Wronged

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- Anna's POV -

I look at myself in the mirror, not really caring about what this outfit looks like. It's casual. It's simple. And best of all, it covers my face if I want it to.

I haven't worn this hoodie in two hundred and three days. It's Dakota's. He should be wearing it. Not me. I feel selfish putting it on, because it's not mine.

If he were here, he'd wrestle me for it. I'd wear a smile once more and laugh as he tickles my sides - my weakest point ever. Eventually I'd give in and hand over the piece of clothing.

But now is not that time. I haven't smiled a genuine full-blown smile in what seems like ages. That's why I'm always thinking about everyone else that does it so easily. How do they do it so easily?

My brother's scent still lingers on the green and grey material. It's the smell of pine and evergreen trees, with just a dash of his cologne. I think it was called Mujer Hermosa. He always attracted girls with it, so I guess its name owns up to itself.

I sigh and throw the hood over my hair (that I still wear in a ponytail everyday) when a low rumble of thunder tickles the bottom of my feet. I walk over to my nightstand and grab two blue gel tablets out of the medicine container and pop them into my mouth. The water next to it is then opened by me, and I down both of the pills together. Hopefully Dr. Sloan prescribed enough to last me the whole day like the bottle says it will. Because if this doesn't work, I'm going to lose my mind.

After I down the drugs, I snatch my bag off of my bed and find the cream, shoving it into the side pocket just in case. Then I hustle down the stairs and meet Hayley in the car, Ms. Morgan unable to drive us since she goes to work early in the mornings.

Hayley turns off her phone and backs out of the driveway, putting us on the path to school. I wrap a pair of ear buds around my neck and let the actual bud parts hang down my shoulders.

"Do you have plans after school?" Hayley asks when we slowly halt at a red light.

I almost shoot her a deadpan look. It's not like I can just make plans whenever I want to. I mean, I could, but it'd have to pass my checklist of "musts," the system gave me.

It must be safe. It must be no further than thirty miles away from my foster home unless permission is granted for otherwise. It must have some sort of purpose for me going (i.e being social, working out, practicing, making friends). And it must not include any sort of alcoholic or influential substance. There's more, but I don't feel like getting into the other thirteen things.

I nod anyway. I do have plans. I have to go to the gym. It's the only time I'll have available this week to fill the one of two times I have to go.

"Really?" She sounds surprised as the light turns green and she begins driving again. "Where are you going?"

"Boxing," I mumble, staring out the window as rain patters onto the pane. Is it even considered safe for someone as energetic as my foster sister to be driving in storms like this all the time?

"Boxing?" Now she sounds even more surprised. "That's...really cool! You box?" Her words come out in breathless bursts of amazement.

"Not because I want to."

"Oh...well then why do you do it?"

This girl and her relentless questions.

"Because I have to. My social worker and the board made me learn self-defense."