Don't Ask Don't Tell

"Yeah, I don't do family."

Eileen looks up at me and sighs. My careworker is only thirty-eight, but has dark eyes that never fail to seem centuries old. The little crinkles in the corners that have been in my mind since I was eleven years old fold up in both understanding and impatience.

"Charlie, don't play this card on me again. You age out of the system in less than a year. You have to try."

I huff and pull a cloud of hair in front of my face.

"This will be my twelfth home. They don't want me, okay? I've accepted that fact. Being like this, depending on me and just me, is enough."

"No, it isn't," Eileen says for the millionth time. "You need people your age. They're going to love you. I know they will."

"Hmmm, wonder why that sounds familiar. Oh wait, no I don't. You've said that FOR THE LAST FREAKING NINE HOMES," I shout at her.

Eileen taps her pencil until I've calmed down.

"Sorry Elle. I didn't mean to yell. I'm just tired, that's all."

"Oh bear, have you been sleeping well lately?"

My silence is all the answer she needs to hear.

"Ok, just take a few breaths, grab a glass of water, and then crawl into bed," Eileen comforts, motioning at the slightly less-than-crappy bed I'm sitting on. "We fly out to meet them in the morning."

"There's no escaping this, is there," I ask, flopping back.

"Don't be so dramatic, bear. And no, I'm sorry. Name's Channing. Eight kids-"

"EIGHT KIDS!?!"

"-but only six of them live at home. They have a dog. Feel better now?"

"The dog helps," I mutter to myself.

"We'll talk more in the morning before we meet them. They really want you Charlie. They do."

"Fine fine. Whatever"

But the always-present, earth-shattering scream inside my mind echoed all-too-familiar words.

I doubt it.