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PROLOGUE
MADDIE– 15 years old
“Don’t even start that!” I uttered under my breath as I clenched my fists. I was talking to myself – or to my hands, to be more specific - which had begun to shake the closer I got to my most recent foster home.
I knew it made me look crazy, walking down the street talking to myself, but it was a habit I had developed over long years of having no one else to talk to, and one I was struggling to break.
I had been hoping to avoid a stop at the house after school that day. I had plans, which I had happily thought would keep me out until late that night, but that was before the bitch squad interfered.
To say I was unpopular at school was a serious understatement. I was a way too skinny, milky white skinned, foster kid with a head of frizzy, wild, bright red hair. Puberty seemed to have skipped me altogether, leaving me completely flat chested and with the frame of a ten year old boy. I had spent the entire fifteen years of my life so far, being passed between group and foster homes, so I lacked any note of self-confidence and rarely spoke to a soul unless I had to. Add to that the fact my clothes were ill fitting, tatty and threadbare and you got the biggest target ever for the jocks and the bitch squad.
That day, at lunch, they had delighted in ‘bumping’ right into me with a full lunch tray, leaving me sprawled on the ground, covered in a mixture of Coke and whatever sauce covered option they had selected, the entire cafeteria watching on in fits of laughter.
I had been forced to spend the remainder of the day with stains all over my favorite band t-shirt – which I had worn especially because I wanted to look the best I could when I met the guys that night. Now I needed to get home and change it as quickly as I could before I went to meet them. Hence, my hands shaking.
“Just get in. Change, then get out,” I psyched myself up as I neared the front porch steps. “Easy.”Yeah, right.
I had lived with Clive and Julie Travers for almost eighteen months now, and it was, by some distance, one of the worst places I had been dumped in my life. Clive worked construction, or at least he used to. He had an accident while he was on a job, four years ago. He injured his back, and hadn’t worked a day since. As far as I could tell, all that was actually wrong with him was his inability to go longer than a half hour without a drink, but his wife Julie was sure he was disabled and would never be able to work again. As a result Julie worked every single hour she could, to pay the bills and supply Clive with all of the beer and cigarettes he demanded. She worked two jobs – a server in a diner during the day, and she worked late shifts at a gas station. I was pretty sure she opted to work so much to keep herself out of Clive’s company, and who could blame her?
Clive was a complete asshole all of the time, but when he’d had a drink he turned violent. I’d seen him hit Julie countless times when she dared to make an appearance, hence the fact we rarely saw her. I wasn’t even sure she returned there most days. So that left me. I had no idea why they chose to foster, but I guess the weekly paycheck they received for doing it had to be the main motivator. Thankfully, I was the only kid they had living there at that time. Had another one been placed there, I would have been forced to report Clive to spare any other kid suffering my fate.
I tiptoed up the porch steps, knowing exactly where to put my weight on each one so they wouldn’t make a sound. If I were lucky Clive would be passed out by this time, surrounded by empty beer cans with some trashy show on the TV.
The house was old and in serious need of some maintenance, so every inch of it creaked, especially the porch as I crossed it, but I stepped as quickly and as lightly as I could. Clive would be way harder to deal with if I woke him up.
The screen squeaked a little as I opened it just enough to slip through, then the door creaked as I did the same, sliding my body through the tiniest gap and into the house.
As soon as I was inside, I heard Clive’s loud snoring and allowed myself a small sigh of relief. Glancing around I found him exactly as I expected – passed out, laid on the sofa.
I moved silently through the dump of a house and into my room at the very back. It was a tiny space, just big enough for the twin bed, but it was tidy and clean – unlike the rest of the place. I tried not to dwell on the fact my only decent t-shirt, and most prized possession, which the guys had gotten for me at Christmas, was ruined. I’d find a way to get the stains out, I assured myself as I pulled it off and placed it with my laundry.
I didn’t deliberate over which of my other t-shirts to pull on. They were all as ugly and tatty as each other, so it really didn’t matter.
I stuffed my backpack from school under the bed, just in case Clive got into one of his rages later and trashed my room, as he had several times before. Trying to explain to your teachers why your books were torn to shreds, without revealing the shitty home life you were trapped in, was not fun.
I slipped back out of my room as quietly as I had entered it, closing the door behind me, then tiptoed back down the hall, freezing halfway when I heard movement from the living room.
Clive’s heavy footsteps were moving through the house, probably towards the kitchen for more beers, his drunken ramblings echoing behind him as he cursed Julie for something I couldn’t make out.
My heart was pounding so hard I feared it would give me away and my hands were truly shaking now as adrenaline surged through me. I needed to get out of there without him seeing me if I had any hope of meeting the guys as planned.
I waited until I heard the refrigerator door rattle open, then, knowing my best chance was when he was in the kitchen, I ran for the front door, zigzagging in an attempt to not make a peep as I went.
My hand was on the door handle, my freedom imminent, but it wasn’t to be.
“Hey! Where’d you think you’re going?” Clive yelled, his words slightly slurred. I took a breath in a desperate attempt to calm myself as I slowly turned just enough to see him, not taking my hand from the door handle.
Clive was a big guy. He towered over my gangly five foot nine frame as he stalked closer. He was stocky, his huge beer gut hanging over the stained sweat pants he wore. His hair was down to his shoulders, greasy and dank, and his face was red from all that he drank. I knew he and Julie were both in their forties, but Clive looked considerably older.
“Out,” I answered weakly, trying hard to tense my body so he wouldn’t see me trembling.
“Out where? You got money you ain’t telling us about?” he asked as he glared at me with his cold, terrifying eyes.
“N-no,” I shook my head. “I’m going t-to the library…t-to study.” My words wouldn’t seem to come out, my mind pleading with my body to just move! To run!
Clive moved way faster than I expected him to be able to, based on how drunk he seemed. He lunged forward and grabbed my forearm, wrenching me away from the door and closer to him. I fought to remain on my feet as he twisted my arm behind me and down, until I cried out in pain, sure he was going to break it.
“You lying to me, girl?” he hissed as he grabbed my hair and pulled my head until we were eye to eye.
