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Boyd Ainslie | Red Riding Hood (ex_sanguine300) wrote in bellumlogs,

Boyd had never cared for group therapy. She had too many secrets to hide, too many things that could make everyone end up instantly dead for confidences to be a good thing, but this place was different than the places before. It was all about secrets, for starters.

She'd barely been out of bed, but she could hear the voices in the hall and in the rooms adjacent to hers. All scared, all hiding. Every time someone entered the front doors of the shelter, word carried like a message from floor to floor. Boyd was on the third floor, and by the time the message made it to her, it was almost always frantic with fear.

A forty-year-old male with a spanish accent might bring sighs of relief for one woman, while making another wail in fear, for example. Boyd wasn't the only woman sitting around the circle who didn't truly fear the person hurting them, though, and that alone worried her. Because as the women told their stories, she felt strongly that they should be worried. It made her wonder if they would feel the same way about her.

The blonde, who was sitting two seats down from her, caught her attention because of the bandage visible on her shoulder, under the fabric of her shirt. She looked familar, and Boyd almost missed her own turn to talk, she was so busy looking at her.

"I'm... I don't wanna lie about my name, so let's just go with Red, since I don't feel so bad about that," she admitted. She felt a little clearer with fewer drugs in her system, even if she was shaking and hugging herself to try to still her body. "My boyf-" she paused, corrected, "my ex, he don't mean to hurt me. He wouldn't do it intentional."

That was all she was going to say right now, and she crossed her arms over her chest to make it known.