Happy Sunday and Happy New Year!

Wishing you all the best in 2021!

****Trigger Warning****

I'm actually really nervous to post this chapter.

You all know Mary and Masen are the shadows in this story. This story revolves around them, and I've worried for a long time that we would get to this point in Mary's story and some readers would stop reading because of the subject matter. To be honest, I understand. It's not easy to read certain content – especially when our own real lives (especially 2020) could use some form of happiness as a sense of escape.

However, this is Mary. Her childhood, her experiences with trauma and ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences), defines her. It's what made her go to the cliff that night when we first met her in Chapter One. It's what made her choose to try to take her own life. It's all she's ever known, and unfortunately, it's the way of life for too many children these days. If we really wanted to understand her and who she is, I couldn't pass over this part of her history.

If you're part of my Facebook group, you already know that I'm a teacher, and while I don't deal directly with the details of cases like these, these are the lives of some students that come into my classroom. I am a mandated reporter when it comes to the welfare of a child, and unfortunately, I have had to make phone calls. I will still have to.

Please consider this long-winded message from me a trigger warning for this chapter. This is the darkest we'll see from Mary, and I've left most details out, but kept the ones that are integral to her character. I hope you still stick around, and I understand if you need to skip this one.

If you make it to the end, send me a review to let me know you're sticking with me. I may not respond because I'll be hiding in the corner. My Frannie and prereaders have listened to me the past week worry about posting this chapter, but that's what happens when you sign on with me! HAHA.

Thanks for listening as always.

The window.

It was her lifeline.

It was her only hope for survival.

That was what held her head above water.

Without that, Mary would surely drown, succumbing to the darkness that threatened to consume her.

The window was her escape and her way back in when she had no choice but to come home. When Mary needed to be left alone or wanted to slip away unnoticed, she would climb through the window in her bedroom. The window was right next to her closet, so when the time came when she needed to be home, she would slide open the window and disappear into the small space of the closet for as long as she could.

Her mother, only in word and not in practice, never actually knew the time she was supposed to come home from school, and Mary used that to her advantage. She would walk home with her group of friends, laughing at the right times so no one would suspect the sadness that lived in her bones. But when it was time for her to go inside, she would dilly dally until all of them had disappeared, and then she would turn back around and head for the woods until the sun in the sky told her it was time to head back to the place that should have been home.

She would head to her window; it was always unlocked because her mother never checked those kinds of things and would silently step her way into her closet. Her bedroom door didn't have a lock, but there was a dresser inside of the closet that Mary would put in front of the closet door to give herself some extra time if needed.

Luckily, she hadn't needed the extra time in a while, but nevertheless, there was a time when she needed it monthly, then weekly, and then nightly.

By the time he was gone from their lives, Mary had learned that if she positioned the dresser just right, so that the corners lodged diagonally against both walls on either side of it, that it couldn't be pushed in any further. She would be able to push it out, but no one on the outside would be able to push it in.

Pushing the dresser in meant he was able to get to her.

He'd done enough.

The damage was already done, long before her mother finally got rid of him for good.

Even though he was gone, and a new man sat in his chair in the living room, Mary still preferred the protection of the closet. The silence. The simplicity. Her safe space.

When her mother was working, she was able to come in through the front door after school. When her mother wasn't working, that was when she hid outside, then hid in her closet, only coming out when she felt the coast was clear. Mary would pretend she had been home for hours, convincing her mother she had come in quietly hours before and had gone right to her room to finish her homework. It worked most nights, as her mother was always in and out of consciousness by the time Mary walked through the door. Her mother would shrug and talk to her like a friend – not as a parent.

If Mary had to choose, she would choose the nights where she passed her mother asleep on the couch. She preferred the times when she was unable to hold a conversation with her, simply because talking to her mother was becoming more and more frustrating as Mary grew older.

Things were good—for now.

Mom had met a man not long after the last one had gone, and things were still in the 'happy phase,' as Mary had named this portion of all of her mother's unhealthy relationships. She knew the signs all too well after living with them repeatedly since Mom had left Mary's father and everything else behind them.

