The Void Between Stars: Book 4 Of The Orion Series

Ori-on

I would have loved to find peaceful reprieve through sleep after having to relive my dad's molestation of me. Instead, all I could hear was the soft chirp of crickets, the occasional patter of a tear hitting my pillow, and my screaming mind.

What Ben had said to me in the hospital had been true. I did just want to sleep. Forever.

Briefly I thought about going to the med wing to see if they could do anything to help me sleep. Instead I continued to lie in the dark, staring at the blank ceiling. That line of thought was stupid. Sleeping pills were what got me here in the first place, and I doubted a rehab facility would give something so addictive to its patients. Then again, I knew they handed out methadone like candy so, who the fuck knew.

Regardless, I was way too apathetic to do something as simple as get out of bed. Feeling sorry for myself had become an art. I'd much rather lay here, crying on and off, ruminating over how much my childhood sucked, than get help for myself.

"Same old bullshit," I whispered into the dark, another tear tickling down my temple.

I didn't want to "bother the staff". I "shouldn't even be awake at midnight, anyway", because I should just "suck it up". There were people out there who "had it worse than me."

I knew I was doing exactly what I wasn't supposed to do. I sure as fuck wasn't using any coping mechanisms I had been taught. I told myself it was too late to try any of that shit anyway. I had become a prisoner of my own mind now. There wasn't a key to get out. There wasn't even a fucking door. I had been trapped in this mental Hell often enough to know that I would just have to ride it out tonight.

~

Growing up in the children's home wasn't bad. It was a foster home run through the local church. How I ended up there in the first place, all the way from California where I had been born, remained a mystery. It didn't really matter though. Situations out of my control had landed me in Michigan, so that's where I stayed.

I had met my adoptive parents a couple times before everything was finalized. My first impression was sweet. Looking back, I can't help but wonder if it was tainted by rose tinted glasses. I was ecstatic that finally, at the age of ten, I was going home with someone.

It seemed like it would be a smooth transition for me. The couple who was to adopt me attended the church I already went to on Sundays. Even better, they lived close enough to the school I attended, so transferring to another Catholic school wasn't on the table.

At that point, that had been my largest concern (my only concern, really). My foster mom, Linda, had enrolled me in music classes as soon as I was old enough. Apparently I was born a musician, using pots and pans at an early age as drums, singing off-key and making up songs. It drove her and the rest of the children under her care a bit batty, but it was me. Since I clearly wasn't going to change, Linda put me into the church choir along with the school's orchestra.

As I had eagerly waited for my new parents that day, I just kept thinking about how lucky I was. I wouldn't have to start over. I wouldn't have to be the new kid. I wouldn't have to do tryouts for choir and orchestra. Everything seemed perfect.

When they arrived, my new mother had smiled at me. It was a look that I would end up seeing less and less. My father had even smiled. We had done a group hug there, right in the middle of the living room.

"Ready to go home, Orion?" my mother had asked, absolutely beaming at me.

As she kissed my head, I remembered wrinkling my nose. She had said my name completely wrong. Instead of O'Ryan, she had said Ori-on. I didn't think much of it, figuring she has just misspoke. We clambered into the car, a little red Honda, all my stuff packed up in the trunk.

When I was first adopted, we had an actual house. It wasn't big, but it still was a house. My mother stayed at home; they lived comfortably off my father's salary as a manager in an office. It had been just him and her for so long, they could spend money indiscriminately.

"What would you like for dinner, dear?" my mother had asked me that evening, planting yet another kiss to the top of my head.

I remember being dumbfounded, because no one had never asked me this before. So, when I didn't reply, she had laughed lightly.

"Surely you have a favorite dish, Orion?"

"Why do you say my name like that?" I had asked innocently.

My new mother had looked confused.

"It's O'Ryan," I told her plainly.

"Oh," she said, looking surprised. "It is?"

"Yeah, you know. Like the constellation? Orion's Belt? All that?"

I had, at the time, felt guilty when she had looked embarrassed. Her tongue darted out, sweeping against her lips for an instant. "Sorry. I thought it was ori-on. That's how it was spelled."

My new father had come up behind me then. He took my shoulders gently and shook me a little. As he came around, he was smiling, his face red. At the time I didn't realize it was a grimace.

"We're your parents now, " he had told me gently, playfully punching my shoulder not even hard enough to move me. "We'll call you what we like."

My newfound mother had grinned. Maybe I'm projecting what I know now onto my memories, but I very clearly remembered it being a forced smile.

"S-sorry."

My father was leading me to the kitchen, mother scuttling behind me. Nothing but smiles, he looked over his shoulder at me. "You stutter."

I could feel myself turn red. This late in the game I knew my speech impediment became worse when I was overly emotional. I knew my response was going to be just has jittery. I took a deep breath.

"Y-yeah. I'm um, I'm i-in speech-speech therapy for it."

"We know," my mother said behind me.

"Just try not to do it," my now-father said as we made it into the kitchen.

I wasn't completely jaded by that point, so instead of thinking (or saying), "Don't you think I'm already trying?", I just remained silently confused.

The rest of the evening had gone well. I was shown my new bedroom, where they had enthusiastically helped me unpack. I didn't wear exclusively black clothes back then, but as we filled my dresser and hung up my school uniforms, we discussed my colorblindness.

I couldn't sleep that night. Unlike what my future sleepless nights held, it was for a completely benign reason. I was so excited to start my new life. As I laid in my brand new, comfortable bed, staring at the ceiling, I was getting used to the new sounds, the new smells. Really, I couldn't have been happier.

For the first time in my life I thought about my future. I never allowed myself that luxury, because everything felt so up in the air. I didn't know when I would be adopted. Honestly I didn't know if I'd be adopted at all!

But now? I had a permanent house, my own bedroom. I had a mother and father. I allowed myself to have a fantasy about a dog. For a long while I was just laying in bed, grinning, thinking about what sort of dog it would be, what I would name it.

For the first time, I started to feel like I could actually begin my life.

I was now "Orion Bauwens" (it took me forever to get my new last name correct on my homework and tests). You can imagine how ecstatic I was going into school that Monday, telling everyone they could no longer tease me for being a foster kid. My parents continued to call me ori-on at home, and after a point I stopped correcting them. I didn't care—I had my own bicycle! I got a TV in my room! They were considering getting me a PS4! They said I might get my own guitar at some point because I had started to show interest in it!

I thought I was in Heaven.

Ha.