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A couple walks out the front door, their sweet smiles and nervous ticks are all I can see. They look like parents welcoming their child home. Everything about them looks open, kind, and innocent. They smile wider when I step out of the car, the woman running her hand through her light brown shoulder-length hair. The man places a hand on her shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the sides behind thick rimmed glasses, his short brown hair perfectly styled.
“You must be Declan,” he says as I walk up to the house, my back pack over my shoulder and Mr. Trenton on my heels. “We’re so happy you’re here. My name is Josh Miller and this is my wife Riley Miller. If you need anything at all, you let us know right away. Okay?”
Nodding my head, I push myself further into my oversized hoodie and ignore their outstretched hands completely. The only person allowed to freely touch me is god knows where, being subjected to her own new family. This couple seems nice and genuine, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever trust them.
“Why don’t you come inside and we can show you where your room is?” Riley gestures to the open door then walks ahead to lead me inside. Numbly, I walk behind her, listening to her ramble about this and that in the house. Josh stays behind to speak with Mr. Trenton, probably trying to figure out his payments from having me here. It’s why most people foster kids, especially teenagers like me. We’re only worth the money we help people bring in.
The house is a blur of shapes and colours, nothing sticking in my brain long enough for me to understand it. It’s like my mind knows that we won’t be here long so it’s not holding onto any of the information being thrown at me. My body follows Riley in a very autopilot kind of way. The only things of note are the exits to this place so that tonight I can make a break for it and run.
“And this is where you’ll be sleeping. It’s pretty bare right now, but we thought we could take you out in a couple days and we can pick up things to make it feel more like home to you,” she murmurs, twisting her hands together in front of her and looking at me expectantly.
“That’s okay,” I mutter, dropping my backpack on the ground and looking around. “This is enough for me.”
“Oh,” Riley says awkwardly, shuffling her feet side to side. “Well, just think about it for a bit and we can revisit. We want you to be comfortable here and feel like you finally have a home.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, not meeting her eyes. I can tell she’s trying so hard to make this comfortable for me and make me feel welcome, and I feel awful not reciprocating. The problem is that I don’t belong here and there’s no way I’ll even sleep a night in this house.
“You’re welcome.” Riley smiles, walking towards the door awkwardly. “I’ll let you get situated, then. The bathroom is the room across the hall. There’s a new toothbrush and some soap in there. The towels and cloths are under the sink for you. Just toss them in the laundry hamper after you’re done.”
Looking at her, I manage a forced smile for her, anything to show that I see how much effort she’s putting in, even if I can’t fully appreciate it. The last thing I want to do is hurt these people who look like they honestly just want to help me. They seem like good ones, which means I can’t stay here. There’s nothing for me here. The damage has been done to me and no amount of kindness from these strangers will ever help me through that.
Once the door is closed, I fall to the ground, the weight of everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours bringing me to my knees. Tears pour down my cheeks as I finally let myself feel for a minute. Alayna is gone, my body is bruised, cut, and abused, and the only thing I want right now is the sweet release of death. If it weren’t for the promise I made to Allie, running wouldn’t be the only thing I did tonight.
How am I supposed to get through this? What the fuck am I supposed to do now? There’s not a single part of me that isn’t completely fucked up from the life I’ve been forced to live. At seventeen years old, I have been through fucking hell. Verbal, physical, and sexual abuse over and over again, by people I should have been able to trust. My body is a fucking road map that shows the absolute worst parts of humanity and it’s something I will have to live with for the rest of my life.
A knock sounds at the door, Josh’s voice coming through. “Hey, Declan. Sorry to bother you again so soon. Alexander, your social worker, gave me a guitar that he said belongs to you. I’m going to leave it just outside your door so you can grab it whenever you’re ready. We’re going to be making lunch soon as well, just come down when you feel hungry.”
The tension in my body fades as I hear his footsteps fade away from the door. My hand itches to grab the guitar right away, but I force myself to wait until I know for sure that he’s gone. After a minute, I stand up and rush to the door, opening it a fraction and grabbing my guitar from where it stands against the wall. One piece from that place of hell that I’m actually glad to see again.