In this stage, laughter from her mother filled the house instead of discarded beer cans and leftover syringes. Mary was sure they were hidden somewhere, as Mom could never go long without either of them, but when Mom was trying to impress someone new, she made the effort to keep it all out of sight.

But they always made their way back out again.

Her mother always attracted the same kind of men. Some were pulled like magnets to the drink, others to the needle. And a few, like the last one, preferred the company of little girls Mary's age to the rest of the vices lying between these four walls.

"She's not little anymore now, is she?" He had sneered when he saw Mary's first box of tampons beneath the sink.

"Oh, stop it," her mother had laughed, her face hidden beneath a plume of cigarette smoke. "She'll always be my little baby." She finished her words with a smile and a pinch to Mary's cheek, this time not feeling the adorable baby fat between her fingers. Even if it weren't for the recently purchased box of tampons, it was obvious Mary was growing up, away from that image of a dependent little girl and into someone reluctant to rely on anyone other than herself.

"She can help around here," he stated, eyes back on the television screen and lips around another bottle of beer.

"How, Laurent?" Her mother had answered, apparently annoyed that they were having this conversation yet again. "She's thirteen. Where is she going to get a job, huh?"

"James can be persuaded in other ways," Laurent replied. "Trust me."

Mary didn't know why James, their landlord, fit into this conversation.

Mary had never trusted Laurent one day in her life; she had good reason not to. It was more than a hunch, or a feeling Mary felt. Even from a young age, an age where Mary didn't truly understand what sex was or how it was to be handled, she knew the way his eyes traveled and lingered on her body that it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

"That's my daughter!" Her mother had hissed. Even a woman like her mother knew it was wrong to be having this conversation, let alone acting on it.

Angered by a woman standing up to him, Laurent slammed his drink down on the table, sloshing whatever was left in the bottle onto the floor. "Yeah, and we're behind on rent."

It wasn't thirteen-year-old Mary giving a grown man a blow job for the first time that hurt Mary the most.

It was the moment of silence her mother took to respond to Laurent's meaning behind his words.

At that moment, as Mary sat at the table in the same room with them, she knew she needed to start planning her way out before her mother destroyed her.

"…. How behind?"

The two words spoken by her mother brought any semblance of forgiveness to a screeching halt.

"Enough."

At first, it had been the neglect. It had been the jumping from house to house, couch to couch, state to state. It had been the lights flickering from non-payment, empty cabinets, and desolate refrigerators. It had been Mary learning how to wash her clothes in the sink so she would be able to go to school without anyone catching on to her mother's shortcomings. It had been learning how to make a meal stretch for two days while her mother and her boyfriend-of-the-month would go on a bender, leaving her alone wherever they were living at the time.

This time, as Mary was now old enough to take care of herself and was now growing into her curves, it became about something completely different, and Mary didn't really understand it.

She had heard some of the girls talking in the locker room at school, so she understood some of what her mother and Laurent were talking about on the other side of the room from where she sat at the dining room table.

Even with her mother's tips in mind, as the two of them went to meet their landlord, James, she still learned the hard way.

She would remember the smell of stagnant booze and rancid sweat for the rest of her life; she would never again let anyone touch the back of her head; the image of oil-stained fingernails resting against her hair made her want to pull all of it out, so she had nothing left.

"That'll cover this month," Laurent told Mary later that night when he was in her room to see if her mother had gone through with their plan. Her mother had taken her to his place that day, and James was all for it. Mary rolled over in bed, facing the wall, and felt her stomach turn once more at the thought of his taste in the back of her throat.

"It won't happen again; I promise, baby." Maybe it was guilt, Mary would never find out, but her mother had stayed in her bed with her that night until she fell asleep. She stroked the hair on Mary's head away from her face, making her flinch with each pass of her fingertips. "We're gonna stay on top of it from now on, okay?"

She laid very still, kept her breathing deep, and even until her mother was convinced Mary was asleep.

That was the first night Mary had hidden in the closet, her tears giving her the strength she needed to shove that dresser against the closed door. It was dark, and it was cold, but it was nothing compared to the ice she felt in her heart.

But Mary knew her mother.

