Psychotic Kids

Chapter 2: Alive

Chapter 2: Alive

Isla

I was three. My mum and I had been at the park, that's all I remember of that day, other than being left on a front step of her mum, my grandma's, house. She didn't want me either.

Now, at 14, I was with my foster family. Had been since I was six. It took a bit to find someone who wanted me. That's how I'd describe my life, I think-Just trying to find someone that wants me.

I wake up in a cold sweat. I'd had another dream about my mother. She went missing after she left me. I don't know what happened or where she went, but she was never found. I have an incredible imagination, and my brain likes making up stupid scenarios about where she is. Tonight's dream was no different.

She was in a warehouse, tied to a chair. Her hair was messy, with grey strands throughout. It looked like it hadn't been cut for years and years, long and tangled, very uneven.

She was screaming and shouting for her captor to let her go, and whoever it had hit her with something shiny. Then I woke up.

I feel a warm tear roll down my already wet face. I get up and walk towards the window. Ever since we moved here last week, this has been my place on sleepless nights. I liked it. I could see the neighbourhood from here. It makes me feel like I'm ok, it makes me feel alive.

Suddenly, in the yard next door, something moved. I don't feel afraid. I never feel afraid. I run to my cupboard and pull out a long rope I used to use to sneak out and switch the light on.

My lights illuminates the yard. Flinging the rope over the windowsill, I shout, "Are you coming?" Stepping into the light, I see he's about my age. It takes some convincing, but he agrees to join me in my bedroom.

As he crawls through the window, I notice his black eye. Maybe he got punched, or fell over and something hit him? I don't know.

He brushes his dirty blonde hair upwards, so it kind of spiked up at the top. He has brown eyes, long eyelashes on top. His cheeky smile plastered on his face, I notice a dimple on the right side of his mouth.

After a quick chit chat, I ask him, "What happened there?"

He goes red, "I..." he starts, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Who would I tell?" I point out.

School hadn't been going well. The girls all wore short skirts and crop tops, while I wore oversized hoodies and black jeans. The boys wouldn't hang out with me either, because they're all dudes. I'd ditched the last two days of school in hopes they'd expel me soon.

He smiles gratefully, "My foster dad."

I suddenly get a vivid flashback to when I messed up and my dad sliced my face.

"Maybe we'll get along better than I thought." I say. He tilts his head in confusion. I lift my hair, revealing my long, uneven scar leading from my left ear to almost the whole way to my chin.

He gasps, stepping forward while extending his arm to touch it. I flinch, almost falling back on y bed. HE stares at me, a glint of sympathy and confusion in his hazel eyes, "Sorry." He apologises quietly. I smile.

After some more talking, he eventually climbs out the window again, explaining that his foster father gets up early for work and if he doesn't get back, he'll kill him.

"Hey, wait." I shock myself by saying this. He stops climbing out the window and turns to me, "Yeah?"

"You should come back tonight."

He looks at me, confused at first but then grins, "Sure." He says, "I'm looking forward to getting to know you, Isla."

I watch hm climb out my window and jump the short fence to his backyard as my heart flutters. I tell myself to calm down and switch the light off, remembering the feeling I had while he was here.

I felt more alive with him than I do looking over his house.