Take Courage, My Heart

Chapter One

Whoever said that the moment you turn eighteen you are free, fucking lied.

All the freedom I thought I would be experiencing had been stripped away from me in a split second. All it took was my parents calling what felt like the cops on me for not being the way they wanted me to be. And now I was stuck, staring at a man in his late forties with graying short hair and a sturdy body. His office was neat and organized, not even a single pen out of place. In the room with us were two other men, around the same age as him, and a guy that was at best twenty-five years old.

"Jesse, this is Kevin Palmerton," the man at the desk started, diverting my attention to the youngest of them, "he will be showing you around the Home. Additionally, Kevin will give you the rundown of the rules that you must follow. This is your schedule for this week," he went on and offered me a piece of paper. The little plaque on his desk read Director Gerald Turner.

When I made no move to approach and take the schedule from him, he sighed and let his hand drop.

"The more difficult you are, the harder your experience here will be," he said and offered up the schedule again. Automatically, I took a step forward and took it from him -an intense voice in my head screaming at me in distaste. Director Gerald Turner's hand didn't drop though. Instead, he opened his palm expectantly. "Hand over your phone."

"What?" I hadn't spoken a word in almost two days by now and the hoarseness of my voice made it evident to everyone. Director Gerald Turner didn't seem phased by my exclamation.

"Mobile access is only allowed on weekends," he explained.

"I'm not giving you my phone," I snapped, taking half a step back and crumpling the paper in my hand.

"You are not leaving this room with your phone," he said and waved his empty palm at me.

Fuck this guy.

We stared at each other for a couple of moments that felt like an eternity, but eventually, I caved and reached into my back pocket. No emotion wavered in his features as I slammed my phone onto the hard wooden surface of his desk.

He got ahold of the device and looked over it, without making even the slightest sound. Some cracks were going along the screen, not dramatic enough for me to go and get it fixed but visible enough to bother. He turned it around and stared at the Polaroid photo I kept tucked inside the see-through phone case.

I was the only one visible in that photo. I was sitting on a couch leaning back with my eyes narrowed and blissed out. The guy that was sucking me off that wasn't in view was the reason behind that. Director Gerald Turner had no idea why I looked the way I did in that photo, but him seeing it still made a knot form in my stomach.

He turned the phone back around and opened it up only to stare at my locked screen.

"What is your password?" he asked casually as if he was asking what time it was. I couldn't help but laugh humorlessly.

"Are you fucking serious?" I managed with a shake of my head.

"Watch your mouth."

"Watch your fucking business. I am not giving you my password." He opened his mouth, a soft crease forming between his eyebrows, but I spoke up before he did. "I don't care if you keep me from leaving this room for a week or if you refuse to feed me and let me sleep for a month. If you want to get into my phone, too fucking bad."

He set my phone down on his desk and emptily looked up at me. The crease was gone and with it so was any semblance of warmth he had feigned.

"Privacy is a luxury here. And you just lost mobile access indefinitely," he said, and I rolled my eyes. "You have four months to fix yourself. You are rude, vulgar, and lack discipline, respect, and shame. You think all I just listed were compliments, which also makes you stubborn and stupid. If the four months are over and no change has been documented, you will remain here for an additional four months, until we deem you fixed."