scream

eight

i wince as i bend down to get the bread from the bottom shelf.

i wish it wasn't like this.

the good news is: my 18th birthday is in 3 months and im saving up money to rent a small apartment for the other three kids. i'd do anything to get then away from that hag we have to call mother.

of course, she wasn't the biological mother for any of us. her husband had died at a young age, and she never got over it. she wanted kids, but he was unable to provide them in the short time they had been together.

so she took in four foster kids. she was only planning on two. but the foster care people persuaded her to take in more. she grew angry with us. we weren't her children and we never would be. she had wanted her own and she thought taking some in would soothe her.

but it didn't

she became abusive, beating us for the smallest mistakes. blaming us for the things she did wrong. yelling that it was our fault her husband had died. she wasn't in her right mind.

and she still isn't.

"um, excuse me... sir... miss... uhm... you've been standing there for a few minutes." a voice breaks my thoughts as i jump, nearly dropping the bread as i turn around. i bite my lip and turn back to my cart, ignoring the employee behind me.

"do you... do you need any help?" he asks, soft grey eyes staring at me. i shake my head and put the bread in the basket.

i push the cart down the aisle, leaving the boy with his thoughts.

unluckily enough, he follows me.

"have you lost your voice or something?" his question throws me off guard, but then my guard comes right back. at first, i thought the question was a jest at me. but then, looking at his face, i can tell that it was a curious, innocent question.

i purse my lips and sigh. i respond with a nod of my head, and he bites his lip.

"well, i hope you'll get it back soon enough. have a good day." he walks away, his footsteps soft.