I felt empty, yet exposed in the tiny waiting room of the psychologist's office. I sat in an ordinary maroon chair, staring at the mint green wall. There was a clock on the wall opposite me, and it seemed to tick slowly every other minute.

"Miss Rosen? Ms. Abernathy is ready for you."

I glanced at the pretty receptionist who had spoken. She gestured toward the door for me to go, and I stood. I entered the hall quickly. I was impatient for my session to begin.

"Juliette, I'm so glad to see you!" Ms. Abernathy exclaimed, holding my hand in both of hers. I smiled at her. Ms. Abernathy was a small woman with smooth, blonde hair falling down her back. Her eyes were the color of ashes, and her skin was dark due to sun exposure. She has been my psychologist since I was a young, and her office was the only place I felt myself. The outside world was just so unappealing.

I sat on the long leather couch, leaning back to rest my head on the end. Ms. Abernathy sat in a chair beside me. She had a clipboard in her hands.

"Alright Juliette, listen to what I'm going to say," She gave me a stern look.

"The police department asked me to question you over the-the tragedy."

My eyes widened. I had no desire to revisit those horrible memories. Retelling them was like pouring rubbing alcohol onto a deep, fresh wound.

"Do I have to?" I asked quietly. She nodded, and I sighed.

"Think of it this way; you'd be helping your parents."

There was a long silence as I considered. If I helped out the Police, we'd be one step closer to my personal closure. If not, I would remain the same riddled, disturbed girl I've been.

"Fine." I said at last, and I closed my eyes.

"Ok, but I must warn you…my words might trigger flashbacks, and I want you to remain stable."

I pursed my lips. I didn't know how much control I would have over my thoughts. Ms. Abernathy took my silence as an agreement, and she leaned in closer to me.

"Tell me, Juliette, what happened on August fourteenth."

I couldn't help but let the flashbacks take over my mind. Everything about the memory was very sharp and clear.

My mother's voice sounded from downstairs. I ignored her, engrossed in my book "1984". I was hiding under the covers in secrecy.

"Please honey, close that book and shut your eyes. You need your rest." Her voice was close now. I closed my book, and pulled the covers from over me.

"Goodnight, mom." I said quietly. She came and kissed my cheek, pausing to smile warmly at me.

"Sweet dreams, my Juliette. I love you." And she walked out my room, closing the door softly behind her. When I heard her bedroom door close, I kicked the covers off me, and began reading my book again in the lamplight. It was only an hour or so later that I actually fell asleep.

Screaming, I heard screaming. I sat up quickly in the leather couch, my ears ringing. I realized I was back in Ms. Abernathy's office.

"Juliette?" She was still waiting for an answer to her question.

"I-I can't do it." I breathed. Her face softened, and she touched my shoulder.

"Just try, please."

I closed my eyes again, and let myself be devoured by my memories.

There sounds the screaming again. In the darkness, I got out of bed, my heart racing. Maybe my father was watching a horror film downstairs.

No, my mind contradicted. The scream was too real to be an actor's.

I opened my door, and tip-toed quietly down the hall to my parent's room. My hands started to tremble as I neared the door. But before I could turn the doorknob, I felt something wet beneath my bare feet.

It was warm. It was wet. It was blood.

It made a tiny stream where it filled the carvings on the wooden floorboards. I could smell the blood, and I almost collapsed.

I heard muffled moaning inside my parent's bedroom. My heart fluttered like a pair of hummingbird wings, and I opened the door.

I heard my own cries fill Ms. Abernathy's office. I thrashed my arms and legs like a tantrum-throwing child, and I could feel Ms. Abernathy's hands trying to restrain me.

"Juliette! Stop, it's okay!"

My breath escaped my lips in heavy gasps. I couldn't get a hold of myself. I had to count to twenty before I could regain control of my mind.

"She was killed," I managed to say quietly. My hands continued to tremble as I interlocked my fingers together. "I went inside the bedroom and I saw her lying in a pool of her own blood."

It was chilling to remember the details in such clarity as was shown in my mind. That was one of the things wrong with me; every little memory in my mind was shown as vivid as possible, emphasizing the horrifying aspect of every one.

The psychologist shook her head slightly, and from her pocket, she produced a small tape recorder. I narrowed my eyes at it, and I sat up.

"You could've told me you were recording me." I muttered. Ms. Abernathy stood, and she motioned for me to follow her out of the office. My session was done so soon? It usually lasted about two hours.

Ms. Abernathy shook her head, and produced a small, black tape recorder from her jeans pocket. I frowned at her, standing up.

"You could've told me you were recording." I muttered. She gestured for me to follow her out of the office.

"If I would've told you, the evidence wouldn't have been genuine." She replied darkly. As we exited her office, her expression suddenly changed. Her bright hazel eyes glistened underneath the fluorescent lights, and she smiled warmly at me.

"I'll see you next time, Juliette!" Ms. Abernathy extended her arms, and I embraced her awkwardly.

"Until then," I said quietly, and I left the clinic, disappointment beginning to fill my chest.

The sky was a misty gray when I was aroused in the morning. My eyes felt dry, and I sat up to rub the sleep away from them. There was someone sitting on the far end of my four poster bed. I waited until I could see to speak.

"What time is it?" I asked. My voice was still heavy with sleep, and I cleared my throat.

"It's almost seven in the morning."

The person on my bed was Clarissa, my twenty-eight year old sister and temporary guardian. Temporary because she is a lawyer and she hadn't any time to care for a mentally ill girl like me. The only reason she was here was because nobody else was there to look after me.

"Well, what do you want?" I leaned back against the pillows, closing my eyes. Clarissa cleared her throat awkwardly, and she inched closer to me.

