adopted || bts ✓

1

I don't know what to do, really.

It's summer break and I'm just here, lying on my hard bed, without any supervision.

The kids and Marley went out to Westfield.

I stayed back, what was the point anyways, we never buy anything.

I only just managed to hear the doorbell, which wasn't working, so it only could be heard in the corridor.

The orphanage was suddenly so scary to be in.

You're alone. And someone wants to come in.

What if it's a rapist?

What if it's a murderer?

How do we know?

Peep hole.

I think it's the best invention of our time, really.

I jumped to grab the stool from the to top my wardrobe, and slowly walked with it to the front door.

I put it down gently, and climbed up onto it thanks to the extra support Marley fixed onto it.

Marley's the best.

She let's me call her Marley because I'm her favourite.

It's obvious, really.

I'm only the fourth oldest, and I can take care of the kids so well.

I help out in the kitchen, they all love my cookies (Marley's recipe of course).

I made sure to turn my music off before they left, just in case.

It was Sorry, by Justin Beiber.

He's so good at singing, though his personality is just irritating.

Like, I'm twelve and I'm saying that.

I'm surprised I still haven't been adopted.

It's been nine years since my dad left me here, nearly.

Which means it's been ten years since mama died of cancer, nearly.

Which means I'm also going to be thirteen, almost.

Which means I'll have an even smaller chance of being adopted, definitely.

Sigh.

Anyways, I poked my eye through the peep hole to see who it was.

Oh, it's just Emma.