She had lived with the woman for thirteen hellish years, so she knew the words coming out of her mouth were all lies.

She knew they wouldn't stay on top of it.

She knew it would only get worse.

And it did.

Over the next year, Mary had no choice but to grow up a lot faster than most girls her age. She knew how much money she could bring in for giving a guy head in the backseat of her mother's car. She found out she could bring in even more if she let them do other things – and even more than that if she let them do things to her that didn't bear repeating.

And eventually, when Laurent wanted in on the action, Mary had no choice but to let him whenever her mother wasn't home – Laurent was the one who kept that broken roof over their head and the measly food in their stomachs.

When she was sixteen, Laurent, long forgotten by her mother, Mary put her plan in place.

It would take a while. Years. But she would do it.

She would find a way to live without her mother.

She didn't care if it was in a house, a car, in a room, or on someone's couch.

She just needed to leave.

She was a sophomore in a new high school, new state. She knew no one except for her mother, who grew to be more like a stranger with each passing day. She had no friends, didn't really care to make any new ones, as Mary was so focused on her plan of escaping her mother's clutches that she wouldn't let anyone, or anything derail her successful execution of the plan.

"Just keep your hands off me," Mary warned him as she sat in the front seat in his driveway. He was from one of her classes, his money sitting where she could see it on the dashboard in front of them.

"Deal," he agreed, unbuckling his belt buckle hastily as he looked around his neighborhood. No one was coming – they had planned to do this in the minutes between school getting out and his parents coming home from work.

Mary didn't have many prerequisites to her plan – just that they kept their hands to themselves and had proof of payment before they started. She took what she wanted, taking advantage of some of the kids in town who had no idea the prices of some of the things they were willing to pay for.

Boys, girls, it didn't matter. It all went into putting her escape in motion.

"And tell me when."

She also liked to have a warning when they were close.

"Just do it," the boy said hurriedly. "My girl is going to be here soon."

Mary had smiled as she took him in her mouth – they all think they last longer than they actually do. He did keep up his end of the bargain and kept his hands away from her and told her when he was about to come. Easy rules to follow, Mary had thought, and very rarely did she have anyone try anything different.

She had collected her payment off the dashboard, hid it inside of her jacket hoodie, and left the boy in his car in his driveway without a goodbye or a look back.

He would be back.

And she would never turn him, or anyone down, as long as she saw the money.

The money was her ticket out, and she needed every last penny.

Exhaustion, not just physically but mentally as well, had crept into her bones with each passing step away from the boy. An hour later, with darkness creeping into the evening, Mary had rested her back against a large rock surface. She had stumbled upon the place one day by accident, maybe the second day her mother had moved her to this town.

She liked it up here.

She exhaled loudly, knowing she was the only one to hear it and reached into her hoodie to count her collection for the day.

It was there, with her back on the rock and the wind in the air, that she found out that one hundred thirty-four dollars was all she was worth in this world. She counted the money again, the sound of the weathered bills flapping in succession with the crashing waves beneath her, and realized the amount wasn't bad for a random Wednesday afternoon in high school.

Tomorrow would be a new day, and she would hopefully bring in the same amount, if not more. Mary had grown numb about these types of things; growing up with an addicted mother who allowed her daughter to be abused, mentally and sexually, would do that to a person.

Looking out onto the water below, Mary closed her eyes, thankful she had found at least one place in this new town where she could disappear to. Whenever they moved, Mary didn't care– she knew the drill.

"And who do we have here?" The secretary at her new school spoke, looking between her and her mother happily.

"Mary," her mother answered hastily. She reached over and squeezed her daughter's hand. "This is my daughter, Mary."

"Hi," was all Mary could, or wanted, to say.

With the information about her new school in her hand, Mary had said goodbye to her mother so she could explore their new town, and walked and walked until the demons in her head went to sleep and her feet had brought her here to this overlook.

It was more like a cliff than an overlook; Mary thought the first time she took a chance and peered closer to the edge. It was a long way down if she were to fall; the rocks were jointed and protruding, the water no doubt freezing as it twisted and turned beneath where she sat against the rock wall behind her.

