When you wake up wanting me
And you can't go back to sleep
Change your mind
When you're weak and all alone
And you're reaching for the phone
Change your mind
Keep on going til you're gone
Even when you when you think it's wrong
When you look back in regret
The moment that you left

There's something so comforting about the way the hot water pounds on my back as I sit with my knees bent to my chest in the shower. Something calming. Abusive even. Something I'm used to, far from the comforting caress that living inside this house has given me. Something that reminds me I am dirty. I am broken. That I am no good for him. And I choose to sit this way in the shower, with my back facing the faucet, because that means I am facing his room. And if the wall weren't there, he could see right into my eyes. And I clutch his body wash closer to my chest, inhaling his scent, causing my heart to break just a bit more. I sit there remembering how he smelt when his lips pushed themselves against mine, gently at first, and then with such force that we knocked teeth. And I was embarrassed because I totally forgot to brush my teeth that morning, but I didn't care, because his hands were on my waist. He was finally holding me and he didn't seem to care that my breath smelt like onions and cream cheese. And so neither did I.

I remember that it was around midnight in the Adams Foster household, and each bed would have their respective owner sound asleep in them, but not mine. And hopefully not his either, but we regulated ourselves to one Tuesday a month. One blissful Tuesday where we would stay up all night, whispering to each other in the living room, where he held me. One six hour time span where he was just Brandon. And I was just Callie. And we were just two kids in love. As the sun rose in the sky, we would untangle our limbs, and tiredly climb back up the stairs and pretend to wake up. Pretend that we had actually slept the night before...

The not sleeping thing was easier for me, than tossing and turning in those blue polka dotted sheets, my mind replaying that one kiss and those conversations. Because we didn't dare do anything but cuddle in the household anymore. Because for some reason we decided to give in and try to stop loving each other. To me, it is the single most stupid fucking thing I've ever done in my life. Because I love that boy, and I know I love him, and he knows I love him, and the family knows I love him. But we all pretend that I don't. What a bunch of fucking liars we are...

And the disgust at myself that tears through me on a warpath has me reaching behind me to turn the hot water up higher, trying to inflict just a bit more pain onto myself, because I'm hopelessly numb. I have been for a while, a coping mechanism of sorts. But I can feel him, and his touch sets me on fire, and tonight I'm blazing under the constant torrent of water streaming down my body. And try as hard as I can to get the feel of his lips off of mine, or his hand off of my ass...

When the water starts to sputter out of the shower head, and I can hear the water heater rattle, I allow myself to sob. I've already scrubbed my body red, but I have to get rid of these feelings, even if it kills me. So I clamp my hand to my mouth, and I cry, and I gag, and I try to rid myself of Brandon Michael Foster, but I can't. Because he's got this magical fucking hold on me, and just looking into his eyes makes me wet. I've ruined so many pairs of panties because of that boy, and he doesn't even know it. And I think to myself if I could just fuck him once...

But once with him would never be enough, and I'm smart enough to know that. And he knows of my past, and he's gentle, and I know in my heart that he won't hurt me. So I touch myself to thoughts of him, and I silently wish that he does the same. When I close my eyes, I let myself remember the fire that his skin ignites on my body, and I countdown the days until three Tuesdays from now when he can hold me on the couch.

I start to despise Tuesdays and love them at the same time.

When the water runs cold I turn the tap off, silently toweling dry and slipping one of his discarded tshirts over my head, letting the gentle cotton caress my breasts, letting myself feel close to him once again. I sit on top of the toilet seat with the bathroom door open just a crack, because I'm not yet used to being enclosed in small spaces. I watch as the steam rises out of the bathroom, curling out of the door, floating away in what I assume is his direction. Because every little fucking part of me is drawn to him, like moths to a flame.

It's when I finally decide to walk back to my bedroom that I hear the quiet caress of his voice, and it clutches onto me, pleading with me to stay just a moment longer, just hear him it says. And I'm not sure if his voice paralyzes me, or if I'm just too stupid to walk away. But my brain and my heart and my body all want me to listen to that voice, the words caressing my body, causing the fire between my legs. And I moan softly into the night air, my eyes flirting with the morning of a Monday. I know I shouldn't, but I creep closer to his door, settling myself onto the wood, and listen.

