Damien the Wolf: Book 1: Trust in Me

Chapter 1

"Sofia, I said enough," My foster mom said. A few months back, I think 3, my Mother passed away. They didn't know the cause, and they wouldn't let me see her body. At her funeral, she had a closed casket. Nobody would tell me why, but I felt as if I never got to truly say goodbye to my mother. 
After her passing, I was left alone. The state claimed me as I was only 17, not let a legal adult. From there, I had passed through 7 different homes. Being tossed and turned really had a tole on you, but you learn how to adapt, though it never helped. By the time you adapt to the house you were in with the new rules and new life, they ship you to new house with new rules and a new life. I had gotten used to moving around so much, but I hated it. I hated my life. Everything about it was depressing and saddening. My friends I had when I was with Mom were gone. I hadn't spoken to them in what feels like years, and I didn't want to. They always wanted to ask how I was doing, where I was and if they could see me. Eventually I stopped taking their calls and responding to their texts. 

"Why does it matter what I do? I'm almost an adult!" I shouted to the woman who was taking care of me. I hated the term 'foster mother'. She was no way shape or form my mother. She was nothing like her. She was the exact opposite. 
Mom was happy and bubbly. Even after Father's death a few years back, she kept a smile on her face for her only daughter. She wouldn't miss a chance for a girls night out with me or just hang around the house and watch movies while we stuffed our faces with junk food. She was my best friend. 
The woman in front of me was strict and stern. She hardly ever smiled and she commanded me around like I was a little child, well I wasn't and I had enough.
"You are still 17 and still belong to the state! You obey my rules!" She shouted. Her short plump body was topped with a bun of gray and brown. She had a red apron on as she had one hand on her hip and the other holding a spatula. I hated her, with a passion. Hate was a nice word. I loathed her, I loathed her existence. 
"Whatever," I mumbled under my breath. 
"Room, now," She said in two stern words. Gladly. In my room I packed a backpack full of clothes and a picture of Mother and I. She was short, about 5'3. Her hair was long, waist length. It was a shinny brown that was silky soft. Her brown eyes were sparkling. Her curvy but small frame was in a sun dress with her arm around a look-alike. Me. We had the same hair, eyes, curves and we were in matching dresses. The only difference is she did look older. People never mistake us for mother daughter. I missed her with all my heart and it hurt to look at her so I put the picture in my bag and closed it up. I was done. I was done with the life I had been given. It was time to get out. 

Night fall came slow and I left just after her light went black. Watching from my door, I waited until her door was closed. It was another half-hour before the light went off.  I went though my window and out into the woods without looking back once. If I ever saw that place again, it would be too soon. 
It wasn't my first time running away. I had tried multiple times, which is why I was pushed around to different homes. My mistake was, I always went for home. The house that Mom and I lived in still stood proudly. I would hide there until the police came. You'd think after the first 2 times I'd learn, but I didn't. That house was the last thing I held of my Mom and it hurt like hell to leave it behind. 
This time, I went the opposite way. Into the woods. My only regret is leaving behind what little I owned. 

It felt like hours as I walked through the woods, but I didn't stop. The sun was slowly starting to come up as I pushed forward. The more distance I put between that town and myself, the better. It would be harder for them to find me if I was farther away. No doubt at sunrise, she would be on the phone with the police and they would be searching the house, but they wouldn't find me there. They wouldn't fine me balled up in her closet. They wouldn't find me in my bathroom. They wouldn't find me in the attic, or the basement.  
This time was different. If they caught me, they would send me to a Juvenal Detention Center until I turned 18. Then they would put me in a strict group home until I proved I could survive on my own.