Adopted By Gerard Way

Chapter 1

What is home? Some of you may say the building you live in where you eat, sleep and play. Some of you may say the people closest to you, and all the things that you do with them.

I don't know what 'home' is. The definition of 'home' does not apply to me, and I don't think it ever will. Put into foster care at the age of 7, I've been skipping from one home to another. Never am I to live a normal life, where my parents cook breakfast every morning, and drive me to school, and tuck me into bed every night with a kiss.

I had all that once. But I lost it all too.

Eight years since the incident that put me in this place, and all hope for those small things that I may consider a 'normal life' has disappeared. No, I really don't think I'm ever going to experience that again. I enjoyed it in the moment, I guess. But then again, nothing lasts. Even immortality doesn't mean never dying.

"Luna!" My head snapped up, eyeing the doorway just as Mrs Dreyford burst through the door. 

She was a nice lady in her thirties with mousy brown hair that was always in a cute messy bun and had the most calming voice I've ever heard. I don't think of her as my mother, but that isn't to say that she doesn't act like one. Standing by my bedroom door, she glanced at the clock hanging above the bed in which I'm sat on.

I raise my eyebrows at her, although I already know what's happening.

"Adopters are arriving in twenty minutes. Get yourself cleaned up and come downstairs, alright dear?" I nod and she takes off, probably to help the younger ones get ready.

After spending the majority of my life in homes like these, I know what to expect. 

The adopters always choose the young ones. They wanna raise the child as their own, so they get the cutest and youngest one. All they want is to baby them and watch them grow up like proud parents. 

No one wants a teenager. We're just too old. If you adopt a teenager, all you'll get is petty arguments and messy bedrooms and speeches about rebellion. At least, that's what most adopters think.

No one willingly takes in a kid who is hardly a kid anymore. We're almost grown up, so what's the point in adopting us when you'll just end up letting us go in a matter of two years or so. Sure, it does upset me to know that no one wants me. But I'm going to be off on my own soon. There's no need for tears anymore.

Adopters want to be parents, and have the whole experience. I won't be able to give them that.

Pulling on a Green Day hoodie, black ripped jeans and my white converse, I'm bounding down the stairs in no time. Mr Dreyford, a man with a black mustache and silky black hair, was sat at the dining table helping Josh pour his cereal as well as listening to Kylie chatter on about some unicorn story she wrote the night before. I skip over to them, taking a seat opposite the younger girl.

"Did I hear someone say unicorns?" She smiled up at me, dropping the waffle that was being squished between her tiny five year old hands. I listened to Kylie intently, holding onto every word.

Minutes later, Mrs Dreyford enters the room with Lucas and June. They were wearing matching outfits of stripy blue shirts and grey jeans. Lucas and June are siblings and have remained close. They appeared on our doorstep when I was thirteen, and I vividly remember caring for them when Mr and Mrs Dreyford weren't home. But they're quite a polite pair, those two years olds.

Josh is only nine, but has already matured so much. He's like a full grown adult in the body of a child. The kid's been through a lot; his innocence taken away at such a young age. Kylie too, only five years old, has endured a lot of pain. Though, it doesn't seem like it. She's a happy child and is always really positive.