all that we got | adopted by zerkaa

✧ CHAPTER TWO ✧

My eyes stayed glued to the floor, and I stared at his shoes, the white stripes on them seeming very interesting as I stared to avoid eye contact. I didn't move, hoping that if I didn't look up at him, then he'd leave.

That didn't happen. He spoke up, his accent very distinct, almost similar to the Cockney you could hear on the streets of London. "Hello." Ever so slowly, I lifted my eyes to meet his own, finally getting a close look at the man who was late.

I was surprised to see that he wasn't very old, maybe in his mid-twenties at the oldest. Most people who came to the home were at least in their late twenties. His hair was the colour of burning wood, and some of it fell across his forehead. He had the beginnings of a beard, but it only slightly dusted his face. Black earrings poked through his ears, something that you didn't see in most men that came. He was dressed in black jeans and a black tee shirt, the only colour on the shirt being white lettering that spelt "SDMN". His dark brown eyes studied me as I stared back at him with the same observing expression.

"Hi," I answered, the word barely coming out of my mouth loud enough for him to hear. I had to admit, he was a bit intimidating as he stood much taller than me as I sat on the couch.

He must have noticed the discomfort of this on my face, because he looked around to see if Mrs. Francis was still circling like a hawk. She wasn't. "Can I sit down?"

I didn't respond to him. Instead, I shifted over until I was all the way on the right side of the couch, as far as I could go without standing up. I fumbled my hands around in my lap, watching as he sat down next to me, keeping some distance between us, which I appreciated. He glanced at me, and my gaze dropped to my hands, where I discreetly tugged down my sleeves.

"What's your name?" he inquired, filling up the silence between us. I kept my eyes focused on a string that was hanging off the hem of my shirt. He picked up on my unwillingness to speak a lot, so he continued without even turning his tone stern. "I'm Joshua. I just go by Josh, though."

I pinched my lips together as I looked up at him once more. I studied his face again. Josh was a good name for him. It's suited what he looks like. "Ellie," I replied, finally.

"You're fifteen, right?" Josh asked, even though he knew the answer. I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek almost hard enough to draw blood. I considered saying I was younger, but it was obvious he wasn't going to buy that. "How long have you been here for?" The look in his eyes gave me a feeling that he had a guess of the answer.

I laced my fingers together, then pulled them apart again. "About six and a half years," I responded quietly, my voice staying even somehow.

His face scrunched together, causing little lines to appear on his forehead. That wasn't the answer he was expecting, it appeared. He dropped that expression and asked another question, "What do you like to do?"

I wanted to say that I cut myself in that bathroom late at night until I cried while no one was awake to hear the tears as they hit the tiled flooring, but I didn't really like that at all. I shuffled through my brain, trying to find a suitable answer that wouldn't cause him to tell Mrs. Francis. "I read quite a lot," I said, but then I regretted it, because of how stupid that sounded.

He didn't change his facial expression, which was a small smile. Instead, he questioned me more on it. "What do you like to read?"

I assumed he was only faking interest to seem nice, but I answered anyways, hoping that if I continued talking about it, he'd leave. "Mostly poetry, which is probably really dull." I was shocking myself with how much was coming out of my mouth. I barely said that much in a week, let alone a few minutes.