COMPLETED!!
Warning: This story contains mature LGBT+ themes! If you are not into this kind of thing I would not recommend this story, unless of course, you want to broaden your horizons!
Foster Brother follows the life of Matt Palmer, a selectivel...
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"Wake up," a soft voice whispers in the dark, "wake up sweetie."
I slowly open my eyelids to find my mom standing over me, but something was weird with the way she looked. As I took a closer look I could see her eyes were bloodshot, her eyelids slightly puffy, and a slight glimmer of a tear rolling down her cheek. I was like my heart stopped, and I knew immediately why she was crying, but I didn't want to believe it, I couldn't believe it.
"Mom..." my voice came out like a whimper.
"He's dead. He is dead," her voice was a soft muffled whisper as she repeated the words over and over, "Owen is dead and it's all your fault."
"Mom, I don't understand. What do you mean it's my fault?" The tears were pouring down my face at this point. He can't be dead.
"If you would have just been a normal kid, none of this would have happened. If you would have just let the boy alone he would still be alive. You, Matt, you killed him." Her singular voice morphed into many voices, voices of my friends, my dad, my sister, Preston, until it was the entire world shouting that I had killed Owen. I tried to cover my ears, but my hands wouldn't move. I tried to yell for them to stop, but my mouth wouldn't open. I tried everything I could until my body was no longer capable of trying. As my body shut down a small voice reached my ears, a voice that grew louder and louder as I focused on it.
"Wake up, Matt, you need to wake up," it was his voice and it startled me enough to lunge up, my mind only fully waking up when my body crashed onto the floor. My eyes tried to adjust themselves in the darkroom and when they did I realize I'm alone and everything was just a dream. The dream was one of the most realistic ones I had ever had and it pained me to admit that although my dream mother was harsh and terrifying, she was also right. Owen being gone was my fault, I should have just let him be. From the first day he showed up in my house he clearly wanted nothing to do with me, but my dumb stubborn ass had to push him.
I glanced at the clock to see it's a little past 7 AM, too early to be awake, but I know I won't be falling asleep again any time soon. I pick myself up off the floor and head downstairs in desperate need of water.
"You are up early," my Dad says from his spot on the couch.
"Couldn't sleep," I mumble, finding it incredibly hard to look him in the eyes.
"I know you are worried, but once we contact the police they will find him and all will be fine."
"Fine?" I almost shrieked at him, "how is any of this fine? If the police are called it will only mean Owen will get into trouble. And Owen in trouble means he doesn't have a place here anymore. There is nothing fine about any of this."
"Your mother and I have not fully decided if we will be unable to house him anymore," he says with a sad look, meaning it isn't decided, but clearly there is a much more preferred option.
