"I know what it feels like. I really do, but you can't... you have to keep trying. The alternative isn't better, even though you might think it feels that way." It was hard to convince Boyd of the very thing the doctors had tried to convince her years ago, mainly because it had taken her a long time to actually believe it.
She tensed at the thought of talking about what had happened with someone who wasn't her psychiatrist, but if there was anyone who would understand, it would be Boyd. Besides, she had told her everything - which meant there was trust. "I guess I just... haven't talked about it in so long." Hannah hesitated for a moment, but if she didn't do it now, it would just get harder. "When I was growing up, it was just my dad and I. We were... happy. We were really happy, and I guess I was a little naive about things, especially people. He got married when I was seventeen, to this woman named Sarah - and she seemed really nice at first. I thought... I thought she would be a great stepmom, but I was wrong. God, was I wrong."
She paused to swipe at her eyes and take a breath before continuing. "My father had a heart attack a few months after the wedding. I just... I didn't know what to do. Death was something I'd never experienced before, and I couldn't... I couldn't handle it. Sarah wasn't any help, and after that she became someone completely different. Like a monster. She kept me like a slave in my own house, and at first she would only h-hit me if I did something she didn't like, but then it... it just happened all the time. There was a belt, and knives, and sometimes she'd even use cigarettes. I--" She broke off, shaking her head. "No one listened. It just got worse and worse and I couldn't... I couldn't do it anymore." Hannah tugged at her sleeves, rolling them up past her elbows. The scars from her stepmother's abuse were still there, faded yet visible, but the scars on her wrists stood out most of all. "I wanted to die," she whispered. "And I almost did."