Gifted - SERIOUS EDITING, REVISION, and other writer stuff GOING ON!

Chapter Two

It's been 8 years since that day, and well my life wasn't very chipper if you ask me. I had made some enemies now and again because I wasn't afraid of myself, or others. My reputation wasn't what you called perfect or clean. I haven't killed a man--- yet. The debate is still in my mind. Jack, was my only friend in that home. Crazy, that's what they called me. He saw it as interesting.

His blond disheveled hair and freckles were, my comfort, I guess. Only problem was he was 3 years older than me and at the legal age of an adult, he was forced to move out and find a job. His only option sadly was the Navy. Those blue eyes had been my only sanity and now I was about to lose them. Him and I were family.

My eyes concentrated on the wall in front of me as if some message would give me all the answers to life's problems. Sure, lets go with that. I felt metal clenched in my fists from the bed frame. As always when I'm stressed or worried I clammed up again and sweat began to pour everywhere. Okay not pour but, whatever.

As if my life couldn't get any worse. The best option I had was to go for a walk. My coat was slung over my empty bed and I grabbed it quickly. Just as I made it out the tall wooden doors that accepted me fast, I felt like they were pushing me out just as quick. A cool wind bit at my nose as the grey sky brought on a snow warning.

Which way I was headed didn't matter at the moment. I'd come back, eventually. The streets were barren and empty, almost like me. No matter how far away from that home I got the memories paraded my mind. My eighth birthday party when he shoved the cupcake in my face, and maybe he got socked back. Or the 7th grade dance, when no boy would even talk to me. He came swooping in dressed up and handsome. I'll always remember how he specifically had his tie match my eyes. I was the envy of every girl that night, with my emerald dress and "date".

My first kiss, under the disco ball as Whitney Houston played like she never did before. Our romance was nothing special, it was kinda an in the moment event. But he was my first and certainly my last. I could feel a tear coming down my face and I quickly brushed it away. I don't cry.

The crunch of snow moving into sloshing ice brought me back to reality. Somehow my feet hand wandered into the park where not a single swing moved. Everything was laden with snow and it was somewhat a beautiful sight.

Something or someone was behind me. I was 84% sure. Maybe 85%. But I kept my eyes on the park, hands clenched to the bench, and hoped that "it" would leave. And the sound of a door slamming shut I ran. 

My feet, as fast as they could, glided across the concrete. The warmth of the red doors comforted my skin as I was drawn to my room. My bed was perfectly straight the way I left it. Feeling the dusty draw all the way to the bed. It wouldn't be long until they had to kick me out. That's the funny thing being here. After age 12, no one wants to adopt you. Ever. So you grow up and get kicked around like the "orphan" you are and wait. Wait to be kicked to curb like a dog and knocked around like a pinball in the real world. 

Reality sucks, and as it flooded back to me I realized he was leaving. Maybe I was about to cry. Certainly it wasn't a tear leaving my eye was it? If it was... well... then I have screwed myself into feelings.

"Knock knock." I wiped that "maybe tear" from my face and put on my most convincing smile. He sighed and plopped down on the bed next to me. "Your supposed to say who's there." He looked at me and smiled. I caught myself looking back at him.

He nudged me with his shoulder and I didn't respond back like I should've. So he did it again. I sighed and punched him on the shoulder.

"Happy?" My smile wasn't fake as it was anymore. I let my eyes wander to a little spot on the wall. Was I really going to let him go and just leave me here? My plan was all figured out but I wasn't going to tell him. If I could get my hand on some snot then he would come down with something. If he was sick they wouldn't let him in, but I was selfish to think of only myself.