Planes of Heart ✧ h. styles

Prologue

DISCLAIMER:  THIS WRITING IS STRICTLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY AND THE MALE LEAD BEARS NO LIKENESS TO THE REAL HARRY STYLES APART FROM PHYSICAL APPEARANCE. ANY SIMILAR ACTIONS OR MANERISMS ARE SIMPLY COINCIDENCE.
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Kit's POV

I had finally reached home after leaving from my friend, Jenna's home. Rocks and debris crunch under my feet as I stepped up to the door. I nervously rummaged through my bag as I searched for my keys.

You might ask why I was so nervous to come home?

My foster family was not so fond of my staying in their home, let alone share the air with them. It was like they were disgusted with me.

The reason being? Even I don't know.

Anytime I was around them, I was ignored. If I was gone, I was always searched for. I ate alone. Never once was I included in their family.

I struggled to place the keys where they should have fit in the key hole. The slight cold numbed my fingers, making it more difficult than it should have been.

When I finally succeeded, I slowly twisted the door knob, prying the door open. I slowly shut it, careful not to make any noise and draw attention to myself. But it was too late.

“Where the hell have you been. You never told us you were going out.” My foster mother, Janet raised her voice at me. Her brows pinched together in anger as she stared me down. Her eyes pierced me, causing me more nerves.

I never knew how to answer to her. Because either way I replied or acted, I was always wrong, or wrong for doing it.

“It's not like you care.” I mumbled, barely audible to others ears. Apparently, it was loud enough for Janet to pick up because as soon as the words fell from my trembling lips, the back of her left hand came flying to my face. I fell to the ground on impact.

It stung in pain, my hand to my face as I tried to soothe the stinging aftermath.

“What did you say to me!” She scowled. Her lips pulled up into a smirk, satisfied with what she thinks was discipline.

“You never said I couldn't leave the house.” I managed, my voice monotone and almost effortless. I remained on the floor, my hand still to my cheek.

She huffed before she padded across the tile and back to the kitchen.

I sat there for what felt like forever, thinking of all the possible things I could've done that made her act this way towards me. None came up to mind.

My first night here, everything seemed fine. I was treated like a part of the family. It changed as soon as the social worker who put me here was out of reach.

I tried numerous times to call him but no one was there to help me. I couldn't trust him. He said he'd place me where he knows I'm safe. He said he'd take care of it all, for me.

I had to remind myself not to trust anyone so easily. It's what I had the most trouble with. As soon as people gained my trust, no matter who it was, I was always broken in the end.

I raised myself from the ground and dragged myself through the ill-lit hallway and locked myself in my bedroom. Leant against the back of the door, I slowly slid to the ground. My eyes threatened tears, but I held them back. I told myself not to cry, because I knew I was stronger than this.

I picked myself back up once again, off the ground and in a few swift steps, I was standing at the bathroom counter. My hands curled and clung to the edge as I stared down at the sink. I couldn't bare to look at the rising red color that was strewn across my left cheek.