Chapter One: Adjusting to the Darkness

Callie sat up abruptly, startling the couch springs she was currently draped across and causing them to squawk irritably. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness but did not register their immediate surroundings. Her watch read 4:02 am and she breathed an audible sigh of relief, albeit a short-lived one. Time rooted Callie to reality in a way that nothing else could. She engaged in a familiar game: Where am I today? Scanning the black that enveloped her, Callie could just decipher the outlines of an old rocking chair to her left. The sheets that loosely covered her stiff and aching body smelled of moth repellant and were adorned in a crisp lace. Handmade? Most definitely old. Clues slowly swam to Callie as the seconds ticked by in rhythm with her heart.

Wyatt's grandmother's house. Indiana.

The events of the last week came flooding back now, and Callie squeezed her eyes shut again in response, willing oblivion to wash back over her and erase all of the mistakes. Or at least her memory of them. She could effortlessly identify what she needed now. It felt so odd. It had been so long. Since Juvie. But, even back then, however hard she had fought to repress it, she'd still had her childish hopes to sustain her.

This was worse. She had gained and lost her silent hope so fast that a wave of nausea crept up Callie's throat at the thought of it. She swallowed hard and repeated her mantra while breathing deeply. No weakness. No weakness.

The irony of it all twisted the pit of her stomach. She had actually obtained what she tried to deny herself from yearning for all of these years, the concept that she fiercely adopted as one that did not matter to her in the slightest: an offer to love her… unconditionally… to keep her and Jude. Over the years, "the thing with feathers" demanded inhibition because its open existence could have shattered her. No expectation equals no consequent disappointment or pain. Callie knew that as surely as she knew her own rap sheet.

So, as Stef's words had slowly registered, Callie had cautiously stolen glances at her foster mothers' faces, her downcast eyes drifting back and forth between them as though judging traffic patterns and whether or not it was safe to cross… Did they actually look slightly fearful, or was that Callie's imagination playing cruel tricks? As though her answer would truly affect them. Pity was all they felt for her, Callie mentally justified, her protective instincts kicking in. It was Jude that they preferred; she was just a burdensome appendage.

But, try as she might, in that moment all of Callie's half-buried hopes had danced in front of her like mocking ghosts, and it had just been too much. She had lost herself and become drunk on the teasing mirage of it all; her dreams becoming material, something she could maybe touch, hold onto for dear life, forever. Briefly, the image of Pinocchio flashed before her still closed eyes, and, "Look Pa! I'm a real boy!" rang in her ears. She should have known that her wishes were wooden and that they could easily burn in the flame of her desires. And fires got out of control. Quickly. Callie laughed bitterly, and then checked herself for it. She was not alone in this house after all, and she couldn't get caught now. Not when she had a plan.

Chapter Two: What is there to Say?

It had been a long drive to Indiana. Wyatt had not pressed her to talk about why she was on this particular odyssey, but that changed after they had both tensed up when his phone rang yesterday afternoon. Callie's hand had jumped of its own accord when she saw the familiar number scrolling across his screen. A quiet but insistent, "No!" escaped her lips as her hand hurriedly guided his away from the vibrating device. Wyatt had consented, but his eagerness to know the truth outweighed his natural tendency for respect at that point.

"Why aren't you talking to Stef and Lena, Callie?" He had inquired, keeping his eyes on the road while attempting to exude indifference. "They are obviously worried about you. Did something happen with Brandon?" At this, he had turned and faced her without judgment, although the core of him still resonated with the sting of rejection.

Callie had exhaled deeply, turning her cheek to the passenger window so that she could watch the cornfields fly by. She had not known that there was so much open space outside of California. If Stef was calling Wyatt, then it wasn't long before she would track Callie down and bring her home. She could not let that happen. She had promised Jude that she would be selfless, and this was what that looked like. Callie knew that she would have to leave the comfort of Wyatt's familiarity soon, and she wanted to confide in him. After all, he had pushed her to pursue Brandon, so it wasn't like she had to defend herself entirely. On the other hand, if Stef was close to finding them, the less Wyatt knew the better. What if he told the Fosters that Callie and Brandon had kissed? On the other hand, what if Jude or Brandon told them? Callie didn't think that the latter was likely, or even the former, but her head was spinning with all of the possibilities, and none of the results appeared favorable. Because of that, she had told Wyatt the truth. They kept driving. After all, what was there to say?

Chapter Three: Urgency

Callie rose from the antiquated couch, having fully redeemed her faculties. A sense of urgency was passing over her now that she had set her mind on the task ahead. The clock read 4:05 am. She was sure that Wyatt and his family would not rise for at least another hour, so she had the time that she craved, even though she knew that it would be smarter to head out immediately. She felt around the folds of her bag, anxiously seeking what she had not needed for so long. She turned a dry sob into a cynical chuckle with effort. To think that she had almost thrown it away. To think that she had actually believed, even for an instant, that she could be healthy, that she could love and be loved. For a while, she had even convinced herself that no one would ever have to find out this sordid detail of her past—after all, the scars littered her inner thighs, and Callie would not let anyone close enough to see them, ever. She had been led astray enough to believe that this means of survival would simply vanish, untraceable, with impunity. She could not fathom how she had let her guard down so considerably as to allow for this belief in the first place. It was certainly not a conscious decision, but one that had wormed its way into her psyche, born of the countless smiles and endearing comments bestowed upon her. All of which were lost now. She had nailed the coffin shut herself, with her lips no less. As she found her treasure and twirled the trapezoid blade in her fingertips, Callie contemplated the placement of her newest reminder that she was undoubtedly cursed, and surely not deserving of anyone's affection. The metal felt cold, but Callie was warmed by the reunion. She wanted to look as ugly as she felt. To mark herself as undesirable forever, so that no one else could crack the foundations of her soul in the way that Stef and Lena had.