“I didn’t get better. Even with meds and psychiatric visits and appointment after appointment with psychologists. They even put me in a goddamn psych ward. When nothing worked, my caseworker stopped fighting it. I was almost eighteen, so it’s not like they could hold me forever. She called Seven, and he came and picked me up. He’d found a tiny one-bedroom, and he was working at a fast food place during the day, a bar at night, and building his tattoo portfolio with every spare moment in between. He said that he knew I’d need him and made sure he was ready.” “I think Seven just became my
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