I stood outside the door with my hood over my head and the sleeves of my hoodie pulled down to cover my bruised knuckles. I took a deep breath and opened the door into the one story house I lived in, knowing it would be unlocked. I entered the living room of my foster parents' house. They were well off, but not insanely rich. They were sweet enough, but they had one devil of a daughter, Kayla, who was almost two years younger than me. She hated me.
"Skye?" my foster mother, Wanda, called from the kitchen.
"It's Skylar," I muttered under my breath. "Yes?" I called out, louder.
"How was your day?" I heard footsteps making their way towards the living room, where I was standing.
Shit, shit, shit. She was going to see my bruised up face.
"It was good." I hurried down the hall to the door of my bedroom just a second before she entered the living room.
Phew. I thought. I was safe for now. suddenly, the door across from my room opened and Kayla stormed out.
"Mom! have you seen my heels? I thought I told you never to touch-" she broke off when she saw me.
Damn it.
She stared at me for a few seconds before narrowing her eyes.
"Oh my God, what happened to your face Skylar?" she said loudly, with mock concern lacing her voice. I glared at her and she smirked back evilly at me. The little shit.
"Your face? What?" Wanda hurried into the hall and I groaned.
"Turn around, Skye." She ordered. I turned around.
"My name is Skylar. Not Skye." I said, holding my head high. Wanda let out an audible gasp, ignoring my comment.
"Jesus, how did that happen?" she gaped at my face and I shrugged.
"My face isn't so bad. You should have seen the other guys face." I smirked at the horror on her face before walking into my room and slamming the door. I knew what was coming next. The principal would call. This was the fifth time this term, and I doubt the school was going to take me back. Also, a call from the school would mean Carrie the social worker coming back, which meant me being re-located again and being considered a 'violent child'. I looked at myself in the full length mirror beside my bed. I was tall – too tall – and thin compared to an average 16 year old. My lip was cut and bleeding slightly. My right cheekbone was bruised and my felt eye was slowly turning blue. My long brown hair was sticking out of my bun and my brown eyes were rimmed with red. I was so done with this shit. I pulled out the biggest backpack I could find in my closet and I began stuffing clothes into it. I heard the phone ring.
Wow. I thought. Miss Jargons was quick to call today.
Going to my desk, I opened he drawer and undid the false bottom under which I hid my emergency cash. I had a few hundred dollars from the various families I had stayed with it. I tucked it safely into my backpack before stuffing the bag under my bed. Then, I sat on the bed with a book, waiting for Greg, Wanda's husband to get back from work.
About half an hour later, I heard the front door slam shut.
"Where is she?" I heard Greg asking Wanda loudly. Wanda gave a muffled answer and not a minute later, a loud banging sounded in my room. The door flew open and Greg stood there, still in his suit and tie.
"Why?" he demanded.
I set the book down and sighed dramatically. "His face bothered me."
"You punched a boy because his face bothered you?"
"Well... yeah." I said nonchalantly. The real reason was because he had told me I was living in a foster home cause no one wanted me and that I was a freak.
"Skylar." He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "You can't keep doing this! This is the third time this is happening this month!" then, his eyes softened. "Are we not enough for you? Are we not providing you with what you need, Skye?" his voice sounded broken.
"My name is Skylar." I said, with a steely look on my face. He sighed.
"If you're going to be defiant, I –" he took a shaky breath. "I'm going to have to call Carrie. I'm afraid you are too violent for us to keep you any longer and soon enough, you may pose a threat to our family itself."
I tried to ignore the stab of pain I felt. I had tried not to get too attached to this family, but I couldn't help it. A little bit of me was attached to them.
"Go ahead." I said, proud to hear my voice cold and emotionless. If it was one thing I learned from being tossed from foster home to foster home it was to not let your emotions off to strong. "It wouldn't be the first time this has happened." I picked up my book and stared at the words which were blurring together on the page. I was much too angry to read. Greg stood there for a few more seconds before sighing and leaving my room, sighing softly. It wasn't till I had heard the door close when I buried my head in my hands.
Don't cry. Don't cry. I sniffled but managed to keep the tears at bay. Through the thin walls of the house I heard Greg talking on the phone to Carrie. I knew I had to leave quickly before Carrie came. Pulling the bag out from under my bed, I walked to my window, where my guitar was leaning against the wall. I picked it up and looked out of the window. Thankfully, it led out into the backyard. Dropping my bag outside, I gently set my guitar down on the ground before climbing through the window and landing on my feet. Outside, the sun was just coming down from its prime height. I knew I had enough time to catch a bus.
Grabbing my guitar case, I shouldered my backpack and began jogging away from the house. I jogged till the edge of town where I knew there was a bus stop. Taking a seat on the bench, I breathed heavily trying to catch my breath.
About fifteen minutes later, when the sky was almost fully dark, a bus pulled up to the busstand. Without a second thought I boarded it, buying a ticket for Los Angeles. I took a seat near the end of the bus by a window and set my guitar on the seat beside me. I lay my head back and closed my eyes, happy to finally be away from Greg and Wanda's home. I felt free and it was the best feeling ever. It felt like I was flying after walking this earth for 16 years. But honestly, wouldn't you rather die than walk this earth when you're born to fly?
Just as I was drifting off, I heard a small cough coming from beside me. Thinking that, if I ignored it, whoever it was would go away.
"Excuse me?" it sounded like a boy. I opened one eye and saw a boy who looked about my age standing beside the seat my guitar was on. He had dark brown hair and electric blue eyes. He also had a lip ring.
"Yes?" I answered coldly.
"Um, I was wondering if I could sit here?" he smiled shyly.
I was about to give him a nasty retort, but I saw something in his eyes. Maybe it was a flash of hopefulness of making a friend or maybe I thought he was just like me. Or maybe it was something deeper. Whatever it was, I nodded and he cracked a smile. It was then I noticed he was also carrying a guitar.
"My name's Cole by the way." He said, putting his guitar and mine into the compartments above.
"Skylar." I said, smiling slightly.
It wasn't till later when I realized that running away and meeting Cole were the best choices I would ever make in my life.
HEY HEY!
This is my first story EVER so please please please be nice :)
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