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What got me was what he said about foster daddies. His accusation of what I must like them to do to me. He has no idea what I have been through. Someone like him would never understand. All I could do was learn from the experiences I have had. At one point, I wanted to go back to help the others as much as I could when I turned eighteen. I didn’t know how exactly, but I figured out that would be impossible.
As much as I find Ky attractive now that we are older, he obviously doesn’t see me the same way as when we were kids. He sees me as a threat for whatever reason. Maybe he likes to toy with people he finds beneath him. The way he dismissed that girl named Roxy was proof enough what he thinks of girls. He’s a player
As much as I like or feel attracted to Ky, I need to make sure I don’t fall for him. I’m not the type to lie to myself and say that I didn’t want him to kiss me, because I did. I wanted it more than I thought possible. I was jealous he was screwing someone else. He saw it in my eyes, and that is dangerous for a guy like Ky to know you want them. It is how you lose yourself and become vulnerable. And I don’t have that luxury of showing vulnerability.
After I make it home, I look at the gray walls of my bedroom. I’m sitting in the closet after my shower and staring at the empty bed. The moon casting its light across the room. The shadows from the trees on the side of the house make it seem like the walls are moving closer.
I’m supposed to feel safe here, but this room is foreign. I could scream, yell, cry, and no one would understand or really care. They would send me to the nearest psychotherapist like they have before; when they realized the home they sent me to was unfit because of the people in it. One home and then the next, like a never-ending cycle. They sent me to the clinic that offers free mental health for kids who have gone through trauma. None of it helped.
So, I hide. I hide the memories as best I can. I hide the pain, the tears, and the screams, locking them inside my head. They are like a living, breathing disease left by the people who created them.
Like every night, I wait. I wait to drift off to sleep thinking of a better life. A life where there wasn’t a little girl or boy going to sleep hungry or cold. In pain or scared to go to sleep, afraid of the monsters they are sure will come for them as they drift off. That is what I always dreamed about when I closed my eyes every night since I was a kid. The past hoping for a better life where I could create beautiful memories.
A life where Ky would hold me and never let me go. Where he would smile and be the friend I dreamed of for so long. Maybe end up being the boyfriend a girl wishes for. I always thought of Ky as the only person who never judged me from where I came from.
But man, was I wrong.
The light streams through as my eyes flutter open. At one point, I felt like I was floating up until I landed on the bed, but that’s impossible because I slept inside the closet. It wouldn’t make sense because it’s the dark that greets me every time I wake up.
I sit up and my heart pounds inside of my chest. I look around and notice I’m not inside the closet. I’m on the bed. I raise the comforter and look down at my leggings and extra-large shirt that has seen better days. I look at the door and notice the lock is still secure and the door is closed.
A knock on the door has me clutching the sheet with my hand. I must be sleepwalking because there was no explanation for what happened. That must be it. It must have been my subconscious wanting me to sleep on the fluffy mattress.
“Rubi,” Mr. Murray calls through the door. “Are you awake? I wanted to know if you still wanted to go to the store? I’ll be waiting downstairs if you still want to go.”
“I’ll be right out,” I answer.
I wait to see if he tries to open the door. One. Two. Three. I hear his footsteps retreating and sigh in relief.Okay, he isn’t a creep. I tell myself. He doesn’t seem like one, but I can’t trust anyone. It’s Saturday and I have avoided Stephen as much as possible, but I do need to get a couple of personal things that I’d rather pick up myself.
My phone vibrates from an incoming text on the nightstand. I reach out and grab it. Hoping it’s Cesar responding to me from the text I sent giving him my new number and letting him know where I was and what school I was attending.
Cesar: Good morning, beautiful. It’s been a while. Are you ok?
Rubi: Yeah, this is a new number for however long I can keep it.
Cesar: I heard about your reunion. Is everything ok?
Rubi: For now.
Cesar: You know what to do if you’re in trouble.
Rubi: Call you.
Cesar: Anytime. Anywhere. I’ll come get you.
I smile. I met Cesar when I was fifteen. He was seventeen and already part of a gang. He would protect me when I went to juvie. No one picked on me or said anything because of Cesar. He is now the leader of the gang that runs the West Park area. He isn’t a saint, but when I didn’t have anyone, he was there to fend off the sickos. Not all foster kids my age were nice. They saw young girls like me as an opportunity.
When Cesar turned eighteen and was legally an adult, he couldn’t help me out anymore like he promised.
Rubi: I know.
Cesar: Anyone I have to go fuck up in that preppy school you go to now?
I think of Ky and the other kids who talk shit as I pass them in the halls. It’s nothing I can’t handle. The only downside is that I can’t say anything back that will get me in trouble. The Ky situation has gotten worse, but I don’t think he would physically hurt me. I mean, I slapped him, and he didn’t retaliate.
Rubi: Nothing I can’t handle.
Cesar: We need to meet up.
