"Kaitlyn, what are you thinking?" the woman with long blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun asks me. Dr. Karen Adams in her name. She is my psychiatrist.

What am I thinking? Many things. About the textures on your turquoise wall. About how time has aged you, bringing small creases in the corners of your eyes and the corners of your mouth. I don't want to be here. I don't need to be here.

"Kaitlyn, I can't help you if you remain so silent with me," she presses, hoping for some sort of acknowledgment.

I peer out the windows. No one is out today. I don't blame them. Who would want to be outside with the sun? Who'd want to be out when night is only a couple hours away? You probably would. You're probably the type of person who'd avoid the dark alleys near Lit-High Street. I wouldn't.

Dr. Karen sighs. She wipes her forehead. She stands up and says, "Alright, Kaitlyn. There's no need to stay here if you don't feel like talking. Next week – same time. I'll make you an appointment." She starts scribbling on her notepad and rips out a yellow slip. "Okay, give this to Dr. Harvard, okay?" She gazes into my eyes deeply, but never accomplishes eye contact. My eyes are blank.

Dr. Elizabeth and Christopher Harvard. My "parents." These two I've had for about a year now. I'm surprised they haven't give up on me yet, like the others. Like my real parents. Like all my real family: aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents . . . none of them wanted me. None of them wanted someone who does what I do. They've all given up on me without giving me a chance.

Dr. Karen looks at me. She's noticed something. "Kaitlyn," she says with concern. "Are you okay?"

Without any expression and with all my hellish thoughts racing through my brunette mind, "No," I reply softly.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

I gaze back out the window. For once, I'd love to make everyone happy. I'd love to please everyone; to change what's happened.

"Yes," I whisper. I watch as you sit back and reopen your notebook. You gaze at me lovingly, like my mother used to way-back-when.

"What would you like to talk about first, Kaitlyn?"

How I wish I knew where to start. I've never opened up to anyone before. I never knew how to. Never wanted to. That's why I'm here with you. All the other psychiatrists gave up because of my silence. I know you know that. I heard Elizabeth sob to you on our first consultation session a month ago. I heard you try to comfort her, and she said she was alright. But, you and I know better. You could tell by the look in her eyes she would never be alright. I knew it; I knew I would be slammed into the wall. And I did.

"Kaitlyn?" Dr. Karen carefully asks, bringing me back into her office, away from the memory.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Don't be, Kaitlyn."

"It's Kat." I barely notice I have uttered those words until afterwards. I shock myself. I haven't gone by that name in a long time. Before everything went wrong and downhill. Before the accident . . .

"Kat, I know you're hurting from what happened. I know it seems like everyone has given up on you. But, Kat, you need to realize they haven't. I haven't."

Haven't you? That's what everyone else said. They said that everything would be alright and would remain the same. But, their eyes said a different story. Their eyes held fear. Fear of what happened. Fear of what's to come. Fear of me. It was the same for the other psychiatrists. They were amazed of how I came out alive and the others didn't.

"Kat? Kat, I know about the accident. I know how it happened. I know about Ashley, Sarah, William, Jake, and Steven. I know what must be running through your head."

I cringe at the sound of their names. The memory returns with the pain, and the floor ruses up to me. I am lightheaded and dizzy. No, you don't understand. You never will. Not with all of your education in psychiatry and counseling. No one can understand what it's like to lose everyone and be the only survivor. Not even you.

Dr. Karen watched as Kaitlyn White fell back into her thoughts and silence. She knew she'd get no further acknowledgement. With a shake of her head, she stood up and escorted her patient out the door to wait for her guardians.

A/N: The suspense must be killing you guys, right? That last paragraph didn't turn out like I wanted it to, but I guess it's okay. Um, I didn't get the idea to make my essay about the truth for cutters until I started writing the beginning of this. If you guys think that this should be a totally different posting than that essay, please let me know! Feel free to email me, -k-? I won't bite! Thanks again for reading! Please review! I'd like to know what you think! This is going to be my first serious story about cutting, so yeah!

Damaged