"There's a letter for you. It came in the mail late yesterday, so I didn't bother to give it to you." She handed me a long, white envelope. I took the letter from her, frowning. Now, who would be sending me anything?

I tore the hem of the envelope almost eagerly, and I pulled out the folded piece of paper.

Juliette, it read.

You may not know me, but my name is Esme Rosen. I'm your father's younger sister. I live in London where I teach at the London Academy of Performing Arts. You and I have been extremely affected by Valencia and David's tragic passing, and I know it's been especially hard for you. I'm also aware that you have no permanent guardian to look after you, with Clarissa being a traveling lawyer and such. That's why I have taken it upon myself to become your permanent guardian. I want to get to know my little niece, and begin a bond with you that will last a lifetime. Enclosed are your airline tickets to London. Bring all of your belongings, since you'll be living here from now on. I'll be meeting you at the airport early Friday morning.

Sincerely, your aunt

Esme Rosen

I looked up from the letter in shock. I'm moving to London with a complete stranger that I've had no previous knowledge of?

Clarissa's expression turned sympathetic, and she reached over to stroke my long hair.

"It's going to be okay now, Julie. You'll have someone who'll always be there for you now." She smiled at me, but I pulled back away from her reach.

"Don't you understand? This is a complete stranger! I didn't even know I had a British aunt! Mom and Dad never mentioned her at all! What makes you think I'm going to be comfortable with this?" I could feel my breathing speed, and I tried to calm myself. An anxiety attack was not necessary right now.

Clarissa folded her hands on her lap. "The reason Mom and Dad never spoke about her was because she went through...some terrible mishap around the time you were born." Her lips pursed questioningly, and I almost spoke when she got up.

"Your flight is supposed to leave in the afternoon, so I advise you to start packing your things now to avoid a panic attack later." Clarissa headed for the door.

"Claire, what happened to Esme?" Clarissa paused at the threshold, and I heard her sigh very quietly.

"Let's just say she lost a child."

"During pregnancy?" I asked.

"No, after. Now, stop trying to interfere with someone else's personal business. It's rude," Clarissa turned to face me, her cheeks tinged pink.

"And don't call me 'Claire.' It's unprofessional."

"Then don't call me Julie." I shot back. She shook her head.

"Little sister has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, but she's still very rude."

I smiled at her comment, and she left my bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and I grabbed Esme's letter.

So, I'm going to be living in England now, under what seemed to be a constant cover of rainclouds. Or at least, that's what people said. It always rained in London. I pulled out the single airplane ticket. It was a direct flight from here, Dallas, to London. No other airport connections and a total flight time of eight hours and fifty-five minutes.

I sighed, and headed for my closet. My luggage case was already by the closet door. Clarissa must've placed it there. I nudged it open with my toe, and began throwing my clothing inside.

"Britain, here I come," I thought darkly.

Hayden

I stood underneath the porch ceiling, watching the rain fall in tiny droplets. I didn't want to get wet. The rain seemed to be dirty and unsanitary. And not to mention the fact that I had on a new pair of trousers and a new leather jacket. I had to look my best at school, or else I wouldn't be where I was now; popular and not unnoticed.

"Here you are, sweetheart," I turned at the sound of my mother's voice. She was carrying a black umbrella over her shoulder, and I reached for it.

"Thank you, Mum." I said, opening it and descending down the porch steps.

"Don't be late for dinner, Hayden! Remember, Bryony and her parents are joining us!" Mother called quickly. I swore under my breath. I didn't need my irritating, whiny girlfriend and her obnoxious parents in my house for supper.

I climbed into my Mercedes Benz, shaking the umbrella so that it wasn't dripping wet when I brought it inside. My momentary annoyance with the news of Bryony's parents coming for dinner made me feel even worse than I usually did on rainy mornings.

But even if I did feel negative today, I must put on a smile before everyone at school.

To lead them on in the façade that I nonetheless perfect before their eyes.

"Hey there, Hayden." Someone greeted me as I entered the room. I looked around and caught the mahogany eyes of an unknown girl. I smiled politely, and continued down the classroom's corridor. My seat was in the very middle of the class, emphasizing the way I was seen around here; the centre of attention.

As soon as everyone was seated, the Drama Professor, Miss. Clarke, entered the room, strolling in slowly. Everyone had closed their mouths, as she wasn't tolerant with talkers.

The Professor flipped her long, red hair over her shoulder, fixing her blue eyes on us.

"Good morning, students. Today, I have a delicate surprise for you all!" Miss. Clarke said, clapping her hands together. Some of the students began to speak, but she held one finger to her lips. There was quiet again.

Miss. Clarke smiled, and she inclined her head to one side.

"Come in, darling. The class is waiting." She said quietly, and I looked towards the door.

A girl that I had never seen before walked in slowly, her long, auburn hair flowing behind her. She was quite slender, and her skin was the pretty shade of beach sand. When she turned to face the class, I was stunned by the emerald green colour of her eyes.

"Introduce yourself, girl." Miss. Clarke said impatiently. The new student bit her lip at the professor's sudden crispness, and I could see the skin of her cheeks redden.

"I'm-I'm Juliette Rosen. I came here from the United States to live with my aunt." The girl, Juliette, said quickly, which made her blush even more prominently.

"Rosen? As in Esme Rosen's niece?"

Juliette nodded, and Miss. Clarke's impatient expression turned into one of awe, and she didn't bother to quiet the class as their whispers of excitement filled the room. Esme Rosen is one of London's most recognised musicians, having established the London Academy of Performing Arts especially for talented students.

"Look at that. She's a yank, and got into this school because of Esme Rosen. She must not be talented at all musically wise." A girl whispered behind me. I wanted to turn around and scowl at her, but I kept my eyes on Juliette. She really was something to look at.