I slowly had opened my eyes. I looked up to see a ceiling with a fan over it. I wasn't in the same place as I was when I ran away...
I turned to my side and saw a desk and a bunch of play tables with sand, and beads...Where am I? I thought I was in the hospital...but I wasn't there either. I quickly sat my body up and got off of what seemed to be a bed. I was still in my pajama shorts and sweater. My bag was sitting next to the couch. I quickly searched through it to see if my stuff was stolen. Everything was in its normal place, thank God. I looked around the room to see a whole collage of pictures. Pictures of kids. Pictures of people who were my age. And kids who were much younger were on the walls too. I saw pictures of kids with families, different families. I put my bag around my shoulder and started walking towards a door, when suddenly it opened up quickly. My eyes widened as a lady that looked about 30 something years old walk in. "Well, good morning!" she said brightly and enthusiastically. I stood there, puzzled. "Well are you just going to stand there or are you going to join the other kids?" she asked politely. "Uh...um...where am I?" I faintly asked. "You're in a foster home, sweetie." She said. "We found you lying on a bus stop bench and we took you in while you were sleeping. We don't mean to startle you. We just didn't want any kids under the age of 18 out in the city by themselves."
"How do you know I'm younger than 18?" I asked.
"I don't know. How old are you?"
"17..."
"Great. You'll be staying here until you get adopted or until you turn 18 and you go to the young adults' homeless shelter."
"But I'm not homeless..."
"Then why were you out in the cold with just your bag and sweater?" she gave me that confused look.
"I'm...I'm a runaway..." I looked down. I felt like I was going to cry or something.
"Well, why did you run away? Didn't you have a family?"
"Well...my mom and her boyfriend...but they...they..."
"They're dead?" she put her hand on my shoulder and gave me a sad look. "Come sit down, let's talk...by the way, my name is Jamie." Jamie sat at the desk while I sat in the chair in front of the desk.
"No...they aren't dead...they..." I let a few tears roll down my cheek before I started to speak. I felt my throat clutch together as if I was choking. "My mom and her boyfriend have been abusing me for the past...5 years. I used to live with my grandma...but she passed away when I was 11...and my mom took me into custody. I don't know who my real dad is either...I don't even know if I belong here...I don't think I deserve to live-"
"Oh Honey. Please don't say that. You do deserve to live. Everyone deserves to live! You didn't do anything bad did you?" she asked.
"Only runaway. That's it. If they find me, they'll probably beat me until I'm dead..." I sunk into my seat.
"Is that why you have that black eye?"
I looked at her and nodded. "What's your name?" she asked. "YN..." I replied...
A few minutes of talking brought in tears and emotion from both of us. Jamie is really caring and trustworthy. She brought me into a room full of teenagers. Some of them looked worn out or beat up...like me. Some of them sat in the corner, rocking themselves back and forth. I felt like I was in a hospital. I sat on a chair by myself. Jamie walked up to me. I wonder what she wants..
