ABOUT RONAN

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careful follow my instruction,[break]
and I will show you self-destruction

The first time you’re locked away, a bruise is forming on your cheek and your face is stiff with dried tears. No amount of crying and pleading did any good. All that got in response was slurred words and large fists pounding on the door to shut up. It was your fault you were in here. That’s what mom told you. Your fault, if only you’d been better. Maybe then you wouldn’t have ended up here. [break][break]
The second time you’re locked in the pantry, you’re shoved and the walls you stare at seem to close in around you. You can’t feel your legs. The pantry is too small to stretch out, so you tuck your knees up close to your chest. You blink at the darkness, there wasn’t even light shining through the crack in the door. It was pitch black and despite the exhaustion that drags at your eyelids, it isn’t enough for you to nod off. The heavy air makes it impossible to take a deep breath. When someone remembers to let you out, they tell you it’d only been an hour, but you could’ve sworn it was much longer.[break][break]
It’s after the third time that you decide to stop counting how many times you end up. It’s around that time that they realise how scared you are of that place, cruel smiles stretching across cracked lips as they throw you into that tiny space and lock you in. They laugh in your face with reeking breath. Sneer in your direction when they ask, ‘why the hell are you crying’ and when you try to answer they’ve already stopped listening. [break][break]
You should resent them, you should hate them with everything you have. They’re the ones that hurt you and lock you in that awful room. But you just can’t. You just want them to look at you, without that anger… that disdain. You want them to hug you -- to love you -- because after all, that’s what parents were supposed to do. [break][break]
[break][break]
The woman is a friend of your parents, or at least that’s what she tells you when she finds you, huddled up in that tiny kitchen pantry. She held a certain beauty to her, a crooked smile on her lips and soft words whispered in your ear. Her pupils are large and bottomless, but you could tell her eyes were a pretty copper brown. For long minutes, she just spoke to you, asking you questions and prompting you for an answer. Then she interrupts you, dark eyes gleaming.[break][break]
[break][break]

When your tiny world shatters it’s done on the tail of a high.[break][break]
It’s a detective who guides you out, dragging you into a world of flashing lights and raised voices. For a moment, you almost want to hide in the pantry. But the air outside is so fresh and the thought of being back in that room makes your chest tight. So, you go with him.
Jackson “Jax” Henley. A detective. A man who was just doing his job. The man who saved you. [break][break]
You expect him to pass you off to the emergency medics and leave. Maybe even arrest you, put the cuffs on your wrists and throw you into the back of the squad car with your mother and father. But he doesn’t and you’re secretly glad. He stays and speaks to you. Even when you don’t reply, he still stays, a steady presence at your side. When he goes to stand up, you panic. You grab the scratchy material of his navy uniform and you let the fear rule you.[break][break]
[break][break]
After that, it’s a blur. The first few weeks were full of hospital visits, unrecognisable faces and legal paperwork that Detective Henley tried his best to explain to you. You were sick for most of it, fevered and fighting the urge to retch. You operated on what felt like a barely functional auto-pilot, memories arranged incorrectly and imagination betraying reality. People asked you questions, you answered to best of your ability. People asked you to take medicine, you took it without question.[break][break]
It was all so hazy and your body always felt so heavy back then. But you distinctly remember when Detective Henley asked if you wanted to see your parents. Your answer was short, something you barely had to think about before you forced it out.[break][break]
[break][break]
He never asked you again. [break][break]
After a while, you were allowed to stay with the detective. The room you stay in is big and the walls are painted light blue. Everything so soft, and when you go to bed that night with a belly full of food, you couldn’t help but feel like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. When you go to sleep that night, it’s that woman’s face that you see. It’s your parent’s words cutting your skin and its needles piercing your skin. [break][break]
You wake up with tears on your cheeks and Detective Henley there to see you cry, gently rubbing your back as you sob. [break][break]
At breakfast the next morning, he asks you to just call him Jackson. [break][break]
There’s a custody battle, but it goes by so fast that it could barely be called a fight. As a case it built against his parents, and their crimes are listed to the court, that’s the one time when he almost feels sorry for his biological parents. But the longer you stayed with Jackson, the more you realised just how much they’d stolen from you.[break][break]
Things with Jackson were far from perfect. You were a child, a child with scars and an addiction that you were fighting to get rid of. Everything felt like a battle, every little accomplishment made often eclipsed by the next obstacle. But it was better than what you had, so you kept going. [break][break]
School was a struggle to adjust to. When Jackson so much as raised his hand, you would have to stop yourself from flinching. You’re left starry eyed when you had pancakes for the first time. It takes Jackson six times until you’re able to tell him that you want to try cooking. When you got an MP3 player for your birthday, you almost cried because no one had ever cared enough to celebrate the day you were born. You’re fifteen when he lets you have his last name, and you finally feel like you belong.[break][break]


[break][break]

the cracks can't be mended,[break]
but here's some liquid gold

You stared down at the small figure being ushered into the house, the second addition to the family and you can tell, this one would be a permanent fixture. You can see it in her wild blue eyes, desperate for something. For something soft and warm -- anything that resembled love. Jackson was lucky to have gotten to her before anyone else did. [break][break]
The shock of red hair reminded you of a bonfire, and was in need of a good comb. She was so little, all bony limbs and a chip on her shoulder. The bruises on her knuckles and the anger in her eyes were painfully familiar. [break][break]
You can hear Jackson quietly introducing you to the miniature spitfire, and something inside you clicked. This teenager -- this child -- had already experienced so much pain and loss. You weren’t about to make her feel that again. [break][break]
So, you held out a hand, and when she restlessly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, you tried not to let the flood of sympathy overtake you. You pushed past the way your chest tightened in response to her sharp gaze and spoke softly, cautious and low, like anything louder would spook her.  “Hello, Aria. My name is Ronan.” [break][break]
You pause as she tips her head to look up at you, eyes meeting yours with a note of defiance. She had no hopes, no expectations of how this foster family would play out. That way, she wouldn't be disappointed. [break][break]
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For a moment, she doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even blink as she lowers her gaze to your outstretched hand. Then, you watched with a heavy weight on your chest as her expression crumbles and tears started to fall down her cheeks. Her hands reach forward to grasp your own. Her hands shake as she openly sobs, barely managing a nod in answer to your question. She looks so tiny and fragile, even when you feel the scars scattered across her fingers you can’t help but want to protect her.[break][break]

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call me
KILEO

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