Healing Me, Saving You
Chapter 1
~Lexi
It’s been three months since we’ve gotten a new kid. I usually hate the new kids. They’re always punks. Little 12 year old kids who think they’re the shit. Mummy and Daddy may have died but once they’re 18 they get their inheritance and they’re out of here. Well, tough shit because it’s a long ass wait to get to 18. I’ve waited 11 years and still have seven months until I’m free.
When I actually put it in numbers, that’s a long time to wait to be adopted. Don’t get me wrong, it nearly happened a couple of times. Every time they almost marred the page with ink they decided they didn’t want little ‘ole me. I wasn’t a bad kid. I was always sweet and caring. The most adorable piece of crap you could have ever wanted, or at least, that’s what they told the prospective parents. Minus the piece of crap part of course. Saying kids are a piece of crap doesn’t get them adopted.
By the time I was 13 I realized there was no hope I would get adopted. Ten or eleven is the most people are willing to go. Once you’re a teenager, even a young 13 year old and you’re done for. Once “teen” is added to the end you are screwed. No one wants a teenager. They’re dirty, filthy people that have habits than can never be undone. All they want to do is drink, smoke, do drugs, and party. Normally I would object to that biased opinion, but I think I should stub out my cigarette first.
I take another drag on the cigarette, taking a deep drag off of it and wishing it was already time for my birthday. Seven fucking months left of this hell hole. Okay, that’s a little harsh. This isn’t exactly a hell hole. Screaming kids of various ages, horny teenage guys, dramatic teenage girls, no this is Heaven on Earth. Who the fuck am I kidding. If this isn’t hell is damn close because this is fucking torture. I hate kids, heck, most days I hate people.
That said, I can’t help but eye the tall dark-haired kid walking up the way to our fine and dandy foster home. He looks to be about my age, which is nice considering most new tenants are at most 10 years old. He’s buff in a I work out but not until I look the Rock sort of way. I hate it when guys work out until you can’t see anything but their muscles any more.
Not only is this guy fucking eye candy he also has taste. He has a band shirt on with a good fucking band, not some punk ass shit, printed on it. His jeans are faded nicely in all the right spots. He’s wearing sneakers that are dirty as fuck, which tell me he either walks through the swamps or does hard labor for a living.
What I like most about him is his face. He’s beautiful, in a masculine way. He has dark hair that’s long enough to be tucked behind his ears. He has a small piercing in one lobe, I can’t tell if there’s a matching one on the other ear though. His face is hard and angular, a dusting of hair on his cheekbones and jaw line make him look mysterious as fuck. His brown eyes look almost black. I get a good idea of his eye color when he slows his walk to the front of the foster home to give me a once over. He starts at my face, where I’m holding the cigarette and taking a drag, down to ripped tank top, to my frayed short shorts, to my bare feet. When he reaches my face again I quirk my eye brow at him.
He grins, letting his gaze drop to check me out once again before shaking his head and walking into the foster home.
Now that, that I can pass my time with for the next seven months.
~Damien
I can’t stop thinking about the girl outside. She’s fucking sexy. Long hair, short clothes, all smooth skin and bare feet. Damn, she looked sexy. Sitting on the porch smoking her cigarette, not a care in the world. I couldn’t help but check her out. I don’t even care that she caught me. She knows she’s sexy, she’s probably used to guys looking her over.
I shake my head. I don’t need the distraction that a girl brings. I need to focus on school, keep my grades up, turn 18, graduate, and I’m outta here. I can leave everything behind. My past will stay in the past, where it belongs.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and follow the short woman upstairs to my new room. Five months and then I’m free. I can leave everything behind. All of my past will just be that, my past. I won’t ever have to deal with it again.
The woman leads me upstairs to the one room in the furthest back. It’s small as shit with barely enough room to fit a twin bed, much less the dress and desk it has shoved along side it.
I drop my bag onto the bed and give her a pointed look. She goes to say something but I shake my head. I don’t want to talk right now. I haven’t wanted to talk for the past 47 days. Not since the night my entire family died.
Fuck, I don’t want to think about that. It’s hard enough that it torments me every night and keeps me from sleeping. It’s fucking terrible when I can get some sleep I dream the same thing over and over again. All I can see is my family, dead at my feet. Nothing I can do to save them. Nothing.
I couldn’t save any of them. Not my mom, not my dad, not my little sister. Fuck. Skylar. I couldn’t save Skylar. My baby sister and I couldn’t save her. It’s my job to protect her. My fucking job and I failed her. I clench my fist and slam it against the wall. I fucking failed her.
If I couldn’t save the one person that I ever cared for how can I save myself.
