Say You'll Remember Me

Chapter One

Everyone I meet always tells me I've been given a hard hand in life. When I was younger I didn't understand what that meant so I just agreed. But when I learned what they meant, I stopped agreeing. Because my life isn't hard, it's actually pretty simple. I live by one rule and that's to only depend on myself. I never stop running long enough to care about someone else, it cuts down on the guilt I feel when I suddenly pack up and leave. I don't have to bother with goodbyes, because no one actually cares if I'm gone. Especially when all the foster families start to do their thing. 

Usually it's the dads, they realize I'm young, innocent (maybe not that much), and pretty attractive. They get it into their heads that I should give up myself to them since I'm living with them for free. I'm pretty strong willed and usually get out before it gets too hard to deal with them. But once I thought it was different, and that's when my strength slipped and I almost lost myself. 

It was hard before, when I was younger. I mean going from house to house, new rules, new life. I hated it. I mean who wouldn't? There was no one place where I belonged. I still don't belong. Now that I'm old enough I don't have to live with strangers. I can be on my own. That makes things easier, but sometimes I miss the thrill of running away after I've moved in. Maybe that's why I'm always moving around, because I'm hoping someday someone will miss me enough to ask me to stay. 

I never met my parents, they were gone before I was old enough to sit up. The only thing I have left of them is my name. Well that and a locket I found at my grandmothers house. That's the thing I haven't always been in foster care. I lived with my real grandmother until I was three. Then she started to forget things and she had to be taken care of. I miss her, but I try not to. Because she forgot who I was when it was all over. She might have forgotten me, but it was hard for me to forget her.

Everyone I've ever thought cared about me left. My first foster family was nice and fun, I actually liked them. But they sent me away when I got old enough to talk back. The next house wasn't like the first one, all they wanted was the paycheck that came along with me. I realized too early in life that I could only take care of myself, and I stopped getting attached after that third foster family.

Now I'm twenty years old and I have no roots. I have no home. I've been wandering around my whole life, trying to settle. All I want is a place to call my own, a place where I feel like I belong. But it's hard to find that place when I'm running from the shadows that still haunt me. 

The rain was falling slowly outside the window I was sitting beside. I was trying to forget about the last place I had been, the things that had happened. My whole life was a big game of how far can I go before I truly forget the past. I bought a one way bus ticket and wasn't getting off until the last stop. It was another one of the games I played.

To be completely honest, I was tired of running. I was tired of playing games. But it was hard to stop when that was the only life I've ever lived. I didn't know how else to address my problems, my feelings. So when it all becomes too much, I run. I just want to find somewhere I can belong, somewhere there's people who want me to stay. 

Once when I was twelve, the foster mother at that time told me no one wanted me that's why I was there. I didn't cry, I didn't feel anything at that age. But that's when I started to run. I packed up all my things that night and left. If no one wanted me that meant she didn't either. So I might as well live on my own. I couldn't leave myself.

The police found me a few days later, living under the bridge that lead to the other town. They took me in and I was placed in another family who was supposed to watch me better. That was the first family where the father decided I was his. He tried touching me, I screamed. He slapped me around and tried again, I bit him. I ran away from that place too.