The Way We Say Goodbye

Chapter 13

The day that I moved in with my foster family, I felt so numb. The days had all blurred together, and I felt empty and numb. While I assumed the Smiths were a wonderful family, I had no desire to try to become a part of that family.

Evangeline and Earnest Smith weren't one of those couples who had trouble conceiving and were desperate for a child. They already had two kids of their own: a boy and a girl. They were just a couple who wanted to do their part to make the world a little better. Upon meeting them, they seemed like a happy, normal family, but to a girl who had just lost her family, their happy family was suffocating.

Moving into their home was stiff and uncomfortable. I didn't want to be in their home. Earnest and Evangeline often tried to spark conversation with me, but they were always deterred with brief answers in a clipped tone. Destiny often asked if I would play with her, but I always said, "Maybe later." Sometimes I would feel a pang of guilt when I would watch the glimmer of hope fade from the eight-year-old's eyes. Phoenix, the thirteen-year-old, would always swoop the girl up in his arms with the promise to play with her while glaring at me with judgmental eyes.

Being in their home, I felt out of place. It was like I was a puzzle piece that fell into the wrong puzzle box. I looked like I should belong, but I just didn't fit. The closer you looked at me, compared to the other pieces, the more obvious it became that I didn't belong. My presence was just wrong. As much as the Smiths tried to make me fit into their life, I just didn't, and I didn't want to pretend that I did. I often exiled myself to my bedroom to avoid the uncomfortable feel of being forced into their lives.

When sitting alone in my room, my mind alternated between thoughts of my parents and thoughts of Osbourne. I couldn't help but focus on Osbourne and push away the—now painful—memories of my parents. I suppose I thought if I didn't think about them, life without them would hurt less.

That night, my thoughts turned to Osbourne. I missed the way he held me. I missed the way the corners of his lips twitched so slightly when he teased me and was trying not to smile. I missed waking up to the smell of his cologne whenever we fell asleep while studying. I missed his presence. Without him, I felt so empty and cold. So alone. I never knew I could feel so broken. Before losing my parents, before Osbourne, I never understood how a person could be alive but feel dead inside. Being swallowed up by your own emotions and trapped in your own hopeless thoughts is the loneliest, most suffocating place to be, and the further you burrow into it, the harder it is to climb back out.