Nightingale (Demi Lovato fan fiction)

Chapter One: Firestarter

Media: Maddie Ziegler (Desiree)

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Nightingale

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Chapter One: Firestarter

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©Copyright 2015 CharleighDivine

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My eyes travelled up and down the girl's body, and every hair on the back of my neck seemed to stand on end. She was so.... different from everyone else in the foster home. Her dark, yet somehow at the same time light, brown eyes seemed to glow as she looked down at the book below her. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied up into a ponytail, and pushed delicately out of her face. Everyone in this damn place seemed to be emo, or, well, goth in some form or another, yet she was completely the opposite.

She also had that aura around her that made me wonder who would've given her up. She didn't like troublesome, fucked up, or any of the other reasons that people are ditched here. So why was she here? There had to be some other explanation for this, because otherwise I'm out of ideas. There's no plausible explanation for someone leaving that pretty girl here. Unless, she was abused or her parents died or something. Or maybe she ran away. I guess I won't know until I ask, will I?

My best friend, Taylor, plopped down next to me and looked at the same girl I was looking at. "That's Mackenzie," she said. I turned my head to look at Taylor, and smiled politely. Mackenzie. It did seem to be quite fitting for her. I couldn't picture her as anything else besides maybe Jade or something. Then again, I never pictured Taylor as a Taylor. She had black hair and bright green eyes, and she wasn't really preppy enough to be a Taylor. Taylor was more of a Tomboy over anything. Actually, you could probably mistake her for a boy if she didn't look so feminine.

"Why's she here? Someone'd have to be stupid to leave her," I said, gesturing toward Mackenzie.

"Her parents- they died in a car accident, so my mom adopted her," she said. Taylor wasn't ditched. She was the birth child of our foster mom. Currently, there are around five foster kids here, and three that belonged to Anna, our foster mom. That makes eight total.

"Oh, I see," I dead panned. Mackenzie flipped to the next page in her book, oblivious to our conversation. My eyes continued to linger over her, enthralled by her beauty. Then I turned to look at Taylor who'd been rambling about something that I hadn't been paying attention to. "I'm sorry, what?" I interrupted, shaking my head so that I could focus.

"Can't get your mind off of Mackenzie's ass or something?" She teased with a slight smirk on her face. I rolled my eyes playfully.

"I was staring at her face, thank you very much," I replied. The patio door opened, and everyone turned their heads to look toward the front.

"Lunchtime everyone!" Anna said, going back inside. Mackenzie closed her book, and sauntered inside, almost like she was being seductive on accident. My eyes followed her every step. Soon, I was left outside by myself, and I nearly face palmed. I got up reluctantly and went inside. There were sandwiches laid out, except, everyone had already finished. I grabbed my plate and threw out my food. Nobody really notices when I go without food, so it's fine. In fact, I'm pretty sure that even if Anna knew, she'd do nothing about it.

I then walk upstairs and into my room. We each get our own room, because Anna's house is just that big. It's probably around twelve bedrooms. I sit on my bed and do nothing. I take my blade out from under my pillow and double check to make sure the door is locked, which it is. I'd never be stupid enough to leave the door unlocked or open. That'd be idiotic.

I grab a red towel from my closet, and lay it down on my bed. Then I start slashing blindly at my wrist. Blood doesn't scare me anymore. I remember when I first started doing this, and I was terrified to do more than a scrape. Now, if I only do a scrape, I get incredibly frustrated. I need a deep cut. I need to feel something. I have to. It's not a want anymore, like in the beginning. I wanted to stop feeling. Now I have to. If I don't, I'll explode.

When I'm done, my left wrist is covered in slightly deep cuts that are bleeding over the sides of my wrist. I push the red towel into my wrist and scowl at the pain. It usually isn't painful. There's a knock on the door and I inhale sharply. "Who is it?" I called out. My wrist isn't showing any intent on stopping it's bleeding, and I knew I couldn't get caught like this. I'd be sent to a mental asylum.

"It's Anna, I need to talk with you," Anna said. I could've identified her voice without her stating her name. I check my wrist and it's only bleeding slightly.

"I'll let you in in a second, I'm kind of, um, naked?" It came out like a question, which I rolled my eyes at. I put my blade under my pillow again and threw the towel back into the closet. I rolled down my jacket sleeve. I then unlocked my door and opened it for her. She walked in, sat on my bed, and made me sit next to her. Now I know it's serious if we're sitting. My first thoughts are, unfortunately, what did she find out?

"Y-yes?" I asked, sitting down next to her. She pulled me into a tight embrace. Now I know there is something wrong. "Anna, you're scaring me!" I exclaim. She giggled, a very girly giggle as she pulled back from our hug.

"There's no reason to be scared. It's just, uh.... there's someone that's going to adopt you, but, um, she wanted to know your opinion before she started the adoption process," Anna said. My eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown appeared on my face. There was something wrong. Nobody wants to adopt a teenager. They all want the cute, pudgy little ones. They don't want us fuck ups. Usually, if a teenager gets adopted, it's for some kind of material gain- for example; sex, abuse, etc.

"Is he going to hurt me?" I asked, blatantly. I didn't want lies. I didn't want abuse. I didn't want anything but the blunt truth, because it's what I deserve. If he's going to hurt me in anyway, then I'm staying here where I know I'll be safe. It's just common sense.

"It's a she," she answered, "and no. She seems very nice. She has one other child, a boy, but she decided she also wants a girl." If she can have kids then why would she adopt?

"If she can procreate then why does she want me?" I asked, confused.

"The child is also adopted," she answered. I bit my lip, as I looked out the window.

"If I say yes, how long until I go with her?" I asked. A large, bright smile appeared on Anna's face, and the worry lifted from her expression.

"I may've exaggerated a tad bit, she already started the process. You'll go with her in a week or two!" She exclaimed, "so get packing. I don't want you to wait until the last day like you always do." Anna's known me since I was little. It's a wonder why she didn't just adopt me.

She bounced out of the room as I started packing. I hated packing, and unpacking, but oh well. I definitely had plenty of clothes. Anna treated me like her own child. It's kind of weird how she was so excited to get rid of me, maybe I don't mean that much to her. I didn't think I was that much trouble. I keep the hope and excitement at bay. I'll be ditched back here, I know I will. Nobody ever keeps me longer than a week.

My parents, they loved me, I guess. They weren't good people, though. They did things that parents shouldn't do. They used to hit me, but they wouldn't remember it in the morning. They yelled at me, so I'd be a better person. They dealed and did drugs, which got me into drugs too. When the social workers found me, I was addicted to heroin. It took me five years to get over that addiction, with a lot of methadone involved. I just got off of methadone a year ago.

My parents are probably part of the reason that I'm fucked up, unless there's something screwy in my brain. I don't know which one is more comforting. I guess I'd feel better if I knew it wasn't completely my fault. It's always my fault, though.

I hear Anna call dinner, and come check on me when I don't show up. "You missed lunch and breakfast, and didn't eat at all yesterday, are you sure?" She asked, clear worry back in her eyes. Maybe she knows a tad bit more than I thought that she knew.

"Yeah I'm not hungry right now," I replied, "I have to pack anyway." I hate lying. Yet I love it. And I'm good at it. She sighed and walked away. It must be exhausting to have to deal with me.

I finish packing and go to sleep.