Chapter 1
Spencer P.O.V
I awoke to the sound of muffled sobs, on this dark Sunday morning. Sounds like another recruit being welcomed into this hellhole I have to call home, known to strangers as the Chicago Heights Home for Girls. I glance over at Naomi, who by the distressed look in her stormy blue eyes, was thinking the same thing I was. It had been almost ten years since we stormed into the Home with the same frantic cries...
“It’s okay baby, hush now dear. You’re safe with me...” Ms. Brooks cooed to the young girl, who was still clinging on to the pant leg of the social worker. Brooks was obviously faking it, just because the social worker was here. I saw Naomi giggle as I rolled my eyes. The little girl looked to be about four or five, with long auburn hair braided down her back, and believe me, she would be anything but safe here.
The thud of the door closing echoed through the hallway, signaling the exit of the social worker. The whole orphanage was so used to Ms.Brook's comforting little spheal in front of the social worker, but once we heard the stilettos click out the door, we were all familiar with what came next.
“QUIMBY! Here. Now.” She hollered much too loudly. “Take this,” she shoved the young girl away from her. Naomi sighed at the use of her last name, rising to comfort the terrified child. She’d become the unofficial mother of this screwed up family we have here at the home. She helped every frightened newbie get accustomed to the horrible conditions here, doing the job that was supposed to be Ms.Brook's, simply because she had that comforting quality about her. Oh, and also because Ms. Brooks was a total crackhead and had a very fond love for liquor .
“Dammit’,” Brooks croaked, fumbling with the cap of her bottle and spilling vodka on the front of her dress shirt.
“That's pathetic,” I mumbled under my breath, ignoring Naomi’s warning look.
“What n’ hell are looking at Landie?” she slurred, meeting my gaze full of hatred.
“The depressing bag of bones that’s supposed to be my legal guardian.” I stated defiantly, smirking in spite of myself.
She opened her mouth in protest, but all that came out was a strong fit of coughing and hacking. But I already knew my consequence. I grabbed my usual bucket and sponge, slipped on my shoes and dodged Ms. Brook’s striking hand as I ran outside.
The wall was worn from the sun constantly beating down on it, which I was thankful for considering half of the fresh graffiti was slightly faded, making my job easier. I never quite finish, the “ Easel”, as the taggers fondly describe it. It was the wall running the length of the whole orphanage, and was freshly tagged every day, making my job impossible. But I know I must, because every time some smart aleck remark pops out of my mouth, the she-demon inside makes me scrub all the hard-core graffiti off this wall. And since I can’t seem to keep my crazy mouth shut, I end up out here almost everyday.
“Dong!” The sound of the echoing bell above city hall floods our little town signifying that it’s one o’clock. My favorite time of the day. I do a quick check to make sure no one’s watching, then make a mad dash up the fire escape of the dull grey colored apartment buildings across our alley. I stoop under the balcony of the fourth window along the escape, then, making sure no one’s home, I quietly climb through the open window, plopping down on a dusty leather couch.
For the past 2 months, this apartment has been vacant. It’s been Naomi and my little secret paradise. An abandoned apartment may not measure up to most people’s idea of a paradise, but to us it’s a little piece of heaven. Once we hear that familiar X-Factor theme, that is.
