ADOPTED BY PHAN

CHAPTER FORTY

What's that? You hate Isaiah? Muahahahahahahaha!

ISAIAH'S P.O.V

I can't stop thinking about my sister. How much she's grown. How far she's come. How she looks just like our mother. How I watched her heart drop when I told her the truth.

I could see the reflection of her unspoken words in those green eyes. The ones that resemble mine. And I keep replaying that moment over and over. I can't get it out of my mind!

I've put her through too much. Why did I go asking for more? I should have never contacted her, tried to push myself back into her life. Because maybe it's better for someone to be happy with who they thought you were, than upset with who you turned out to be. Would that have been right, though? Is it still lying if things are left unsaid? Is it still the truth if it's never heard?

I guess I've gone too long without making a sound. With all this noise in my head, I'm lucky to have said anything at all.

Lately I've been doing better. Despite the circumstances of how things went, it's given me a reason to fight again. After years of searching for the meaning of life - my life - I think I've finally found the answer.

Although the future is uncertain, I know what I need to do right now. The hospital has been able to get me back into the system. There's a foster home waiting for me and a safety plan set in stone. I just need to hold on until May.

* * *

The home I'm in has three other foster kids. I'm currently unaware of their names - as it's only my fourth day here - but I can assume their ages are close to mine. The caretakers have really gone all out to make me feel welcome, though. I have my own room, no rules, they don't even make me do chores! I am immensely greatful for everything they do, but I can't stop myself from feeling guilty. I don't deserve such luxury, such kindness from others. Because all I ever do is hurt people in return.

I've been thinking too much lately. And at the same time, I've barely thought at all. I've become comfortably numb. Granted with this freedom, I only stay in my room. I fear the inevitable. I ponder the impossible. Will I lose my mind? Will I gain control? I'm halfway down the line and I don't know which way I'm walking anymore.

I look around my bedroom for something to distract myself. The walls remain bare, shelves filled with air, and the floor looks as if it's never been walked on. However, the far left corner holds something I treasure. Hidden well between the wall and dresser, is my grandfather's acoustic guitar. He gave it to me before he passed, which was before my parents passed. I'm not the best at playing it, and the thing is well beat, but it still means a lot to me.

Hesitantly, I make my way over to the six string. Picking it up, I take it back over to my desk's chair and place it on my lap. The instrument is much lighter than I'd expect, as I haven't played in years. But after tuning it to the best of my ability, I decide to give it a go.

I pick at the strings a bit, until the chords come back to me. Once I finally feel like I'm playing what I'd learned a little over a year ago, I bundle up the confidence to sing. Making sure to keep the volume down, I let out my raspy, off-key voice.

Come as you are, as you were
As I want you to be
As a friend, as a friend
As an old enemy

Take your time, hurry up
Choice is yours, don't be late
Take a rest as a friend
As an old