The rooms are all huge with elevated beds or multiple beds or so much technology I'm half convinced it might short-circuit.

I pick a random room decorated entirely in purple, but I can't sleep.

I'm in a new bed in a new room in a new home in a new city in a new "state" in a new country with my new brothers.

New, new, new, new, new.





I only had one friend back home in Manitoba. Her name was Annie, and she was amazing.

She was the one person who knew about the abuse.

She was also the one person who I spoke to. Or trusted.

She may have been my only friend, but she was my best friend.

One day, I snuck through her window, covered in cuts and crying.

She had screamed at first, and her parents came running, so I hid under her bed. She said an owl flew into her window and startled her awake, and her parents believed it.

I crawled out and she brought me to the bathroom, washing me up as I told her what happened.

She stared at me firmly, and crossed her arms.

"You're too trusting, Aurora," she told me, handing me a bandage. "Most people would become cold, closed-off, rebels, or bullies if they went through what you go through. But you... You seek comfort in others. You still choose to see the best in people, no matter how many times they hurt you. If someone is nice to you, you trust them."

"You trust people," I argued.

"To a certain extent," she corrected. "I get to know them. And if they hurt me, I'm not their friend. You are so used to being hurt, you can't see when the people who are 'nice' to you are actually harming you." She brushed the hair out of my face and leaned in. "Sometimes I think you don't care. That you do see it. But those small moments of kindness in between keeps you there, makes you stay. You are so desperate for affection, you take it, even if it's toxic."

She was right, and I knew it. So I cried even harder.

And she didn't apologize, since she didn't do anything wrong. She just pulled me closer and held me while I cried.

I went home before Nathan woke up, and Annie and I never spoke of it again.

But she brought it up a few months later.

"She's horrible to you," I was telling Annie.

And she crossed her arms and gave me The Look. The one she reserved for when I was being hypocritical.

"Aurora Isabella." When she used my middle name, she was serious. "Who's that new friend of yours? Katie? She is such a bitch to you."

"She's not..."

"She is. But you like her."

"She's nice to me."

"Yeah, like, twice a month. Aur, you can't love people who don't love you back." She rested her head on my shoulder. "Wanting love from someone who doesn't want to love you will destroy your fucking heart."

That became a motto of mine, something I try to remember.

"She uses you, and she says she loves you to keep you around. And you stay because your dumbass parents can't see what an amazing daughter they have. You need validation from others, no matter the cost." She kissed my cheek. "But, Aur, you are perfect."

"I'm flawed," I corrected.

"Imperfectly perfect, then. Your flaws make you human, and embracing them without bringing others down makes you perfect."

I wrote our conversation in my journal later that night, and cried myself to sleep, the cold of the concrete biting through my thin clothes.