Trillionaires' War

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Irene's sunkissed aburn hair bounced as we walked home together. Her freckled face morphed into a sad expression. "Chloe, do you think we'll ever have a real family?" She said to me.

I looked down at her. "I don't know. Your chances of getting adopted are better than mine."

"Why?" She looks up at me with her small doe shaped eyes.

"No one likes teenagers." I revealed to her. "But you're eight. So you're good." I reassure her quickly.

She frowns in deep thought. "I want you to be my mommy." She says like it's such an easy answer.

"People will look at us weird." I joked.

"Why?" Her innocence was always so admirable. She never saw the obviousness of our difference.

"Because I'm black and your white."

"That matters?" She asks with a cute little frown. Though most people here did look at me differently than they did her, she never noticed. I suppose that was a good thing. She didn't have to see the hate people here in Alabama showed me. She didn't have to witness the racism.

"No, I guess it doesn't." I say instead as we stop in front of the foster home we've were reccently placed in. It was the only one that would take both of us. Cassie, my social worker, couldn't guarantee keeping me close to her anymore. For two years we jumped from home to home, but now I'm sixteen, so my appeal isn't as good anymore. "We're here." This house was the definition of trash. Shingles were coming off. There was more dirt than grass, and the windows were taped up to keep it from opening completely. The worst part was the people that lived inside.

"I don't want to go in." Her tiny fingers grip my ragged t-shirt.

"Me neither kid, but we have to be good here, or else they'll separate us. No one wants me and this was the last house willing to take you with me. You do want us to stick together right? Like we did for two years?"

"Yeah, but Kevin-"

"He's not going to touch you. If he wants a punching bag he can use me. I'll protect you. I promise, Irene."

"Okay. Can we have another sleepover tonight?" Her sleepover consisted of her sleeping in my room, completely taking over the twin bed.

I nodded. "Sure."

...

Irene had a check up. Mrs. Smith blantly refused to have me tag along, saying that I wasn't needed, and that she was more than capable of taking her to the doctor.

This was the same woman who took crack like her life depended on it, and constantly fought with her husband over his own drinking problem. How these people even became foster parents to begin with, was beyond me. Nevertheless, those trailer trash people never lifted their hands to us. They were always too drunk, too high, or our DCF showed up to be able to. They're just junkies that need a government check to fund their high.

Even though I didn't trust those people, I didn't have a choice in the matter. I did skip last period at school to rush back to the house though. I run up the driveway when I hear a scream. I slam open the door. Kevin's friends are causally smoking on the couch, watching TV. There's another scream coming from upstairs. I race up the steps and kick open Irene's bedroom door to find Kevin pinning her down on the floor.

"What the fuck?" I pull his shirt and pull him away from her.

He stands up ready for a fight. "Who the fuck do you think you are Blacky?"