Davina Davidson was a rather isolated teenager. At the age of 13, she was put into the foster care system when her parents were arrested for the murder of her older brother, Mason. She spent the next 4 and a half years bouncing from house to house...
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Issac and I laid there in silence for what felt like an hour before another knock came on my door.
"Do you still want to be alone?" he asked, looking at me. I shook my head and we sat up simultaneously.
"Come in," I said, just loud enough to be heard.
The door peaked open and there stood the devil himself. "Can we talk?" he asked, glancing back and forth between Issac and myself.
Issac looked at me, seeming to silently ask if I was okay with this. I simply nodded, and after a moments hesitation he stood from his spot on my bed and brushed past Jackson, whispering something I couldn't make out in his brothers ear, before he disappeared down the hall. Jackson shut the door, and I awkwardly played with my fingers.
"I know you're probably still upset with me, or even angry, and I don't blame you," he started, a breath exiting his lips. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I don't know the slightest thing about what you've gone through, and I shouldn't be adding more problems to your life, especially when you're going through such a change," his voice trailed off and hesitantly I looked up at him.
He had moved from his spot by my door, to the end of the bed, and his eyes met mine, searching for a reaction. I couldn't tell if he was being genuine or not, and seeing him again after what he said downstairs nearly made me cry, but I held it together anyway.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I knew what I was about to do would probably make him feeling guilty as hell if he was being genuine, but I was prepared to do it anyway. He was still partly right. I was an intruder in their lives. Maybe knowing why would help him understand not to be so harsh on someone you don't know.
"My parents were addicts when I was growing up. When I was 13," I swallowed a shaky breath, feeling his eyes on me. "They uh- my brother was murdered. My parents were arrested and charged for his death."
Silence.
Dead silence.
"They killed their own son?" his question seemed to slip out in shock as I squeezed my eyes shut, opting for a simple head nod.
"That's why I've been in foster care."
The atmosphere was so tense now, you could cut through it with a knife. I didn't know what else to say, and Jackson couldn't seem to break out of his shocked spell. After a few minutes I cleared my throat, standing up and flatting my shirt.
"Well uh, we best get downstairs, I suppose. I was supposed to help Anthony with the horses tonight," I mumbled, disappointed that I didn't get to see any.
"I could take you to see them," he offered, scratching his neck. "I mean, if you want to, that is."
Jackson seemed nervous with me now, so I'm assuming I was right about the guilty feeling.
