Crescent Moon

01

July 30th, 2017

Home 3512382, here we come. I got kicked out. Again. I have to go to a home outside my district, meaning I have to change schools - again - and I'm so over this. I just want people to leave me alone. I want to be by myself. I've raised myself, so I don't know why people keep putting me in homes when I've lived alone and had no one to take care of me. I can take care of myself just fine. If I have one more foster parent try to hit me and claim I'm dangerous when I defend myself, I'm going to lose it. All the homes I'd been in there's been parents that've neglected me, hit me -

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hand reach for my notebook. I growled and held it out of my social worker's reach as she attempted to snatch it from my hand.

Gretchen frowned at me. "I told you not to growl like that. That's one of the many reasons why you get in trouble in the first place," she snapped.

"Then don't try to snatch my notebook out of my hands," I snapped back. "You know how much it means to me."

My whole life when I was forced to move from foster home to foster home, having a notebook was the only consistent thing I was able to have. I kept all the notebooks I'd ever written in and always made sure I had a backup one whenever I ran out of pages. It helped me process and deal with everything that I had to go through and it helped me escape from the toxic environment that was my life. I never allowed anyone to read it or take it away from me. Everything else had been taken from me, and I wouldn't let anyone take this from me.

"I've been trying to tell you for five minutes that we're here," she said, her teeth clenched, voice laced with irritation. I realized for the first time that we were here, parked in the driveway of what was going to be my new home - for now. "And I think you need a break from that notebook. It's causing you more harm than good." 

She made another attempt to grab the notebook.

I snarled at her. She paled and immediately withdrew her hand. I had no doubt that my expression had gone feral and I took great satisfaction at the fear that filled her eyes.

"Do that one more time and I'm breaking your hand."

She visibly swallowed. "T-this is why no one wants to keep you in their home," she stammered, eyeing me warily. "You're too violent."

"I'm not violent, I just don't tolerate people's bullshit," I said matter of factly. "You've literally taken everything I've ever owned from me - I'm not going to let you take my notebook."

She stared at me for a long moment before muttering under her breath about how difficult I was and unbuckling her seatbelt.

I watched her get out of the car before slowly getting out myself, eyeing the house with annoyance. It was a cozy-looking two-story house with two windows with transparent white curtains, the house painted white, a rose garden in the yard, topped by the classic, little, white picket fence that seemed to be the symbol of a loving, well-put-together house.

I smelled bullshit immediately. In all the foster homes I'd been in throughout the years, it was the homes that seemed like they were the most normal and seemingly stable that were the most terrible. I couldn't tell you how many times I was brought to a house that looked like this and the people that were supposed to take care of me made my life a living hell.

At least in my last home, my foster parents - I didn't even try to remember their names. All the names and faces blended together - didn't even acknowledge my existence. That was good. At least I wasn't being hit or kicked repeatedly.

I glared at Gretchen out of the corner of my eye. The bitch had been my social worker all my life and had seen all the signs of the abuse I was going through and hadn't done one thing about it.