Music is my escape, and the songs I write help me take out some of the clutter in my head. Allie loved my songs, they always brought the most beautiful smile to her face. From the saddest of songs to the ones where I poured my heart out to her, she cheered me on every single time. If I believed in signs, I would say this is the universes way of telling me that everything is going to be okay. Allie is gone, but she’s in my heart and my memories. She’ll never truly be gone from me. I’ll always have a part of her in me.
Chapter Four
The night air is colder than I thought it would be. Wrapping my sweater tighter around me, I hike up my backpack on my shoulder and walk away from that perfect cookie cutter house and the way too happy people inside. That house isn’t meant for people like me, it’s a reminder of all I’ve been missing in my life. From what I saw, there was no torture chamber waiting for me. There was no stained beds or overused sheets. It was perfect. Perfect for someone else.
There’s no use putting me with a good family now, I’m damaged goods. That family should take in a child that hasn’t been beaten down by the corrupt system and the horrible people they hide in it. If that house is so amazing, give it to a child that actually has a chance of coming out of the system unscathed. My scars run so deep, I’m not even sure where they end.
It takes me thirty minutes to get out of the subdivision area and find the city again. There’s nowhere to hide in the subdivison, I’ll be stick out like a sore thumb and be found before I could even blink. The city allows me to blend in, and hide with all of the others unfortunate enough to be living on the street. It’s honestly where I belong, a worthless piece of trash just floating along in the wind on a dirty stretch of road.
The streets are still fairly busy for midnight, the night life still going strong for another couple hours I would guess. This is good, it means there’s more people to slide through and less chance the Millers or Mr. Trenton would find me if they notice I’m missing.
The window was surprisingly easy to sneak out of, my room being on the main floor was a bonus for that as well. It’s almost like they set it up so I could leave, making them feel like they did the right thing letting me stay, but without having toactuallydeal with me and my issues. If I were in their shoes that’s what I do. Nobody wants a troubled teen around, that’s just a headache waiting to happen.
“Watch it, kid,” a man with tattoos on his face sneers down at me after I walk into him, his leather jacket looking like it’s seen better days. “Walking into people like that could get you hurt. Better watch yourself.”
Stepping away quickly, I nod and avert my eyes, not ready to start anything with a dude that looks like he could kill me with one hand. The concussion is still making me a bit loopy, the pain in my head an ever present throbbing ache that shows no signs of going away anytime soon. The cuts on my chest and stomach will need tending to every now and then as well. An infection on the street could be a death sentence for me.
Stopping in a dark alley, I lean back against the cold brick, and let out a choked laugh at the thoughts running through my head. Honestly, would a death sentence be that bad right now? I told Allie we already hit rock bottom, but I fucking lied through my teeth. Shivering as I stand in this dirty street at midnight after running away, I have to laugh at the fucking thought. This is rock bottom.
There’s seriously something wrong with me. It’s like my brain is hardwired to find the most difficult fucking route and stick to that. They had a full, new bed for me in a warm and cozy house, and what did I do? I fucking ran away from it to live in the streets like a fucking sewer rat. Nothing to my name except the shitty, ratty clothes in my backpack and an old worn out guitar.
“Fuck,” I curse, kicking my leg back against the wall and hitting both of my hands against my head, exacerbating the headache already there. “So fucking stupid. I’m so fucking worthless and stupid.”
Dropping to the ground, I squat there and hold my head, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do. There’s no going back now, I need to push on. That house isn’t for me, it’s for someone better than me. The only thing I can do is keep moving until I find somewhere safer to get a few hours of sleep.
Standing myself back up, I take a deep breath and head back out into the streets. The only people around are others down on their luck and drunk people with zero inhibitions. Dodging their stumbling forms, I keep my head down, weaving in and out of the most dense places until I find a small path, leading away from the roads and places I would be easily found.
The path turns thicker, a park coming into view with various homeless people claiming benches and sheltered places to sleep. Moving deeper into the park, I follow another path, moving through a copse of thick trees and breathe in a sigh of relief when I find a bare patch of ground, completely empty and hidden from everyone.
