WEEKS BEFORE

"Come on, Regina," the doctor said to herself, voice cracking. "Snap out of it. She's seventeen."

She brought her hand up to slap herself, but realized the childishness of the move and decided against it, instead falling to her knees beside her bed, clenching her fists and screaming until her lungs burned. Sobs shook her chest as she grabbed a pillow and clutched it tightly.

"Please, please let this pass," she prayed through the tears. "Just let this pass."

She fell asleep crying leaning against the side of the bed, her head resting on top of the pillow she was still clinging to.

THE NEXT THERAPY SESSION

"Why don't you think you're worth it?"

"I'm a freak. I'm a cutter. I don't deserve someone special. Anyone worth my love doesn't deserve to have a fuck up like me as a lover."

"Don't you think everyone deserves love and someone that cares about them?"

"Not me. I don't."

Regina sighed and rubbed her temples.

"You're worth more than you know. Your cutting doesn't make you a freak."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because it's true, Emma. Nothing you could do could make you deserve to be alone. Everyone deserves someone special. Everyone deserves to be treated right."

"What if they don't treat others right?"

"Well, they should. But that doesn't mean they deserve to be alone. Sometimes all people need is someone to truly care about them in order for them to turn their lives around."

"You think if Austin had a girlfriend he'd stop being a bully?"

"Perhaps."

Emma scoffed and shook her head.

"I hope that fucker rots in a hole forever."

"I can understand why you'd be angry at him. I'm not surprised you wish him ill will."

The girl went silent, biting her lip as she pondered this. Suddenly, she felt guilty. Deep down, she wanted to be the bigger person. She wanted to let go of everything she held inside.

"I want to stop hating him," she confessed, looking away from her therapist.

"That's good, Emma. That will take time, though. Forgiveness is a difficult path to walk down, full of discouraging obstacles. It's hard to fight the bitterness."

"Obviously, you've been through this. Who'd you have to forgive?" Emma asked boldly.

"Myself."

"I don't get it."

"I had to forgive myself for some things I've done that were very, very wrong."

Emma laughed at this, leaning her head back and resting it against the back of the chair.

"I seriously doubt you could do anything wrong, Miss Perfect."

"No one is perfect, Emma. No one."

"And I'm as far as they get."

With a sigh, her doctor replied, "You don't have to be perfect. You can just be you."

"But I hate me."

"Why?"

"I told you. Because I'm a fuck up. No one else loves me. Why should I love myself?"

"Because you deserve it. Finding the people who love you - your chosen family - is a lifelong process that takes patience. You have to encounter the people who persecute you first, and the people who will let you down. You'll find the ones who will come through for you eventually."

"How do you know?"

"Because it's how life works, and life can often be cruel. Do you feel that way?"

"Yes. And it's unfair."

Regina nodded in understanding. Having seen tragic situations like Emma's over and over again, she knew that life was far from easy. In fact, she often wondered how a god, if there was one, could be so savage.

"I know."

"I just want someone to love me," Emma said, her voice cracking as she reached for the box of tissues on the glass table between them. "I want someone to care about me, but nobody does."

As the tears began to fall, Regina felt a knot form in her own throat.

"I care about you," Regina said softly.

She wanted to reach across the table, to touch Emma's hand, to tell her everything would be okay, but she held back, respecting the boundaries between them.

Don't, she scolded herself. Don't touch her.

But the desire burned within her, called to her, begged her to give in. I just want to hold her. She wanted to scratch her own eyes out, to kill this piece inside of her that urged her to confess her love. But the flame would not die; it burned hotter each hour that passed between them, with each tear Emma shed.

"Everything is going to be okay," Regina promised. "It's all going to work out.

Emma didn't know what to say. Part of her wanted to believe her therapist, to trust her words, but the frozen part inside of her refused to give in to her longing.

"It's your job to say that," Emma sighed. "No one could ever care about a piece of shit like me."

