A Fostered Love

Chapter Two: Layla

Sometimes I like to think that my parents left me for various reasons.

Maybe they were secret agents and they just couldn't handle the pressure of a child on their missions.

Maybe they got in trouble with the law and are hiding in Guatemala.

Maybe they're dead.

Who knows where they are or what they're doing right now, the point is that they didn't want me. They were incapable of raising their own flesh and blood, so they dropped me in an orphanage and probably went to Vegas to waste their money. Money that should have been used for raising me is now probably being used for poker chips.

I was four, maybe, when they put me up for adoption. I don't remember much before that, just the arguing. What really made me mad is that my own mother lied to me about where she was taking me. That early morning she said she was going to take me with her to run errands, instead she left me on the doorstep of some random orphanage a couple miles away from the house, rang the doorbell, and walked off without saying a goodbye or anything.

A woman in her late thirties opened the door and a shocked expression crossed her face. When her eyes noticed where mine were facing, she let out a soft sigh.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Layla."

"Was that your mom?"

I nod my head. She bends down, picks up my tiny hand and says, "Let's get you inside." I quietly followed her without any question.

My four year old brain didn't register what was going on for a few days. I'd ask the woman each day where my mother was and she'd just give me a small smile and keep doing whatever she was doing. It was pretty awful when I got old enough to realize that they weren't ever coming back.

My lucky day came when I was seven years old. A nice couple decided that I met the standards of cuteness so they took me to their home. Little did I know, they had already adopted another annoying bratty kid before they got me.

I hated that house with a passion, and it was mostly because of that stupid boy. He'd always tease me about everything I did, and would push me around and one day I had enough. One day, I pushed him back.

I pushed him one time, but that was enough to get me sent back to the orphanage.

Ok, so it may have been down a flight of stairs and he may have broken a few things, but that wasn't the intention. I felt awful afterwards.

Well, satisfied then awful.

But what really ticked me off was the fact that my former foster parents got mad at me, saying that I was a complete nightmare, that I wouldn't stop whining and complaining about everything, my temper needed to be controlled and all this other bull crap about me.

I spent three years being pushed around by this two-faced kid. I spent three years hiding my bruises from everyone and telling them that I had run into things because I didn't want people to know. I spent three years in a living hell and the one day I decide to fight back is the day I get sent back to an orphanage.

It wasn't even the same orphanage either. It was MRCH. The day I walked into that house was probably one of the best and worst days of my life. Best being when I met Kyle and worst being when I met Miss Richards. I guess I should start with the worst part of it.

Miss Richards, on the day of the drop off, was dressed very nicely and was, in fact, sober. She had the decency to put on makeup and her short red hair sat in curls on top of her head. After the process was complete, Miss Richards led my former parents out of the door with a smile on her face.