The Foster Girl || Harry Styles

- 1 -

I woke up to rain hammering on my window.

A beautiful day, right?

Ha, no.

I didn’t care though because that was the day I'd be leaving this shit hole of a foster home. It’s not like that guaranteed the next one would be any better, but I trusted Jamie’s word. She was my caseworker and we had an oddly close relationship. She was really the only one who had been with me my whole life and knew what I’d gone through to find a family. At that point, I was fully convinced I'd be in foster care until I was eighteen and out of the system. She was friends with my birth mother before I was born, but I won’t get into that right now.

Anyway, she told me a little about the home I’d be moving to. I hadn’t met the parents yet, but Jamie told me they were very nice people. She explained that they had a son close to my age, a daughter quite a few years older, and that they lived in Holmes Chapel, Cheshire.

For some reason that town sounded familiar when she first said it to me, but I couldn’t think of why at the time. Whatever, I though. It'll come to me.

The home I was living in then definitely wasn’t the worst, but it wasn't anywhere close to the best. Then again, I’d moved to fourteen different foster homes in my short lifespan of seventeen years, so I guess you could say I had a wide spectrum of comparison. The move to this new home would count as my fifteenth move.

I didn't know at the time that this new home would completely turn my life upside down. How could I assume something like that? At the time, I was living with my foster mother at the time, Mandy. Unfortunately for me, she cared more about fucking the entire city of London than anything else. Not that it should've surprised me, really. None of the parents I'd stayed with cared about me. They just knew that I came with a bundle of cash from the government, and so they smiled and somehow convinced social workers that they were interested in being my short-term guardians. Along with Mandy came her horribly disgusting son, Dan, whose main goal in life seemed to be witnessing my naked body. I can’t even tell you how many times I have been walked in on while changing in that house. He never caught me though. Still to this day, I concsider him one of the most perverted guys I have ever met. Or at least, one of the most perverted guys I've ever met under thirty five years old.

Man do I have some horror stories about past foster fathers that I don’t think anyone would want me to share.

Anyway, we lived in a small apartment in London. One that I couldn't wait to leave.

I sprang out of bed that morning and pulled out my packed suitcase from under the bed. The clock on my nightstand read 9:30 AM. Jamie wasn't coming to pick me up until eleven. I had hardly slept the night before though. How could I when there was so much to think about? What would they be like? Would they hate me, like me, tolerate me? Sure they wouldn't like me. They never like me.

I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, shower, and pack the remainder of my toiletries. I decided to dress in my dark skinny jeans and my purple sweat jacket that had to be at least five years old. My grey converse covered my feet. Mostly. There was only one hole, on the left side of my left shoe, but I had learned to ignore it. It’s hard to dress to impress when my wardrobe is limited.