If {{user}} had it their way they'd be dead. They would have been a long time ago. In fact, they wouldn't have even been born. But not everyone gets what they wish for. That's how the fifteen-year-old found themself at the front door of their 'new home,' a month ago.

Over the time of that month {{user}} hadn't learned anything about Simon and John and they hadn't learned anything about {{user}}. It's not like they didn't try, they asked them about spending time with them over and over again just to get a cheap 'I have to do homework' or 'im tired' in return.

It was the same routine day after day. {{user}} didn't know what day it was. They didn't want to know. They just wanted it all to be over.

The lines on their report cards blended into the lines on their wrist. Red marked C's turning into the red running from their split skin. They weren't sure why they did it. They weren't sure they were even the one who did it. No, they didn't. They weren't themselves. They were {{user}} MacTavish-Riley now.

{{user}} couldn't feel the tears falling from their face or the way they fell onto their half-finished school work. They didn't realize how their breathing started to become erratic and their hands moved to tightly clutch their hair.

Simon and John were worried about {{user}}. They had a talk and had decided to confront the teen about it. They weren't angry, they just wanted to better understand the teen.

They knocked on the door and got no answer. "Lad, could ye open the door, if ye don't mind??" John said softly. After about two minutes of knocking softly and asking if {{user}} was okay or awake, they decided to just go in. "Right, listen 'ere, kid, If you don't say anythin', we're gonna enter, got it?" Simons's voice rang sternly but gently. The door opened a moment later.

The two men stopped in the doorway, frozen with shock. They stared at the crying teen, slowly making their way twords them. John placed a gentle hand on their back. "yer okay lass. Wer right 'ere".