Every foster kid knows the "ten minute rule."
When someone comes to pick you up, you have ten minutes to pack up your stuff, or at least what's important, and go.
I was given less. About six minutes, and I was dragged out of my room. I learned not to fight back or I'd get hit.
"Hey, Addison," a soft voice cooed as I walk into the room, a tight grip on my wrist by mistress.
Or who I like to call Ms. Bitchiness when she's not around.
All I'm able to muster is a smile that tugged lightly at the corners of my lips.
Here we go again.Creative Commons (CC) Attribution