Consigned

Part 1

I always wanted a family. Mine was shit. I grew up with an alcoholic father, a drug addicted mother, and at one point, I had neither parent around. They both had their moments of sobriety. They never lasted long, and I quit believing that they actually wanted to be parents or my family.

Dad died from cirrhosis when I was 16, surprisingly a lot of people showed up to his funeral. Not surprisingly it was everyone from the bar down the street from our house. Mom was so high during the funeral, the pastor made it a point to say a prayer for her well being during the funeral, and mine.

Child services never got involved, nobody did. I was perpetually stuck in hell.

Everyone assumed I'd end up like my "parents". I refused to let that happen. I never took a sip of alcohol, afraid that the taste would instantly pull me in and trap me like it did my father. I never dared to go near anyone smoking pot. Weed leads to harder drugs, or so I was told. I barely took Tylenol.

After dad died, my mom starting using more. She worried me everyday, and I figured I'd find her dead from an overdose sooner rather than later. There was some money left over from dad's insurance policy, that was supposed to cover living costs, and mom shot it up the moment she got her hands on it. I wore clothes from Goodwill and ate very little while at home. I tried my hardest to stretch all our resources so the little bit of money mom had left, she could pay bills.

She didn't. The power was shut off while I was at school one day, and she never turned it back on. It didn't bother her. I sat in my dark bedroom, numb to the world, wondering why God would put me in the position that I was in.

Mom left me for the first time alone that week. No food, no power, not even a "I'll be back later." I considered filing a missing persons report, but kept putting it off, telling myself that she's coming home. She did, a few days later, strung out, and promising me again for the umpteenth time that she was going to get sober, get a job, and take care of us.

That was the pattern of my life, all the way up until my senior year.

My senior year, I met my best friend, Cali. She had just moved to here, from well...California. Her real name was Dolores after her grandmother, and anyone caught calling her that would be banished instantly. She was a wild and carefree girl, who I loved more than anything.

Being friends with someone was a new concept for me. I never had any before, I never had anyone I could talk to or depend on before.

That wasn't the only thing different about my life that year. Mom brought home her new junkie boyfriend, Eddie. God, the man was literally the image they used in the "Don't do drugs" ads. He was a disgusting man, bug eyes, face hollow, and his teeth rotting out of his head. He mostly just stared around the house, laying beside my mom, smoking cigarettes, and listening to music.

Now with Eddie around, mom had more drugs available. The more drugs they did, the more paranoid they became. I came home from school one day, and there was newspaper and aluminum foil over all our windows. I remember Eddie coming up to me and said that I was working for them, and he needed to "frisk" me. Mom agreed, and she said she'd be in their "meetup location" waiting on him to make sure the coast was clear. What she meant was she was going into the master bathroom to cook their shit up and wait on him to shoot up together.

Eddie kept moving his head to the sides as he moved his hands down over my body, he checked behind my ears, my hair, made me take off my shoes. He wouldn't let me go to my bedroom until he frisked my boobs, my ass, and finally ...down there. I was so disgusted, that I barricaded my door that night, and cried myself to sleep.

My life was tragic growing up. I thought many times of just ending it. If Cali wouldn't have come along, I probably would have. She showed me how to have fun. She was the closest thing I ever had to family.

I ended up staying with Cali the rest of the school year. Her mom took me in and gave me more love than my mom ever did. I became part of their family as much as they were mine. When we graduated, her mom told everyone that she was so proud of both of her daughters. I cried again that night, out of happiness. I finally knew what it was like to be loved, and it was the most phenomenal feeling in the world.

My life began to get better and better. Cali and I both ended up at the same university, and of course roommates. We both had college life down pat. Nobody knew about my past except Cali, and it was refreshing for once to not be looked down upon because of my home life, my clothes, or the rumors going around about my mom sleeping with someones dad.

So when Cali introduced me to Dean, her co worker at the gym, I finally found out what it was like to be in love.

Or so I thought.