The Gang Leader's Girl

Prologue

"We understand death only after it has placed its hands on someone we love."
- Anne L. de Stael

•Picture above is Mia•

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"Mia, wake up!" Whispered a soft, hushed voice.

In fact, it was so hushed I almost had thought I was just hearing things. That was until out of nowhere a loud door slam pierced through the silent hallway from the room right next to ours, creating enough force to vibrate the old wooden floors which we were laying on.

"Mia! Please wake up! I'm scared!" Panic flooding the little girl's voice.

I automatically knew who it was that was calling for me.

"Holly, where are you?" I whispered back, trying to look through the pitch-black room. The foster people we live with don't allow us to have the lights on after 7:30. Trust me, I learned that lesson the hard way. You see, if you have the lights on after the restricted time, you'll get punished.

The punishments are plainly decided on how drunk Mrs. and Mr. Rockwell were that night. On a good night, punishments usually consist of not allowed to go to sleep until they decide they worked you long enough or going a couple of nights without dinner, sometimes both. But if they start drinking the punishments become more violent. Mrs. Rockwell has never psychically abused any of the kids here but better yet she sits back and watches her husband do all the work, smiling.

I remember the first time James Rockwell hit me, I wanted to drop to my knees and cry out for my mother, but I didn't. You see when you've been in the system as long as I have you learn how to control showing your emotions. Because people like James and Martha thrive on seeing you break down, they get off on it.

Flashback:

"Come here, you stupid bitch!" Mrs. Rockwell sneered at me.

"No, I'm sorry, whatever I did wrong I won't do it again! I promise!" I begged her.

"Damn right you won't do it again!" Martha laughed, the malevolent smile on her face sent horrid chills up my spine. The smell of alcohol rolled off her thin body in waves that were even making me dizzy.

"James get your fat ass up here, we got a newbie." Mrs. Rockwell wrapped her hand in my long brown hair, that was dirty because we are only allowed one shower a week, and pulled as hard as she could, pulling my head closer to her body.

I thought my heart was going to beat out my chest when I heard Mr. Rockwell's heavy footsteps slowly come up to the second floor. My breathing started to increase, and my lungs started burning for more air.

When James finally got to the second floor he had to hold the walls on either side of him to prevent him from losing his balance. His dark long hair was dirtier than mine, and I didn't think that was possible.

As he walked over to me a crooked smile started to form on his face, showing his yellow teeth. And if I thought the smell of alcohol was nauseating on Mrs. Rockwell, James was on a totally new level.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" James laughed and gripped my wrist in his dirty, rough hands. His eyes raked over my body slowly, I could basically see the devil coming out of him.

"She's out of her room after curfew, honey. What should we do with her?" Martha's voice sounded entertained.

"I just had to go to the bathro-" I tried to explain but was quickly stopped by the hard slapped that was placed on my left cheek. I silently winced as my face began to sting.

"You don't leave your room after 9 o'clock, you dumb slut!" Jame's angry voice echoed in the hallway. No one told me I wasn't allowed to go to the bathroom after curfew.

I guess me not reacting to Mr. Rockwell made him even angrier because his free hand, that wasn't death gripping my wrist, started to travel up and down my sides. A disgusting feeling made my stomach drop. Suddenly his hand left the sides of my stomach and then clasped around my neck.

"You want to act tough huh? beg me, beg me to stop, you useless excuse for a girl." His hands got tighter and tighter around my neck, squeezing his dirty nails into my throat. My lungs were pleading for air. I wanted to cry, I wanted to fight, I wanted to die.

The last thought that crossed my mind before everything went black was when I was younger, my mother would lay out blankets in the backyard. We'd lay outside for hours looking up at the stars, she once told me that for every star my eye could see, that it was the soul of someone's loved one. That when we die our souls leave our bodies, and float into the universe, shining for the people they love back on earth, watching over them and making sure they were never alone.

Of course, now I know stars are nothing more than balls of gas, I really hope you're watching over my mom. Because right now I've never felt more alone.

End of Flashback

"Over here." Holly's soft voice filled the quiet room.

I carefully tipped toed around all the other sleeping kids, laying on the ground on their makeshift beds. Holly was the newest kid under the Rockwell's care, she's been here for about a week and a half. While I've been here for two months and fifteen days.

"Shhh it's okay, I've got you," I whispered, pulling holly's shaking body into my lap.

"I want to go home Mia! Please take me home. I'll do whatever you say, I'll listen I promise!" She pleaded with me, sobbing in my arms.

Tears started to form in my eyes because there was nothing I could do for her, but hold her closer to me.

"Mommy said she'd be right back. She told me to keep swinging and she'll be back. Why didn't she come back for me Mia?" Another sob wreaked her small body.

Holly was a ten-year-old little girl, she should be at home sleeping in a princess bed with her favorite stuffed animal to protect her from the monsters underneath her bed. Not crying to a stranger about how her piss poor mom abandoned her at a park. She has to learn way too soon that it's not the monsters underneath the bed you need to fear, but the monsters inside our own heads that manipulate our thoughts, and cloud our judgment.

I didn't know much about the little girl, except that she's ten and her name is Holly. It goes against the rules of being a foster child. It's not real rules, but more like a universal concept.

Rule 1: Don't ask another foster child why they're in the system.

Rule 2: Don't ask about pass experiences.

Rule 3: Don't ask about their family.

It's harder then you'd you expect not to ask someone even though it is only just three questions. But talking about a child in the system's past can be hard for them, I know it was for me. That's why you don't talk about it unless that person decides it's time to open up and tell you.

Holly's crying finally subsided, her breathing started to return to normal. My heart hurt thinking about what she said to me. I know what it feels like to lose a mother, it's something you'll never get over but rather learn to live with.

I carefully covered Holly in her holey blanket, making sure not to wake her. I pushed myself up off the floor and quietly went back to my own blanket. I crawled under and shut my eyes, forcing myself to sleep. I didn't want to think about what just happened.

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