ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʙᴀᴅ ɢɪʀʟ // $ᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇʙᴏʏ$

1

Aristos

The moment I met Clover Blanche, one month ago, I knew she was one beautiful package of trouble.

She had dropped herself onto the couch in my parents' living room with a world-hating scowl on her pretty face, hunching her perfectly sloping shoulders, and nervously tapping her right foot. She told me back then, just as she would today, that she didn't give a fuck about anything.

She didn't give a fuck about claiming assistance and applying for college.

She didn't give a fuck about the fact she was less than a week away from being homeless.

She didn't give a fuck about the latest foster family she'd run ragged the past few months.

And that foster family were my parents.

Clover had a chip on her shoulder bigger than the file of case notes with her name on the cover. She had a wildness about her, and if those feral looks of hers could kill, I'd be a dead man right now.

Her long black hair was glossy and thick, even though I was sure it rarely saw a brush. The sprinkling of freckles over her nose gave her a softness at odds with the rest of her appearance. Her teeth were surprisingly perfect given the generally dishevelled state of her.

I didn't know why I agreed to go there the first time to meet her a month ago. My parents asked if I could talk some sense into her. Half of me wished I wouldn't have.

Half of me.

Now, in four days' time she would turn twenty-one and her funding would cease. The state extended her foster care services and supports after she turned eighteen, but would stop extending it on her twenty-first birthday.

For all my efforts over the past month, I'd failed her. My words had been for nothing, every time I stopped by my parents' house to talk to her had been pointless. My parents were at their wit's end. Twenty-one and soon to be on the streets. A failure of the system.

Who knew where she was going to end up.

"How was your week?" I asked, as though I thought she'd grace me with an answer.

A shrug. That's all she gave.

"How are things with my mom and dad? Did you apologize for the carpet?"

"I tried," she said.

I took a breath. "You tried? Good. And what did they say?"

"Kellie gave me that prissy smile of hers. Pavlos said nothing."

She was wearing the same filthy boots she soiled their new cream carpet with. She tugged at the laces absentmindedly.

She'd been in and out of foster homes since she was thirteen. She had a history of substance abuse and behavioral issues. She was a bad young woman who didn't want help from anyone.

But I knew that wasn't true. If it was, she wouldn't have still been at my parents' place. At least that's what I tried to tell myself.

"They're gonna throw me out on my birthday," she said. "The minute I turn twenty-one I'll be out of here."

"Maybe if you tried again... offered another apology..."

She sneered at me like I was a total fucking imbecile. Like I had no idea how the world worked.

She was right. I had no idea how her world worked. I had no idea how it would feel to grow up in a world where no one gave a shit about you. Without a family.

"They're dicks," she snapped. "I hate them."

"You don't hate them..." I began.

"I do hate them," she insisted.