At the sight of her tears, Mrs Johnson began to cry too. She shook her head, trying to conceal the contortion of her face. She turned to leave the room and through the sounds of her cries she called behind her, “You clean it all up and for God’s sake don’t show anyone.” Her footsteps and sobs sounded down the hallway to her room.

Aria’s world was spinning. As if a perfect mirrored reflection of Mrs Johnson’s sobbing, she cried into the container of the lonely bathroom. She knew she was on thin ice and had been for quite some time.

The Johnsons had been planning to adopt her shortly after fostering her, just as they had done with her younger sister. But Aria’s frequent behavior problems had caused them to delay, and now, Aria was facing the possibility of being given up entirely. Her deep fear of being forsaken bubbled up with each sob.

She sat in the bathtub, crying, until she was shivering and the blood had stopped running from her forearms. She turned on the warm water. It stung as she cupped it over her arms, washing them clean of congealed blood. She dried them off and wrapped them sloppily in paper towel, anchoring it to her arms with uneven strips of duct tape. When she was done, aside from the warmth of it having been used, the bathroom looked as if nothing had taken place. She dumped the bloodstained towel down the laundry chute and walked to her room to find a long-sleeved hoodie to wear.

That week, Aria found herself contained within the astringent walls of a psychiatrist’s office. She flexed her feet. The leather couch squeaked under her weight. She filled out the patient intake form as the man sitting across from her studied her. When she handed him the completed form, he set it on his desk and proceeded to talk. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.

“Yes,” Aria said. “I’ve been hurting myself.”

“It says here that you’re in foster care, is that true?”

The psychiatrist shifted in his chair, adjusting the glasses on his nose as he awaited her answer. Aria nodded.

“Why are you hurting yourself?” he asked.

“It feels better. Everything just gets really quiet,” Aria said, pausing to put her elbows on her knees and resting her temples on her palms. “I don’t see why this is such a big deal to everyone.”

“It’s a big deal to everyone because we can’t have you being a danger to yourself, or to anyone else for that matter,” the man answered. He looked down at his hands in his lap and Aria could see that he was balding.

Sensing that this man was accustomed to extreme emotional displays, she seized the opportunity to release the pressure. “I fucking hate this place,” she said. “Who the fuck would want to live here?”