. Every so often there'd be a hospital trip. My mum came to those, and she got any and all medication they gave me. She'd feed me the lies I told the doctors, alongside threats.

A little later on, the B&B wasn't working out so well in my fathers favor. He was constantly annoyed and before long, people at school would notice when I jerked away from their touch. The teachers would realise that I was wearing jumpers in the dead heat of summer. People started asking questions that couldn't be answered with my force-fed lies. It started to look like I'd be saved.

But this is the 60's. Nobody really cares and all it took to make it go away was for my father to go into the school in his hippie clothes and play the game. 'Oh, our Sara. She's always been like that. We worry about her.' He'd make up lies about new rollerskates. He'd tell them I was mischievous and causing trouble for myself. He'd lie to his teeth just so he didn't have to come home and stare at my mother.

Then one day, the bank told him that he'd have to either pay up by the end of the week or get out. He was already mad at me for not covering for him, so this just added fuel to the fire. He said my- he said my rent was behind, I was in debt. He laughed and told my mother that he was going to let his friends play with his- his new toy. I didn't understand. He meant me, but at the time I couldn't quite work out why my mother snapped. She started yelling, screaming, beating his chest. He just picked her up and threw her into the kitchenette. It was like watching a film in slow motion- I saw her pick up the knife behind her back, I saw him lunge at her, and I watched as my mothers face contorted as she screamed. I saw her stab him once. Twice. Three times. Blood was everywhere, I could smell it." She paused, a smirk gracing her lips. "Medium velocity spatter" She whispered under her breath. "Anyway, she stabbed him seven times. I was maybe 10 feet away and still it was all over me. On my sweater, tangling my hair, it was even in my mouth. The taste- Oh god the taste. I liked the taste of my own blood, god knows I'd tasted it enough times, but his blood made me sick. I had no idea why she was doing this, I thought that was how families worked. The secrets, the lies, the beatings. I thought that was how it was supposed to be.

She saved me. Her insanity saved me. Social Services took me, and I moved into a foster home, but the truth of my roots followed me. I became the girl whose mother killed her father and that's all I was to them. I could have no friends, so I threw myself into studying. I got into Harvard and suddenly there was this chance to have a new life. I even made a few friends, not many mind; I was painfully shy and incredibly defensive."

Catherine was chewing on her nails and Sara hadn't touched her tea. She suddenly looked horrified, as she looked at Catherine. The realisation that she'd actually told her biggest secret to someone for the first time hit her, and she panicked. What if she didn't accept her? Would she become the girl whose mother killed her father again? Thing was, Sara wasn't so sure she could run away for a second time. She stared, waiting for a response. Anything was better than nothing.

As for Catherine, she didn't know what to do. How do you react when someone tells you the worst thing about their lives in great detail? There is nothing appropriate to do. So when she realised Sara was staring at her, she did the only thing she knew would calm her mind.

"I still love you" She said.

"I thought you might hate me. I was terrified of telling you." Sara replied, taking up her floor-staring again. "Cath?"

"Yeah?"

"I- I don't suppose you could... leave me alone for a moment?"She asked. She sounded terrified of how Catherine would react.

"Of course"

So, guys, what do you think? Too much Sara story? It might be slightly un-canon in parts, and I was worried about writing this part, it was a huge test but... I'll throw it out there for y'all.