Vendetta

CHAPTER FOUR

DELANCEY

My parents were awful people. Rich, but awful people.

They'd throw me huge, frivolous parties with more guests than I could remember, but there were rarely any real children there. They basically used me as an excuse to get drunk with their friends.

My parents were French immigrants, Nicolette and Jean-Claude. They came to Burtton to live their luxurious lifestyle peacefully, and to piss off the locals. When someone approached them about foster care, I think they got confused and just agreed. They're just lucky they didn't agree to join a cult.

My father still doesn't know my name, even after fostering me for twelve years. To be fair to him, though, my real parents did give me a strikingly similar name to Delaney, which was honestly a dick move from the both of them.

I don't remember my biological parents. I was two years old when I came to live with Nic and Jean, and have little to no memory of my life before that. I doubt my life was as lavish as this one, but it'd still be nice to know what happened to my parents or family.

It does feel like a part of me is missing. Daily. I yearn to know who would have raised me, especially if they were better people that Nic and Jean. I want sisters, I want brothers, I want a real family in which everyone truly cares for one another. There's only so much money can buy, and human connection and hospice is not one of those things. I want birthday parties with real friends. I want real friends.

The nanny came to wake me up and get me ready for the day. She guided me down the stairs and into the car, waiting for my parents to come down. Our house is too large for me to yell for them, so I have to message them that we're going to be late, and they arrive instantly. We live very close to the school, and they adore making rude comments on the "low-lifes" of Burtton, so it only takes them approximately 30 seconds to find a new victim.

"Oh, look darling: a poor child on her pitiful motorcycle all by herself," Nic cackled.

"Ha! We should donate a car to her family. What do you think, Delaney?" Jean added.

"It's Delancey, Jean-Claude." I snarled.

"This is what I said, no?" Jean asked blissfully.

Nic nodded her head as I scoffed and rolled my eyes. I wished earnestly to be riding with the girl. I'm sure her adventure would be so much more fulfilling.

Nic and Jean continued on about the poor dead girl from all those years ago. I was still too young to remember, thus, too young to really care. My wealthy parents gifted me three sets of wireless earbuds this year, so I turned them on and played my favorite music: Metallica's Metallica album. Metallica was my escape from this calloused world. I forgot all of my issues and just drifted with the music. If there was anything that was going to help me through the day, it'd be Kirk Hammet absolutely ripping up the guitar at 7:30 in the morning.