TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide attempt, self-harm, depression ext.

Author's Note: I just can't write one thing at a time. I've had this idea in my head for a while. I have another story coming out too called "To The Moon and Back" which hopefully will be up later today. I started it before this one but for some reason this first chapter for this story has been easier to write. I still have to think things through with this so bare with me. I might not even continue. Who knows. I guess it depends on the feedback.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Hope for the Hopeless

Chapter One

If you're reading this, it means I'm dead. I took my own life. Ma and Pop, I want you to know that I'm sorry and that, it wasn't your fault. I hate that it has to come out this way, but…I'm—I'm a lesbian. I've been struggling with this and I knew you wouldn't approve. People at school call me names and I can't take the pain anymore. I couldn't take the pain anymore... and the thought of causing you more grief... I know you guys are fighting, I hear you late at night. Ma I hear you crying when Pop leaves. I'd rather be dead than cause you anymore stress.

Frankie, Tommy… I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. I'm sorry you have to deal with this but I just can't do this anymore. Frankie I'm sorry you had to see me cry so many times. I'm sorry I won't be there when you need me and I'm sorry you had a failure for a sister. I hope you still love me, because I'll always love you both, no matter what. Promise me you'll be there for each other and be good for Ma and Pop. Promise me you won't let each other down and always stand up for each other.

Promise me.

I have to go now; things are starting to get blurry. I love you all. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

-Jane

"Did you not write that?" The doctor asks softly, he folds the crinkled piece of notebook paper back up and puts it back inside the folder. Your folder.

You stare at him, blinking back tears. You weren't expecting someone to read back your suicide note. Then again, you weren't expecting to be alive right now. You swallow thickly and move your chin up a fraction of an inch. Defiant.

The doctor sighs and pulls off his glasses, leaning forward. "Jane, you're not going anywhere, not for a while. If you want to leave this place, you've got to make progress." He says as he folds his hands.

You clench your jaw and look down. "Can I go now?" Your voice sounds emotionless.

Another sigh. "Yes, you can go but we'll be meeting twice a week, Jane."

You're already up and out of the door before he can say anything else. Pulling your hood up over your head, you shove your hands into your sweatshirt pockets and head down to the rec room.

Being in a mental hospital was not on the agenda, but neither was being alive. You just got here a few days ago, after they released you from ICU.

Four days ago, you'd taken a handful of pills and wrote that suicide note and then slit your wrists. Your brother Frankie found you unconscious in your room barely breathing. They pumped your stomach and stitched up your cuts and when you woke up, you were strapped down.

They had run out of room upstairs in the mental ward so the room had been stripped down, nothing in there that you could hurt yourself on. Your mother was there, rubbing your bandaged arms, crying.

You remember the moment you opened your eyes and realized you were still alive, you started to cry. You couldn't even manage to fucking kill yourself. How could you have failed at that too?

"Why couldn't you just let me die?" You yelled, startling your mother. You were angry. So angry.

Angela looked back at you, eyes wide. "Janie…"

You shook your head, tears flowing freely as you pulled at your restraints. "I-I want to go home!" Your thoughts were racing; they knew, everyone knew. All of your carefully constructed walls were broken and now you were vulnerable.

"You've got to stay here, baby… You need help." Angela said, her eyes brimming with tears.

You could feel your cheeks burning as you glared at your mother, heart racing. You felt like you were going to throw up. Your chest felt so heavy and you felt like some monster was going to burst out of your chest. "I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE." You screamed, pulling harder at the straps on your arms. "I-I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU! LET ME GO HOME!"

You could see your mother's eyes flicker with hurt, but she swallowed and moved to brush your hair out of your face, rubbing your head. "I love you, Janie." She said softly, voice thick with tears.

And that was when you really started to cry. "Please, please mommy." You begged. "P-please…" You were sobbing and starting to hyperventilate. "I just…I…I just w..want to go ho…home."

"Shhh, breathe, baby." Angela murmured, running her fingers through your sweaty hair. Eventually, you had given in and your body relaxed. You let Angela put a cold rag on your forehead, the cold calming your racing heart; you let her take care of you because you were just too tired to care anymore.

The memory of that is still fresh in your mind and it makes your body ache. You try to bury yourself further into your sweatshirt—no draw strings because you can't have anything that you could use to harm yourself—and enter the rec room.

There is a ping pong table, a TV, books and magazines, crayons, colored pencils and paper; and a nurse to babysit you and any other patients.

You sigh and move to sit at one of the tables, avoiding the other kids there. You are probably second oldest, 16. There are kids as young as 7 here and sometimes you wonder what they're in here for. It makes you sad that someone so young could possibly feel some of the things that you do, the pain.

Looking up, you notice that only a few people are here, all people you've seen before, until your eyes land on her.

She's so unexpected that you actually take off your hoody to get a better look at her. She's gorgeous. Honey blonde curls flowing down just past her shoulders. She's in a pair of black yoga pants and a teal shirt with a wide neck so that it slips partially down her left shoulder. She's sitting alone at one of the tables, looking nervous and uncomfortable.

Surely someone like her is here to visit someone, right?

She notices you staring at her and you quickly glance down, pulling your hood back over your head and after a moment you look back at her from the corner of your eye. She's still staring back at you, looking even nervous than before.

You want to get up and talk to her but that would break your number one rule—avoid everyone and don't speak unless spoken to.

Sighing, you weigh your options before you stand up slowly and move to her table. Without looking up, you take a seat next to her. You lift your head slightly and catch her wide hazel eyes and for a moment you're lost in them; for a moment, you're 8 years old and jumping in a pile of orange, green and brown leaves, laughing. Her eyes are like the Fall and they bore into your own with trepidation.

Finally you offer a very small smile. "Hey." You say quietly. It's the only thing you can think to say, you've spoken so little since you got here.

She blinks and visibly swallows. "H-Hello…" She stammers back.

You smile a little wider because her voice is soft and lovely and you feel a little more comfortable. "I'm Jane Rizzoli." You pull out your hand from your sweatshirt pocket and offer it to her.

Biting her lip, the girl stares at your hand before hesitantly putting her own hand in yours. "Maura, m-my name is Maura Isles." She replies shakily.

"Nice to meet you, Maura. Maura Isles." You tease with a small grin.