Change your mind
Baby don't come back this time
Don't wanna have to say goodbye
All over again
So if you think there's still a chance to make it right
And I'm the only one you want tonight
Change your mind
Change your mind

I listen to his fingers as they press the white and black keys that he loves so much, playing with such a pain that I put in his heart. Because I know I shattered this boy when I told him goodbye, when I packed up my bags and I ran off with Wyatt. I knew the destruction I would be leaving behind, and I knew that I would come back to them. To him. Because for some reason even my traitorous fucking blood seems to flow in his direction.

The hurt in his voice startles me, the begging and the pleading. And I silently agree that I shouldn't have done this to us, that I should have never let him kiss me. But I did, and I can't take it back, because for fuck's sake, I'm pretty sure that I initiated the kiss. I'm almost positive that I wanted him since the first time I laid my eyes on him, that I wanted to fuck him as soon as he laid that piece of lasagna on my plate. Right there. On the dinner table. In front of his seemingly perfect family.

But I controlled myself for two months, 8 long weeks, of spilling my secrets one by one. And he, the boy who I broke so completely, stood before the brick wall that was me, and beat on the red stones until his hands were bruised and bloody. And he kept coming back for more because with each punch I gave him a smile, or a laugh, or a little morsel of information. And then came Liam, whose name still causes such a panic in my heart. And I could see the hurt on his stoic face clearly after two years, the rage that flashed through his eyes and his body as his jaw clenched and unclenched. When I spilled my darkest secret of all, when I told him exactly how dirty I fucking was.

But he loved me anyway, and that was scary as...fuck. It was scary as fuck. It is still scary. And I hear him take a breath behind his bedroom door, his voice caressing my name as it rolls off of his tongue, and I swear to god I think I may have just came in another pair of panties, bringing my total number down to three clean pairs. Because how do I tell moms that I need new underwear because their son makes me orgasm without even touching me? Being women themselves, they will know exactly why I have stuffed the panties into the legs of my jeans, in hopes that they won't ever notice them. But I know they will and my face grows red in embarrassment, sitting in this hallway. And I know I've soiled myself because I can feel it gathered between my legs and I hate myself just a bit more. But he continues playing, and if possible, my body moves closer to the door...closer to him.

In the early morning haze
When my kiss is all you crave
Let it go
Cause I don't wanna do that dance
The push and pull, the second chance
I already know
Yeah, I know
You'll just promise me forever
And then you'll take it back just like that
Say you can't live without me, then you'll

It takes me a while, because my mind is paralyzed by his voice, my nerve endings are on fire, and all I want is for him to touch me. To make me feel clean, because even after my shower I feel filthy. But he thinks I'm beautiful, and I guess that's okay, because I don't see what he sees. I see a disposable girl with mousy brown hair and eyes that are too close together. I see ribs that are finally growing some fat, because there is actual food in this foster home. I see the jagged cracked tooth when I smile and am instantly reminded when I took that kick to the face for defending Jude. And as the clock reaches one am on a Monday, almost one week before graduation, I wish that I could finally see what he sees.

And I remember the day I showed up on their doorstep after leaving Wyatt at a gas station in Kentucky. My hair was dirty, and I was dirty, and I smelled like shit, and I didn't even bring a toothbrush with me... But he pulled me into this hug, pressing my disgustingly dirt caked body closer to his own, and kissed me. Right there on the front porch, he kissed me, holding my face to his with the palms of his hand, his to undue searching in my mouth, probably for the meal I had a week ago. But he was kissing me again, and I was on fire, and I didn't car that we just broke about a hundred rules for the second time in as many weeks, so I kissed him back. And I know my mouth tasted like crap and my breath reeked, but he didn't care, and so I didn't either.

My ass has fallen asleep, and I didn't realize it until now, but he didn't shut his door all the way, and I'm halfway in his room now, and I can hear him clearly, and better yet I can see him. His shoulders are hunched over his keyboard, and his body is rigid, and he is shaking. It takes me a minute to realize that he is sobbing his way through the song, crying over his keyboard at one in the morning, to a song that so clearly portrays everything he wishes his mind could say to me.

And I know I'm not supposed to, because it's not Tuesday. But I move deeper into his room, my mind telling me yes, my body telling me yes... Before I know it I've crawled onto his bed, clutching his pillow closer to my chest, gathering his blankets around my body, and I stare at him. And I don't feel weird because I know I'm welcome here. I know I'm safe here, and in between his sheets I feel beautiful and I know in his arms I could begin to see what he sees. I want that for myself, I want to be able to look into the mirror and know I'm not disposable, to know I'm loved...to know I'm wanted.

