*8 months earlier*
"Jane, finish the damn dishes. I need them done and you need to sit down for school." Mother says from her desk. She's typing an email to a social worker.
"Yes ma'm." If you wanted the damned dishes done, why don't you do them. I can't even imagine what would happen if I said that. She'd probably take my phone and my laptop for 3 months. So I keep my mouth shut. I finish the dishes and put them away. I walk out of the kitchen to sit down at the table, but unsurprisingly, I'm stopped.
"Feed the dogs and sweep the floor. It's 8 am, you should have done this earlier." Mother barked from the computer. I roll my eyes.
"Yes ma'm." And off I march, to do her bidding. I do as I'm told, and I finally sit down at the table.
So, about me. I'm not your typical teenage girl. I'm 17 and homeschooled. My parents are foster parents, and we have 3 little ones. But the number constantly changes. I'm their biological child. Daniel, who is 4, was saved from an abusive home. He was 2 at the time he came into our care. Henry, his baby brother, came to our house immediately after after his mother gave birth to him. Brendan, 6 years old, is a handful. He has RAD, or Reactive Attachment Disorder.
I've been homeschooled since 8th grade, and it's been great. I get to pick my own "hours" and have tons of free time. I have two amazing friends, Cassie and Sarah. I do get socialized, just not as much as public school kids do. But I need to get back to school now.
*A few hours later*
"Jane, go take the trash out." My mother asked.
"Yes ma'm." Thankfully I'm almost done. I put down my pen and slip on my slippers. I grab the trash bag, and walk towards the door.
It's a long walk toward the trash can, about 500 yards. We live off the main road, with a really long drive way. I finally get to the end, and deposit the trash. As I'm walking back, a voice calls out to me.
"Excuse me, do you know how to get back on 664? We're a tad lost, love." An English accent. That's odd.
" It's back around-" I turn around to answer, but a man snaked around my waist and covered my mouth. I began to scream and kick my legs. This was the wrong day to wear leggings and a tee.
The man picked me up and I felt tears run down my cheeks. He began carrying me to this Greyhound bus. I began to kick again, and I believe I kicked him in the crotch, because he dropped me. I fell to the ground, but quickly got up and made a run for it, back to my home. As I run, I hear him start after me. Shit shit shitttttt. You should have done some sort of PE.
I made it to my back door, and I slam it shut behind me. I quickly lock it because I'm not stupid. I look out of the door window, and he was jogging up to it. I backed up slowly, praying he may not see me. He peered in and glared at me.
He was gorgeous. And no I'm not being googly eyed about the man that just tried to force me into his vehicle, I'm just saying he was blessed with good looks. He had beautiful green eyes, and curls that would make a nun swoon. He was tall and lanky, with legs like toothpicks. He was certainly in the perfect category.
"We'll meet again. You can count on that." He said through the glass. He stalked off, towards the drive way until he disappeared behind the treeline.
I breathe again, and sit down for a moment. I try to calm down, but my head is going a mile a minute, the curse of ADHD. I need to get back to the table, or Mother will kill me.
