The Foster Kid/Purinz/Le sserafim

Chapter 2

Chaewon's POV:

When I thought of school, I thought of  the fiery hell that some people liked to believe in. Of course, I couldn't force myself to believe in heaven or hell or the omniscient being that people liked to call God, simply because I couldn't understand how if there was a god, he'd let me suffer through seventeen years of my life while other people got to live their lives happily.

School had always been a drag for me, but in high school especially had been rough. During the first 3 years I'd been moved around to so many high schools that by the time I was adopted, I couldn't even remember the names of half of them. I never bothered making friends because I'd either be sent to a different foster home and ripped away from them, or they would realize how much baggage I had and bail. Dating had been even worse, and I decided that when someone came to me, I wouldn't do something about it, but I had never been with anyone for any other reason than to relieve my anger, frustration, or sadness.

I didn't know what to expect from my senior year. I had never really been a good student because I just didn't understand the point. Why would I try to make something of my future when I'd never have one? I would never have enough money of my own to pay for college, let alone a good one. I knew that if Yoongi could help me, he wouldn't. He might pay for me to go to community college, but only going to a good school would require me to leave the house, I knew he wouldn't allow that.

Either way, I'd insisted on taking advanced proficient biology and chemistry because science had always interested me, and though I'd hated high school it began 3 years ago, I wanted to at least try to enjoy my senior year. I'd also taken honors art four, because I had loved drawing ever since I was a child, and  3 other general required classes. I needed to fill my schedule because there was no way in hell that I was going to go home early and deal with Yoongi every day.

I woke up on the first day of school, both my stomach and the back of my head a little sore from that night at the hotel. Thankfully, I hadn't seen Yoongi at all since that eventful night so I didn't have to worry about covering up new scratches or bruises. There was no use in trying to look nice, mainly because I knew there was no one at the school that I'd want to impress. I wasn't going to make friends and I didn't give a shit about my appearance and what people thought of me. I slid into a pair of distressed jeans and a gray sweatshirt, and though I'd been using makeup since Yoongi bought it for me, it was merely for myself. I liked my look with makeup better than the look of a sad little girl with baggage.

When I finished, I looked a little bit older. although I knew I appeared older than seventeen even without makeup, the small things I was able to change with a little bit of help made me look years older than I was. I grabbed my old school book bag and rushed down the stairs, looking for Jennie, My former stepmom and now adoptive mother, to drive me to school. It was that or I'd have to take the bus which was an option I did not like at all.

When I entered the kitchen, I saw Yoongi standing by the skillet in dress pants but bare-chested as his shirt was thrown over his shoulder. He turned to me and offered me the slightest smile. 

Two-faced bitch 

"Good morning Chaewon"

I want sure if his sober brain remembered everything he did to me when he was drunk or if he chose not to acknowledge it. I shook my head my head at him, gritting my teeth. " Hardly"

His lips formed a frown as he put a plate of pancakes in front of me, reaching into his back pocket. "Well, that's not what I like to hear. Here's 50, use it for lunch and buy a new bag while you're at it that one's filthy.

This bag had been through hell and back with me, and I would never get rid of it.  Instead of fighting him though, I accepted the 50 and ate the pancakes quietly. I knew they weren't poisoned or anything of the sort; this was his way of acting like the good father my social worker saw him to be. I wasn't terrified of being sent back into the system, I would simply show my social worker the bruises and the scars Yoongi had given me in the year that I'd lived with him. But I would never do that, because I wasn't going back, I would never go back. I would never do that, because I wasn't going back. I would never go back. I would be 18 soon enough and then I'd be free to move out if I could. The problem was that I didn't have any money and so I swore to myself that I'd do everything in my power to get a job. I knew making minimum wage a year wouldn't even give me enough to buy my car, let alone my place, but it was better than sitting around doing nothing.