What Builds A Heart

Intro Pt.2

Colten P.O.V.

My name is Colten. I'm 15 now and have been in the foster system all my life. All this pain was a constant loop. My last name was comforting in all this thought. It's Cosmos, like all the stars in the sky. Once when I was maybe around 5, I was in one of the nicer foster homes and my foster mother was reading me a story. I don't remember much of it now, but I do remember how she pointed out the window and said that if I wished on the right star my wish would come true. That stuck with me and I wished upon a star every night. Even though nothing happened...

I had spent the night at yet another foster home. This one was especially cruel to me. They had a really nice room for me set but because I didn't call them mom and dad from the get-go then sent me to the basement. I had slept there on the cold floor with a thin blanket. I hadn't eaten the day before either. Other families had been like this too. There were others that were nice but never kept me around for more than a week. My social worker said it was because I didn't smile enough and that I needed to show more emotions. I never seemed to be able too.

"Boy!" I heard my newest foster father shout.

I quickly finished washing the last of the dishes and walked into the living room; where my foster father was sitting on the couch with a can of beer and a lot of empty ones as well. He stood up and walked over to me, grabbing my chin.

"Finish with the kitchen and out here, then join me in my bedroom," he smirked and grabbed my hair. I yelped.

"S-Sir, please stop."

"Oh don't be shy kid-o. Call me dad," he gave me an evil smile before pushing me to the ground.

What happened next happened more then I would like to remember. I've never really minded house cleaning, but it was where I was raped and used for sexual pleaser that I hated. It was so disgusting. It was some time with women and sometimes men. Sometimes it was even the kids in the home. The worst part is, no one hears your screams. No one cares if you cry. No one cared how much pain I was in. No one.

By the time he was done my clothes were on the floor, my body covered in marks and burses, and I was so sore. I tried to move but I couldn't. I just laid there on the kitchen floor naked and terrified.

"Good boy," the man smirked as he buttoned up his shirt. "Now finish cleaning the kitchen."

"Y-Yes... o-okay," I whimpered. Hot tears still trailing down my face. I tried to get to my feet, but a shot of pain went through my body and made me collapse.

"Get up, brat!" My foster father snarled, kicking me in the stomach.

"I-I can't!" I whimpered. "It hurts!"

"You're expired after one round huh?" he was so angry. I thought he would kill me! He, instead, grabbed me by my shoulder and dragged me into the basement.

He practically threw me down the stairs. I landed alright but my whole body hurt so much. "P-Please... it hurts..."

"That's not my problem. After I get the money from the government for taking 'care' of you, I'll send you back into the system!" he yelled, slamming the basement door.

At least he wouldn't keep me more than a month. That really didn't dim any of my pain. I just laid there on the concert floor crying like a baby.

I can't do this anymore! The pain was too much! Someone, please make this stop! Why did my parents have to leave me?! Did they know what kind of hell they left me in!?

As the month went on, my foster father raped me a lot more. Thankfully he stopped after the second week. The abuse kept up though. It stopped by the last week. As for the labor and verbal abuse, that kept up and never eased up. So by the time my social worker was going to pick me up, there was no evidence of what he had done to my body except the scared look in my eyes.

"Boy! Get your stuff together! I'm sick and tired of having you under my roof!" he growled one night. I had tripped and accidentally hit his beer bottle off the table. It shattered into pieces on the floor.

He grabbed my hair and threw me into a chair with such force that I fell backward in it. I stayed there too scared to move as he chucked my backpack with my few belongings at me.

"Stupid kid! Get your shit together!" he snarled. "I already called your social worker. She'll be here to pick you up soon." With that, he grabbed my arm again and threw me out the door and into the darkness of the night.

I sighed and pulled out my note book making another tally mark inside of it.

"378..." I muttered. I started keeping count of the places I lived when I got this notebook from my social worker when I was 13.

I waited out front for my social worker to come to pick me up. It felt like an hour before the familiar black car rolled up on the street. When I saw my social worker, Mrs.Green, get out of the car, I immediately burst into tears. She ran over and hugged me tightly.

"I got you, Colt. You're okay now," she whispered in my ear. "Go get in the car alright. I'll be right back," she smiled and patted my head. "We'll find you home soon." She promised for the millionth time, before going inside to see the man.

I climbed into the car and sat in the passenger's seat. I hated this... I hated it all! I wanted it to stop! I rolled down my window and shouted a wish to all the stars in the sky. "Please! I can't live like this anymore! Please send me someone to save me!" I cried, then I passed out.

Ever since I cried out that night, my life has never been the same. No, I didn't get a family. I gained the ability to feel other people's pain and pleasure in my own body. I can tell where the pain is coming from as well. This ability can range in a mile radius. It's really painful... and awkward when people are having sex nearby.

When it comes to feeling the pain of others, an example is if someone nearby broke their arm my arm wouldn't break but it would feel like it did. When people are getting drunk I can't think correctly and I have all the symptoms of a drunk even though you would find no alcohol in my blood. The same with people having sex nearby. I get all effects of the pain and pleasure without actually being in pain or pleasure. Yeah... my life just got rougher.