As alarming as it was to look down, the chill in the air and the angry water below, they took her problems away, made her feel infinitesimally small – which helped her mind rest.

She would go there from time to time to get some much-needed space from her mother, who was working at a diner in town and trying to keep up with her AA meetings. Her mother was trying, which was great, but Mary learned never to put much faith in it. After all, they were in a new place, and appearances, in the beginning, meant a lot to her mother.

Regardless, when Mary was up on that cliff, alone and away from everything and everyone else, she would close her eyes and pretend—pretend her hoodie wasn't full of money from the cost of other's desires. Pretend that her escape was happening sooner rather than later.

Thoughts of later made Mary count the bills again to see how close she was to her goal. Taking the crumpled currency out of her pocket, she sighed and began again, only for a gust of wind to blow a twenty away from her pile, her hands too cold to move fast enough to catch it.

"Whoa," a friendly voice from behind startled her. "This yours?"

She didn't relax when she saw a man in uniform standing on the cliff a few feet away. Since when had a person in uniform ever helped her?

She crossed her arms across her body, making sure the rest of the money was safely hidden back inside her hoodie. It was then she spied the twenty-dollar bill within the man's fingers.

"Yes, thank you." Mary nodded and pointed towards her money. "I need that."

The man took a step closer to her, which naturally made Mary take two steps backward. The further, the better.

"I know," he responded with a smile. "Do you think I'd take your money?"

"No," she countered. He nodded good-naturedly, pleased she answered him with some sort of civility, albeit cautious. He could deal with cautious. Defensive? He'd prefer not to.

He motioned with the money and a slow step to show his intentions on giving it back to her. He pretended not to notice the wad of cash she tried to hide as she took the missing money from him, shoving it back into her pockets without a word.

"What brings you up here?" He asked once he saw her trying to figure out a way to walk past him. "It's getting late. Dark."

"I know. I was just leaving." Clipped words, tense body movements, eyes looking downwards on the grass and rocks beneath their feet.

He pointed over toward his car. She must not have heard it over the wind and waves.

"You need a ride down?" He removed his hat so she could see a headful of black hair. "It's too dangerous up here for you."

Mary's chin rose in defiance. "I can take care of myself," she spoke the words with such vitriol that he instantly got a picture of what kind of girl she was.

He held his hands up in protest.

"I never said you couldn't." He smiled again. "But I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't at least offer you my help."

He watched her look him over from top to bottom and then back up again. Arms still crossed, he noticed her hesitation in talking to him, but she did so anyway.

"What are you, a Park Ranger, or something?"

"Something like that," he chuckled and then continued, "more like the lowest man on the totem pole. I'm Deputy Swan, but you can call me Charlie."

"Charlie." She repeated his name back to him as if she were testing to find out how it would sound coming from her mouth.

He nodded happily, hoping offering his name would provide her with a sense of trust. "And you are?"

She didn't answer until she was in his patrol car, driving down the cliff with him.

"Mary."

It was the first time the young deputy had run into her on the cliff, and he knew it wouldn't be the last, despite all the times she would tell him she was fine.

He knew one day he would find her there. The hollow in her eyes growing deeper … the temperature no longer the coldest thing on that cliff.

He didn't think she'd have a will to hold on.

And on that night—on his regular patrol route a few years later, he did find her there just like he thought he would.

He always knew he'd be too late.

Even now, as she sleeps in her hospital bed, he relies on the machines around her to tell him how she is, and he feels like he is still too late.

She's alive, and he knows she didn't want that to happen; he knows she wants to be dead.

Mary may think differently; that he was actually too soon, but he wasn't able to stop her from trying – so in his mind, he is too late.

"Anything new?" His voice cracks as he speaks to a nurse who has followed him into her room.

"Same as yesterday, Sir." She answers sadly. "No change."

Sighing at her bedside, Deputy Charlie Swan wonders if Mary thinks that's a good thing.

Tell me – do YOU think it's a good thing that there's no change in Mary? We were going to check in with Masen next week but I figured we could all use some sunshine after these shadows – so we'll hear from Edward/Bella next week instead!

Thanks for sticking by!