"Hi." I say to him, thankful that I closed and locked the door behind me, because he jumps so far off of his bench, his fingers slipping off of the keys, hitting the wrong notes and he turns to look at me. And I wish I could say that the spell was broken, but it's not, because I'm wearing his shirt, and I washed myself in his body wash, and I'm laying in his bed, and I can tell from the way he is looking at me, that he's aroused. I remember the way his hand felt when it slipped over my ass in the cold ocean water a few days ago after prom. And I remember how excited I was to feel his hardened member pressed into me at the base of my stomach, to know that touching me, seeing me did this to him. And he didn't force me to suck him off, and so I love him more than I did before. Because all he did was kiss me, and touch my ass, and hold me.

"Hi," he whispers back to me, his left hand reaching behind him to flick off his keyboard. And I can see the bulge in his pants already, and that makes me feel strong, in control. And I know I shouldn't, but I'm surrounded by him, and so I reach down and touch myself in his bed. I moan and his eyes grow wide, because he knows what I'm doing, and it's turning him on endlessly.

"Callie," he says in an exhale of breath, his chest heaving, and his eyes growing darker by the thought of me touching myself in his bed. And there is a part of me that wishes he would grab himself while staring at me, but he's too kind to do that, and will probably wait until I'm safely back in my bed before relieving himself, in this very same bed, surrounded by the thought of me, and the warmth left behind by my burning body.

Change your mind
Baby don't come back this time
Don't wanna have to say goodbye
All over again
So if you think there's still a chance to make it right
And I'm the only one, the one you want tonight
Change your mind

I don't remember exactly how he ended up in bed with me, or how I could ever not want him to touch me like this again. And I fear the heat of my body will set this entire fucking house on fire, but when his hands ghost over my breasts I moan into his mouth. And I feel him stiffen against me, because I think he's just realized that I'm wearing his shirt, and I smell like him. My hair has dried now, framing my face in a mass of wildly disorganized pieces, and I know they're in his nostrils, and damn it all to fucking hell if I didn't forget to brush my teeth again.

But I've come to the realization that when it comes to him he doesn't care if I'm pristine and new and shiny. He doesn't care that I'm used, abused, dirty, and dull. To him I am perfect, and the feeling of knowing that someone loves me, like actually loves me, causes tears to fall from my eyes. And I know that I love him even more when he removes his hands from my body and stands up so quickly. And I know that the tears are what caused him to pull away from me, and so I reach back out to him. Silently begging him to touch me again.
"Brandon, please." I finally say when he doesn't climb back into the bed with me, when he doesn't begin to touch me.

"You're crying Callie." He responds, sitting himself back onto his bench in that alcove. And though I hate to leave the safety of his bed, and his scent surrounding me, I get out of the bed. I stand in front of him, placing my hands on his cheek.

"I'm happy." I say before taking off his shirt that I stole two years ago, and standing in front of him. Naked from the waist up. And before I can change my mind I hook my hands into my shorts and soiled panties and pull those down as well. I don't know where this courage came from, but I'm suddenly straddling him on that fucking bench, and he's moaning and I'm moaning and it all sounds like music to our ears.

And like I said I knew fucking him once would never be the end of it, and in my mind I had solidified our decision to run to Boston. Because while he was inside of me, with my hands pressed on those black and white keys that he loves, and his hands gripping me ass so tightly I fear he might bruise the cheeks, I finally see myself the way he sees me.

And we finish in his bed, and he kisses me face so gently, and continues to kiss me as our heart rates return to normal. I sigh and lay my head on his chest.

"Let's leave tomorrow." I whisper before extracting myself from him and putting his clothing back on my body. And this time I leave my soiled panties on his bedroom floor, a little reminder to get him through the next twenty four hours in this house, because I will have the comfortable ache between my legs. I return to my bed with not just myself drying on my thighs, but him as well. And for the first time in my life, I don't feel dirty.

Change your mind
Change your mind

A/N: Song is Change Your Mind as sung by Claire Bowen and Sam Palladio. I officially declare this prequel completed. I hope you enjoy, and I never thought Callie's section would be just as sexual as it turned out to be. thanks for reading, see you all in the confines of The Letter.