Regina's thoughts begged to be released. I care so much more than you know. When their session was over and Emma stood up to leave, she could see the pain in Regina's eyes, even though she refused to believe that that was what it was. It couldn't have been. It wasn't possible. But still, she prayed it was true, that the doctor really cared, and that she wasn't alone.

THAT NIGHT AT EMMA'S

Emma laid on her bed clutching her pillow to her chest, feeling grateful to finally have a room to herself. In every other foster home, she'd been forced to share a room - sometimes even with boys - boys with no boundaries or self control. Her eyes squeezed shut as the last bit of sunlight snuck in through the window, stinging her eyes as the warm tears formed beneath them.

"She doesn't care," Emma whispered to herself. "She's doing her job."

But if that's true, she's doing it well. She felt the choking sobs suffocate her, locking her breaths inside her lungs. The harder she forced them down, the more they burned, pressing up against her ribs, bringing waves of pain. She strangled the pillow as the stifled sobs came out as a coughing fit, releasing the flood that streamed down the side of her face. Emma rolled onto her side. Her face grew red with anger, the bitterness squeezing her heart.

"Emma!" the voice of her foster mother called up the stairs. "Time for dinner!"

Quickly throwing the pillow to the side and leaping off the bed, she rushed to the bathroom and splashed a wave of cold water over her face to cool her cheeks and wash the tears of torment from her eyes. Her shoulders were slumped as she made her way down the stairs, her hand sliding down the railing as she struggled to hold herself up under the weight of the stress and agony of disappointment.

"What's the matter with you, punk?" her foster brother sneered, sitting down in front of his place at the table.

"Long day. What do you care?"

"I don't," he laughed.

"Jason," the mother scolded. "Leave Emma alone."

The girl breathed a sigh of relief. When they were all seated, the father, sitting at the head of the table, spoke next.

"Who wants to say grace?" he asked cheerfully, looking around at the 'family.'

"Not me," one of the boys mumbled, reaching for his fork and folding his pile of green beans into his mashed potatoes.

"Put the fork down," the mother scolded. "We're saying grace."

When no one else spoke, she took the initiative to continue and reached for the hands of the girl and boy beside her as the rest of the 'family' joined hands as well.

"Lord, thank you for the blessing of this food and this family, and thank you for the rest of the blessings we each have in our lives. Please bless us all with kindness and humility and let us love each other as God would have us do." After a pause, she said, "Amen," and the family was free to eat.

Emma picked at her food, barely eating, even though it was more of a meal than she was used to having. Somehow, regardless of the fact that she hadn't eaten yet that day, her appetite was missing. As soon as she reached her bedroom after finishing the meal and being excused from the table, she let the rest of the tears fall, soaking a spot on her pillow.

THAT NIGHT AT REGINA'S

"I don't know what to do, mother," Regina sobbed into the phone. "I don't know how to stop this."

"It's simple!" the woman snapped into the receiver. "You terminate the relationship immediately and never speak to her again. How can you be having such a difficult time with this? What's gotten into you?"

"I think I love her."

"That's RIDICULOUS!" her mother screamed, slamming her empty coffee mug on the counter in her kitchen. "The girl is seventeen! She's a minor, for Chrissakes! Regina, what are you thinking? Do you want to lose your job?"

"I can't stop this," she cried, laying on her side on the bed as she clutched her pillow to her chest.

"Of course you can. And you will. You'll break it off the next session you have, and that's all there is to it."

"I can't. I can't let her suffer this alone!"

"So get her another therapist! She's not your problem!"

"I care about her."

"That doesn't matter. Love is weakness, Regina, but even so, what you're feeling isn't love! It's infatuation!"

"But what if it's not? What if this is real? What if she's the one?"

"The one?" Cora cackled. "You're pathetic."

"Alright," the doctor conceded. "I'll end it."

But at the next session, as soon as she saw the girl's bright eyes, the windows to her broken heart, she knew she couldn't let go.