I didn't take my meds today.
Two days ago Caitlin Adams asked if I was bipolar because I was into her on Monday but by Friday I had figured out that she was too demanding.
But those words, that question... it seeped into my soul and tarnished my tho...
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Sometimes death is the only way out of the pain.
My hand skimmed over the skin of my wrist, feeling the raised line of a caliginous pink scar. A sharp memory permanently etched onto my body, one I still hurt over.
"You're going to be okay here Fearne, this time will be different." Janet ensured me after a never-ending drive. She wore that stern judgmental expression around me constantly, seeing me for what I am - a vagrant, bedraggled waste of human life.
"These people are nice, they're rich folk." She continued, like that was supposed to make everything better. I've been with rich folk before, it didn't work out too great for me.
I glanced out of the window, watching the naked trees pass me by. The half-moon reflection on the glass followed behind us on our journey, reminding me wherever I went I was never too far from home. From him.
"They're good people Fearne." Obviously the silent treatment didn't deter her away from saying more words.
I preferred the empty silence between words, the silences that often made people feel uncomfortable. Janet felt uncomfortable. She needed to fill in the gaps with empty promises just like she did at every foster home that she ever placed me with.
We drove through an idealistic suburban town, streets devoured by a blanket of untouched snow and large catalog model houses set back from the sidewalk.
I was trapped inside a perfect snow globe village, except I was the broken piece that wiggled around and ruined the whole damn ornament. I pushed my nose against the cold glass as Janet pulled up outside a ginormous house.
"Are you freaking kidding me?" The witch managed to crack a smile and I literally thought the Earth was going to shatter. "Why do they foster kids, clearly they don't need the pay cheque?"
A hesitation of silence fell upon us once more.
"Uh... to help them?" Janet replied monotonously, like that was the default answer as to why anyone would want to foster a child.
Daylight was slowly breaking through the inky sky like an oil painting, each cloud representing the brush strokes. She ripped me from my last home in the middle of the night.
My off branded plimsolls fell into a puddle of sleet, the wetness seeped through into my mismatched socks, chilling my toes instantly.
I gazed up at the house, It was draped in snowy wisteria giving the whole entrance a beautiful floral scent.
The house was delightful, modern lanterns gave it a warm glow, making it feel homely and welcoming despite the cool temperatures surrounding it.
Janet made quick work climbing up the steps of their porch and knocking on the door. I fiddled with a hair tie on my wrist, twanging it against my skin.
