Bound To You: Marcus Volturi

Chapter 5: I Hate Nosy Bastards

At first I'm confused, but I peer at the title. Great, it's my information file. Every foster kid has one. This lists everything I've ever done. Good and bad. Yay, just what I need....not. Aro looks at me, he's obviously seen everything inside. This puts the sulks on me. The nosy bastard has had the cheek to have a flick through.

"Lee Corvin, eighteen years old. Born to a young drug addict mother, given up at three months old, in the care system ever since. No siblings, you've been in your fair share of fights over the years, you've been expelled from three schools from the age of twelve to sixteen. If I'm not mistaken, you're a born trouble maker." He states, and pushes the file towards me, which I pick up and clutch to my chest.

"Where did you get this? No one outside of the care system can access those." I try to stay calm, but again the anger is boiling up. "Let's just say, I know a man who can walk through walls." He smiles, seemingly amused, though I'm sure pissed as hell. "Look, I don't want to have a long conversation about this at half past midnight. I want to go to bed." I hold my hands up in protest and turn to leave, heading for the door. He slams his hands down on the desk, making me jump. "Don't turn your back on me." His voice is low, but fierce.

I turn around, scowling, but reluctantly return to my seat. He opens my file again, and reads a quote directly from it. "Lee Corvin has difficulties socialising. She has zero friends and constantly has a low mood. She carries a scowl on her face wherever she goes. She barely has manners and can be childish. As her social worker for ten years, I have never even seen her smile."  He finishes reading and smoothes down his waistcoat, refastening the buttons.

"Those exact words are from your social worker Mrs. Danvers." He gives me an unimpressed look. I depserately try to look cool, like I don't give two shits about what he's saying. "Why are you telling me this?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "Well as far as I'm concerned, you are a dark storm cloud, trouble follows you. How many foster homes have you been in?" I ignore his question, his assessment of me stings, but I won't show it.

"That's none of your business," I huff, folding my arms across my chest, leaning back in my chair. "Sit up straight," He looks annoyed now. Does this guy ever give up? He sits opposite me. "Tell me how many or I will have to read it to you," He sits there waiting for an answer. "Thirteen," I mutter. He sighs. "Thirteen foster homes, but in the past six years, your behaviour has declined, causing you to move homes every few months, which is no surprise no one wants you." His words sting, no one has ever been so blatant and to the point before.

I slouch again, but my face keeps the familiar I-don't-care expression on my face. "What I am trying to make you realise is that this is a big thing for you, an opportunity. I want you to be grateful for what we are offering. You could become a respectable person here, with good manners. Marcus will take care of you." Aro stands, it looks like the conversation is over.

"Do you remember where your room is?" He peers at me. "Yeah, I'll find it," I slope off without a goodbye, trailing through corridors and past glass cabinets with paintings and ornaments in them. Further down the corridor there are even stone statues. Fuck, this place is like a museum. The floors are made of different materials wherever you go. Eventually I come to the suite of rooms I'm looking for.

Someone has already hammered a brass plate with 'Lee Corvin' in fancy black paint on the door for me. I open the door to find my bags have already been unpacked. The empty bags have been hung up on the back of the door, where dressing gowns and jackets are usually held. The room is just as lovely as I remembered. Large bed with a cream duvet matching the walls. Dark wooden chest of drawers. A desk with an oval vanity mirror and a brush.

Someone has thoughtfully arranged all my possessions for me.

Dark wooden shelves on the walls are full of my books and drawing pads. My pens, pencils and paints have been arranged in colour order on the shelf below.

There's another door which I head over to, thinking it's a small cupboard, but instead I'm in a huge bathroom, with a bath, shower, toilet and sink. The walls are light blue, the counters and small cupboards are cream and the floor is tiled with blue and cream squares. I let out a whistle of approval. I don't appreciate many things in life, but this is impressive. And all mine.

My facial products, deodrants and hair gel have been placed on a shelf by the shower. My faded dressing gown has been hung on the back of the door.

Back in the bedroom, I check the insides of the chest of drawers to find my clothes have been put away, starting with underwear and socks in the top drawer, t-shirts second, trousers and jeans third, and the bottom draw holds pyjamas. Beside my desk, is a shoe rack, which holds my boots, and a new pair of smart black shoes. I take off my converse and place them on the rack.

I've never had so much fancy space. I pull off my clothes, placing them on the chair by my bed. Reaching into the bottom drawer, I pull out my favourite pyjamas: stripy tiger pants with a matching black t-shirt. I give my face a quick wash before glancing at the clock, 1:00 in the morning. I crawl beneath the sheets and drift off instantly.