Control

Losing Control

I was shocked when I woke up the next morning to find myself with no bruises or cuts. Nothing felt weird or... "out of place". My door was closed and my room looked undisturbed. I figured I had made it through my first official day in a new foster home with nothing going bad.

I was as equally shocked when I woke up the next morning just as fine as the first.

And I was shocked the next night.

I was shocked the 16th night and the 24th night when I continuously woke up with nothing wrong, no bruises swelling on my skin, no cuts bleeding out onto the covers. My hair was washed, my belly was full. I was still skinny yet definitely the heaviest I had been my entire life. I was making it through the days with nothing bad happening to me or anyone else who lived here.

I was shocked. Perplexed. Absolutely baffled. This couldn't be right. I kept preparing myself every morning for something bad to happen yet nothing came. It was relieving yet it left me anxious. My luck was bad. Really bad. It was unlike me to go this long with nothing going wrong. I was worried that it would start piling up until it all just flood out at once and I would be left off worse than usual.

It was the 37th night. I had been here for a little over a month. I had counted every day. I wanted to know how long I made it in this house. Things had gotten to a routine for the most part. The parents went off to work, we went to school. We rode the bus home together and sat by ourselves, playing for about an hour or two before Mrs. Kinsley got home from work. Then late at night, usually right before dinner, sometimes after it, Mr. Kinsley would get home.

I got along with the kids fairly well. I still stayed quiet for the most part as it still terrified me to speak for fear I might mess up and screw up this streak of good days. I would say small sentences once in a while but I never rambled on like Michael and Brittany did. I was a little more like Ben who talked every once in a while but couldn't form long sentences.

I tended to think back at my past a lot while I sat around watching the kids play ball or eat dinner. I liked to think of my mom. I missed her so much still. It had been three years now, almost four. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think about her. Some days were worse than others. Today was particularly bad.

Today, she couldn't leave my mind. I sat through class bored and half awake. My hands kept fidgeting and my mind kept wandering. All I could think of was the night she died, the night I killed her. That monster, that dirt lady, who was she? Would I ever see her again? Will she mess up anything good I'll ever have? I didn't ever want to see her again. I wanted revenge, sure, but I was also terrified her. She was one of the reasons mi mamá was dead- the other being me.

I went through the day in a blur. I didn't remember math class, I didn't talk in lunch. I didn't recall the bus ride home or my foster siblings playing with their ball. I was too lost in thought.

Mrs. Kinsley came home about two hours after we got home. She looked annoyed at something. Her temper was short and she seemed frazzled. Ben ran up to her and pulled on her sleeve. "Misses Kinsley," he said in his tiny voice. "What's for dinner? I'm hungry."

Mrs. Kinsley didn't answer at first, distracted by something else, which resulted in Ben pulling on her sleeve until she answered.

"What?" she asked shortly. It was unlike her usual kind nature. I could tell she was angry. I made sure to keep my mouth shut and stay out of her way. If I learned anything from my previous foster homes its that when someone is mad, don't talk to them, just leave them alone and they won't hurt you.

"Dinner," Ben pouted.

Mrs. Kinsley rolled her eyes. "Look, I don't know, okay? It's whatever John wants to do. I have stuff to get done."