"𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗰𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝗺𝗽 𝗽𝘂𝗱𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂."
Chaos may be the only way to describe Clailea Del Rosario's 9 years of life.
In a nasty divorce, somehow Clailea's druggie mother w...
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Comfort is one of the many things I do not have in the safety of my home.
Even in my room, that was the hot attic.
Sure, some things are comfortable. Like, Puddles, and this couch and blanket.
But, for most of my life I have been nothing more than uncomfortable.
Surely not as uncomfortable as this moment though.
One of my seven brothers. Is standing in front of me, obviously trying to get a reaction from me. Although, he really hasn't said anything himself.
I'll save you from the boring stuff, he had to do a lot of paper work. Apparently he's the one to be my legal guardian because my eldest brother works a lot of the time. He also told me he was more responsible, whatever that means.
I was also brought into a seperate room to have my wounds taken care of. They wouldn't listen when I told them to stop.
They told me they were gathering evidence to 'abuse', and when I tried to tell them I didn't have whatever disease they were searching for they just looked at me with pity eyes.
Now, here I am in a very long car, with a driver whom I don't know. Although, he already knew my name and the way his features softened told me he was already acquaintanced with me.
Zara sits across from me, trying to get my face to shift from anything but emotionless.
Is he trying to find a reason to hit me?
Hunter says he's a nice man, and Hunter did nothing but help me.
Hunter also said that he would be stopping by, aswell as introducing himself to Zara as my social worker.
Why do I have a social worker if I'm anything but social?
So many things are going on, I'm trying to make sure I remember all of the rules in my head. Most importants ones,
Don't speak to me
Don't make eye contact with me
Don't show vulnerability (one of the rules I made for myself)
Don't question me
Don't touch me
You are lower than me
With those in mind, I make sure to keep my eyes focused on the ground, and stay quiet.
My knees stay glued to my chest, hiding Puddles between my legs and chest like I had been doing at the police station.
Flashbacks will occasionally hit me, reminding me not to break said rules.
When I was given permission to talk, I would get punched for everytime I stuttered.
