Stitches Undone

Chapter 1

The streets were cold tonight; my own clothes barely able to keep the strong gusts of wind from chilling me to the bone. There was a homeless man to my left, keeping shelter under a bus bench, and lots of dirt and trash to my right. Beyond that were the desert-like miles and rolling hills that could only belong to California. There weren't many houses in this part of town; only old, abandoned warehouses and the likes.

It was a perfect place for kids like me to go and think.

Sitting on my favorite bench outside of what use to be a clothing manufacturer, I curled up while putting my feet under my butt for warmth and my hands deep within my pockets. I sat there for a while, by myself, watching the stars bloom slowly across the sky.

There wasn't a single thought in my mind as it was usually blank, nothing tangible to be found. I had no real emotions anymore or any real worries that bothered me: I was an emotionless shell.

Well, that wasn't completely true. I suppose that was what I strived to be. Empty, cool, collected. However, I was the exact opposite of that. Crying unexpectedly, violence and anger exploding out of me with even the slightest of triggers, and the only thing I could do to tame myself was drug myself far beyond what was healthy.

I worried a lot about Breezy as he was an older cat and animals don't live for very long. I do everything I can to make sure he is happy, even if it means I give up a meal or two so he can eat. So, maybe I'm not an emotionless shell. But the emotions I do possess are not good, nothing worth talking about.

The night was cool and crisp, dusted with the scent of rotting garbage and sand. I sat alone, watching the lights of San Francisco cast a glow against the darkness of the sky.

It wasn't long until the cold got to me and made me shiver violently. I got up then, dreading that I had to do so, and began the hour long walk back to my foster home.

It has been about four years since my parents committed suicide and I was placed into the foster program. I've already been through more families than I can account for. Something always happened to get me kicked out so I never got attached because it was best that way. The first family, the Smiths, had been okay enough; but I had gotten into a really bad fight at the school I had gone to and was pressed with charges of assault. The family thought I was too dangerous to have after that and got rid of me.

The second one I had been with, the Johnson family, were a bunch of dingle-shits. Their daughter had accused me of stealing from them and managed to frame me quite well. Of course being the normal parents they were, they had to go with their actual daughter's story and they got rid of me as well. I still think to this day that the girl had the hots for me and was jealous of me. Jealous of what? I couldn't imagine what I had that she didn't that was actually worth being envious of.

I really liked the third family I had been with, the Carters. I was fourteen when I was first put with them and fifteen when I got kicked out. So I was with them for about a year or so. I can't remember anymore, but I really liked them. They were a normal, loving family and for the most part accepted me as their kid. But then I got romantic interest in their son James and he had some for me too. We started dating in secret and ended up sleeping together. But one night, when he had gotten in trouble with his parents and out of spite and poor judgment, he told them that I had come onto him and basically forced him to have sex with me.

They believed him, of course, and that was the end of that. There were families in between those, ones that never kept me long or time periods when I lived on the streets - but I forced most of it out of my head. I refused to remember things that would only drag me down further or spark my already easy anger issues. I took out the joint I had hidden in my pocket, the last amount before I needed to get more, and lit it without thinking of who saw me. I took a deep breath, holding it in as long as I could with my lighter sputtering out in my hand, and tried to forget what I was walking into.