To my last breath

1

'This is not the deal! You said once dad is out of this house you'll never do drugs again!' I shouted at my half unconscious mother. I despise this situation... I need to keep my little sister safe...
'You shut up, John! You are a mistake ! So is your sister! I didn't want you at all! You are on this world just because your father wanted to have sex some evening!' There was something in his voice... it hurt me. It was pure regret for having us. I can't comprehend how she can say this.
'You dumb kid! You really think someone cares ? No one does that!' Her eyes turned suddenly red. She was definitely wanting something tonight. Something she has planed for a long time. I can feel it!
The next second I turned to my sister... She wasn't understanding anything. What could a toddler understand?!
I'm trying to make her a bit less scared. I could tell she was so scared.
She was scared for good... for I wasn't looking at my mother's actions, I couldn't forecast what was going to happen.
The smell of a rusty, old dagger surrounded me. I heard the blade cutting the air.
That was it...

Such a funny thing to remember... to be the last thing you remember... I woked up being 16. When I fell into coma I was 12.
Jane is gone... She was young. She barely went through 3 years of life.
The void inside me is infinite. The wind blows through my soul. Jane was everything I had left. Once I thought things will be better, once that ne'er-do-well I called father was gone, she started doing drugs again... and again... The big doses made their point. With a fried brain and altered thinking my own mother killed her daughter... my only and beloved sister. Of course not before stabbing me and putting me down. I was in her way. I have a tremble in my right hand for it. I will always have it, doctors say.
    Now I have no idea what happened to my mother or father... I don't think I even care. The only thing I care about is that I'm alone... no... I'm lonely. Truly lonely.
      I'm currently living (by living I mean I'm sleeping there for 3 or 5 hours a night) in a soft of foster home... They only exception is that I feel like it's a place I don't deserve. I was not able to protect my sister as I promised.
      It's a place of broken children... Walls radiate sadness and despair. Children that lost their hope for everything. Abandoned, or their parents died tragically, or simply they ran away; it's been a long time since a faded smile appeared on their young faces.
        The therapist insists each of us will be adopted. No one could believe that... Who take something that it's broken? Who would adopt a child that is broken? ... I admit that occasionally some couples come and adopt one of us... usually babies for they have no memory whatever was before.
           The idea of adoption, my adoption was outré... I tried my best not to let the subject come up. This was noticed, yet for my pleasure, nobody familiar talk with me about this matter.
           
           As I said, I'm in this place only for a few hours during the night. Money don't grow in trees, that's for sure.
           School is quite a buzz for me. My brain is damaged. 4 years of come do no good. With hardness, I manage to learn some essentials thou my grades are not brilliant. I'm trying my best, I swear that to you, but I'm never good enough. I try...
            After I'm done learning, always at 2 p.m., I rush to Ms. Chesterfield's... The deal is so: she gives me an amount of money enough to cover the groceries I buy for her and for my services, I receive 10 £.  Ms. Chesterfield is neither sweet, nor bitter; not very old but not young at all, not poor but not filthy rich. The kind of old lady who lost her moving skills due to the age and found a needy young man to do the shopping for her for a little cash.  She is always worried about me... I can't understand why, she believes I'll get lost in the huge London because of the groceries. Yes, I'm coming from a small village and yes, I'm a bit dumb, but how on earth could anyone get lost if walks away 4 streets from the main target.
This isn't my concern anyway. I do the right shopping and get my money. Amen!
        Takes me about 40 minutes to do this. Sometimes if less, I get the chance to eat something on my way to the second work. From those 10£, I can only afford to spend 5£.
         My second 'job' is quite of a tale. I get a nice sum of money. 60£ for god knows how many hours of work. I never know. My employer is a dispassionate, extremely intelligent man. Not the one to enjoy company. Most would say he is a machine. He can barely stand having me just breathing in the same room with him. He always points out my mistakes and my hard time figuring something out. It drives me crazy at times his lack of tidiness. It wasn't specified to my what is my actual purpose but I know that most of the time my duty is to keep his apartment together. Not a few times, his brother, Louis, told me that his apartment would be destroyed without my patience on tidying up. Louis is commissioner. He is a good guy.
       John Graves... I'm working for this man and I don't have any idea why. He's said to be the new Sherlock Holmes! Brilliant, indeed!
        Years of working as a detective for Scotland Yard and all the cases he got, he solved them!
        I should slow down with my excitement.