Another Life

Hey, so ok so I'm new and this is my new story i just want to see what people think of it so comment, vote. thanks.

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I watch as they dragged them out. I watch as they put handcuffs on them and strip them until their bodies were exposed to the outside weather. I felt the tears streaming down my face as my brother tried to wipe them away. He kept whispering "it's for the best" and "we'll be ok, we're always ok". We had all ways landed on our feet but there was something about this time that I knew was going to be different. My brother's arms were covered in my blood and he clung to me as if his life depended on it. I could feel myself losing conciousness but all I could do was watch the figures that were meant to protect us being dragged off into the police car behind us. I peer over my brother shoulder. We were sitting on the ground; I could feel it under my feet brushing against my legs. The police locked the two figures in the car. One of them came over to us. He looked down at us and smiled - it looked kind but I knew the truth: as soon as I was stitched up it would be another house, another town, another school, another life.

I woke up in the hospital. The light was streaming in, my brother stood by the window with his back to me. I could hear him humming the tune our mother used to sing to us before she was murdered. His head was bowed as if he was praying; it was possible as my brother often went to church. His blond hair shaved short showed the different scars he had from all of his different beat downs. The different tattoos along his arms and neck from all the gangs he had run with and every state we had lived in. He would have been a skinny little thing if he didn't work out so much. We both had tanned skin and the same piercing blue eye. He wore his normal cross around his neck and a red band with my name on it around his wrist. His cross was hidden under his shirt but the red band always stood out. It was often the first thing a family noticed about us that we were never far away from one another. "You're awake," he turned, his face expressionless - a trait we both shared - but I could always see the worry in his eyes. He cared; we both cared even after years of trying to hide it we knew that we cared. "They said they would get your statement when you wake up and do another rape kit, if that was okay with you" he said his voice betrayed no emotions, but his eye darted back to the window and although his face remained calm his hands were clenched and his knuckles white with anger. "We're always ok," I whispered, my voice quiet. I was always quiet. It's something that a family will first notice. "They get along" is what they often say or "she's a quiet one". My brother's loudness and overprotectiveness often hide my shyness; people would just assume I have nothing to say.

My first memory was of my "dad" at the time, slapping me when I spoke to a guest; my brother had been in the other room - he would not have dared to have hit me if my brother was with me. "You little bitch, you do not speak until you are spoken to, do you hear me, you little bitch," he grabbed my hair and pulled so I cried out in pain. "Anything to say now bitch?" he yelled into my ear. I shook my head not wanting to get into more trouble. He shoved me out of the way. I landed on a heap on the floor; my brother came in and picked me up. He said nothing just took me into the other room and cleaned my grazed hand. He looked at me in the eyes and said "don't speak unless you know what you're going to say, okay?" that memory was from when I was five. Everything before that just seems a blur.

"Of course we will. Now you get better, we will wait for Kane to get here and then we'll talk," he knelt by me, his six foot ten frame seeming three times my five foot ten. He kissed my head and then went back to the window. He started humming again and I quickly found that my head felt heavy and that I could hardly keep my eyes open. Just before darkness pulled me in I heard my brother's phone ring which was odd as only three people had that number and the other two were in jail. "Yes," he answered oddly like he didn't know who he was talking to. "This is he, and who might this be?" he asked again oddly. Maybe it was my being tired but he sounded as if he was getting over defensive "You're who..... yes I know what that is...........what do you mean they knew our parents...... I don't understand," and that was the moment I knew something was wrong that we weren't going to another foster home and that we were going back, maybe even back home.