A/N: Vote and you shall receive. This is told from multiple points of view, all of which will be noted as they change. I hope you all like this.

I own nothing except my idea for this story.

Chapter 1 - "Solitude"

Callie

I can't deal with this today. School, my teachers as they drone on in class, the kids who are much too loud as they navigate through the halls.

Almost as loud as the thoughts in my head. They're moving fast enough to break the sound barrier. It feels that way, at least.

I look out the window and sigh. The sky matches my mood: dull, gray, gloomy.

I glance at the clock near the chalkboard. Five minutes to freedom.

The bell rings and I leave my French class as fast as my legs can carry me. Madame Gaba is spouting off a parting assignment, but I don't stick around to listen. I go to my locker and put my bag inside, grabbing my phone and closing the metal door.

Homework is the least of my worries.

I turn off the tracking app that Stef had installed on all of our phones. Jesus and his Chronic Misplacement Syndrome was the catalyst for this measure.

I don't want to be found. Not right now, anyway.

I leave the building and take a left, the opposite direction of where I should be going, but I don't care. Not too far from the school, it starts to drizzle, but I'm not fazed by the spitting mist. It would take a lot more than this to make me turn around.

I'm stubborn, that way.

I pass many cars, people, homes filled with those leading perfect lives with their perfect jobs, perfect marriages, 1.8 kids, and we mustn't forget the dog.

I keep walking and by the time I get to my destination several miles later, the drizzle has turned to a steady rain.

My hair is soaked. My jacket isn't going to stand up to this for much longer.

I walk through the entrance and along the asphalt, moving to grass and the beginnings of mud beneath my feet.

In a strange way, I feel comfortable being here. With all of these other people, I don't feel so alone.

After a maze of zigzags, I stop. I'm here.

I lean over and touch the wet stone in front of me.

"Hey, Mom."

Her headstone is somewhat weathered and worn by the elements. It hasn't been that long, but it feels like forever at the same time.

I trace her name with my finger. I read the words in front of me over and over, as if I need to commit the letters and numbers to memory.

Like I could ever forget.

Sometimes, I wish I could.

COLLEEN ANNA JACOB

June 3, 1974 - October 25, 2007

It's not much of a grave. Her sudden death didn't leave us with many funds for a funeral. The truth is, we were lucky to afford a casket, much less a ceremony or fancy marker.

Still, I feel guilty that it is so neglected, even though I'm not at fault for the state it is in. Jude and I had moved around so much in the years that followed. We were never in one place for very long. Just as we got used to a new house, foster parents, and siblings, we were yanked out and placed somewhere else.

I still don't see it as an excuse.

"I know I should come around more often," I say into the wind and rain as some kind of fucked up apology. Like it absolves me of some sin that I can't name.

My hair is stringy and drips in front of my face. My jacket is about ready to soak through. My knees are wet from the grass. I don't care. It doesn't matter.

In this moment, nothing matters except for what's in front of me.

Somehow, it starts to rain harder.

"Jude and me...we haven't forgotten about you. I still make your biscuits and gravy, the way you showed me. I gave him a copy of Hansel and Gretel for his birthday last year. He loved when you read that to him. Shit," I curse, my strong resolve fading. I struggle to find my voice again for a few minutes. "I did, too. I know I acted like I was too old for it, and I'm sorry. Why did I do that? I miss your voice calling me 'Callie Q,' your laugh. The smell of blueberry muffins wafting through the house on Saturday mornings. When you'd share your perfume with me if we went somewhere special. I forget what kind it was." My words are teeming with both longing and regret.

My face is wet from more than just the rain.

"I miss you. So much."

That's it. My walls are breached, my resistance truly broken.

I'm completely exposed. I feel naked.

I cry. Cry harder than I have in years. Sobs just keep coming in continuous waves; I don't try to stop them. It would be a pointless battle that I'd be sure to lose.

I huddle on the ground and tuck my knees into my chest, saturated, rocking slightly in a feeble attempt to self-soothe.

I don't know how long I cried or how much time has passed. I just know that I'm cold and sleepy. I take off my sodden jacket and lay my head on it like a pillow. I close my eyes and see her face. She's smiling.

Watch over me, Mom, is my last thought before darkness claims me.

A/N: I wanted to explore the grief Callie feels surrounding her mom's death. I've lost loved ones, so I draw on that as inspiration. Some days, it can be all-consuming.

Behind the Story: The idea for this story came to me one night and I could not sleep without writing it down; most of it was written within a few hours.

Leave me your thoughts if you so choose. This was my first time writing Callie in first person; I wrote this before Looking Back, Moving Forward. Let me know if you think this 'reads' like her or not.