The F-Kid

chapter 2 : Bipolar Drunk

chapter 2: Bipolar drunk

I peeled my eyes opened, groggily trying to get to my feet. I smacked my lips together a few times, trying to get the unpleasant taste of morning breath out of my mouth.

Heck, I didn't even know if it was morning or not.

I blindly reached for the window, tugging on the string of the blinds causing it to lift.

Dammit, it was still dark. I glanced at the glowing digital clock, " 1:45 " I muttered to myself, as my stomach played a rumbling sound.

Fuck, I missed dinner I thought, patting my rumbling stomach.

I don't think it would be rude to snoop in the kitchen a bit. I mean she did say to make myself comfortable. But first things, first, I had to get out of this uncomfortable clothing and into some sleeping clothes.

I stripped off my tank top, and wiggled down my pants while still closing my eyes, leaving my black undershirt on. I couldn't decide what was more important, eating or sleeping. So why not do both?

I slapped around for my sweat pants in my duffle bag, half naked. Then it struck me,

Oh shit I thought to myself, That Noah kid must be here.

I turned slowly and carefully, praying to god that he would be one of those kids that were heavy sleepers.

I let out a whiff of air, to seeing that his bed was empty. It was still perfectly made, and his clutters of paper and notebooks scattered across the floor. A pair of green boxers hanging limply to the side.

I slipped in my gray sweatpants, and left on my black undershirt, walking down the stairs in my mismatched socks.

I continued to observe my surroundings, in which I wasn't quite used to yet. I could hear snoring in every room. I hope Noah wasn't a snorer, then I'd have to buy some ear plugs. I traced my fingers down the cold, wooden rail of the winding staircase blindly, not wanting to wake up everybody my flicking the lights on.

I nearly tripped off of the stairs, and stumbled on my feet at least 40 times until I got down stairs. The house looked super creepy in the dark, almost as if something,or someone would pop out of nowhere at any second causing the death of me.

But what are the odds of that happening right?

I finally found the fridge, I kept the fridge door open to illuminate some light into the darkness.

I really hope I wasn't violating any of their rules or some sort, I really don't want to get kicked out, but hey, I didn't have dinner ,and I was famished.

I poked around in the fridge, as I spotted a blue square Tupperware, with a sticky note attached to it.

Didn't want to wake you darling :)

My foster parents were so kind, it scared me.

Usually my foster parents wouldn't care much if I had missed dinner, nor would they even think of leaving a whole tupperware of food for me in the fridge.

I opened the cold tupperware to reveal some pasta with strips of chicken. I licked my lips, ready to devour the thing. I snatched a fork from the dish rack and stabbed a piece of cold chicken and stuffed my mouth.

Okay, so I wasn't one of the most civilized eaters, but wow was this delicious.

I bet it would taste better warm I thought to myself as I looked around for a microwave.

I've never actually, physically used a microwave before, I mean I did once, but I was banned from ever touching anything ever again. According to Miss.Min, my 7th foster parent, I destroyed everything I touched . That didn't really offend me, I was kind of like "King Midas and the Golden Touch", except instead of turning everything gold, I made them explode.