Chapter one.

Now that I think about all that has happened, the only thing that makes sense is that night, December 15th, 2004. Peering through the blinds, waiting for my mom to back away from the car window and then walk back into the house with a stack of money in her hand. I was eleven at the time, and I didn't really understand much of my mom's life. Now that I am almost seventeen, I know about it all.
The winter's air was cold against my cheeks, I would shake every time the wind blew the snow downward to my nose. My father was asleep at the kitchen table, and my mother was pacing from the bathroom to the front door, then back again. Every other minute or so, the phone would ring. She would sneak to it, hold it to her ear, nod, then hang up the phone and walk outside. She was meeting someone in the driveway, a mud colored truck with big tires, loud music shook the chair I was sitting in. The music subsided, and I heard her talking.
"I don't have my scale with me at the moment, but I am positive this is how much you wanted."
I would get nosey and open the window just enough so I could hear what they were saying.
"You better not be beating me Mag. After your husband, I don't know who to trust with this anymore." A man was saying this, the sound of his voice made him seem tall, and strong.
My mothers name is Margrette-Rae, Maggie for short. She stands about five feet seven inches, and weighs almost a hundred pounds. The blonde hair perfectly fits her stunning blue-green eyes, even though blonde is not her natural color. I didn't really like it black, she looked to deceiving.
I was sitting in a chair, when everything came crashing down. The chair wasn't even comfortable; it was hard and had no arm rests. My father used to call it the best seat in the house, but it was the worst, and he knew it.
I saw lights flashing red and blue, heard the truck drive away, and then my mother crying and screaming. The knock on the door made me jump, and I instantly did what my parents used to tell me to do; hide. I ran from the chair to my bedroom closet, then locked myself in hoping who ever was at my house, would not bust through the door and find me. But the officer who had came, did exactly that. It was like they knew I was hiding their, like they knew I was a scared child who didn't want to be taken away from my home or my family; but I was.
The next week or so, was the worst days of my life. In and out of foster homes, and orphanages. It wasn't what I wanted to happen, I thought it was my fault that it happened to me. The other kids asked how I got there, and I was quite sure so I didn't answer. But I soon came up with a lie that sounded good enough to tell them.
"I ran away from home," I would tell the kids who were dumb enough to believe it. "My mother pissed me off one day, so I just left. Little did I know, It was illegal to run away from home, so I ended up here." They all seemed amazed by my story, their mouthes were open wide.
I had managed to escape the orphanage and live in a home with a picture-perfect family. A mother, a father, and two children; Chelsea, Derek, Chandler, and Erin McGaring. Derek was my age, 13 at the time, and Erin was nine.
Chandler was the most good-looking boy I had ever seen, since he was really the only boy I had ever seen. He had brown hair, and green eyes that I would get lost in every now and then, but he would end up staring at me with a concerned look on his face. He wasn't like most boys, he didn't like to climb trees, or play in mud. He liked the read, and play the guitar from time to time. I would walk past his room and he would be laying on the floor, guitar in hand. Strumming away with his eyes closed. He amazed me, in a way. I looked up to Chandler, knowing I could trust him with anything.
Erin, the younger sibling, was a stuck up brat. She always got what she wanted. If she asked to go ice skating, I'm almost positive her father would buy her Iceland. He wasn't that intelligent either though. Erin's Brown hair had that perfect curl to it. below the shoulders, and never seemed to end. I remember her taking an hour to brush her hair in the morning before school.
The family that had taken me in, was nothing more than incredible.

Chapter two.

I could hear Derek yelling at Chelsea from my room on the second floor. I heard her running then fall over something, it vibrated the wall by my bed. I turned my music up louder to block out her helpless screams.
When Derek drank, he was violent. He would punch the wall or kick the door. Sometimes I would hear Erin's door slam open and her start screaming for her mom.
"You are no good to this family," He would yell. "Do you think I like to hurt you?!"
I felt her pain when I saw the bruises the next morning, I asked her if she wanted to sleep in my room the following night; she refused.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 21.11.2010

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