Prologue
I punched him straight in the face, the force of my fist cracking the bridge of his nose. It was freeing in a way and at the same time devastating, but those feelings would hit me later. At the time I thought about nothing else but the fact that I wanted him gone, I wanted him out of my life and what better way to do that than beat him the hell up?
Everyone around us took a step back as I kicked him in the stomach, he managed to push me away before grabbing my jacket and shoving me against the wall. His arm made it practically impossible for me to push him away.
“You think you’re the thing, don’t you?“, he clenched his teeth so tightly I could barely make out what he was saying.
I tried ripping myself away from his grasp but he just held me tighter to the wall.
Blood dripped down his face as he muttered: “Not even your mother wants you.”
Next thing I knew I was sitting alone in the principal’s office holding a pack of ice to my face. Everything before that was blurry, I think he hit me and then I fought back. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it though, ever since I got to that school that guy wouldn’t stop mocking me. He totally asked for it and he should count himself lucky that I just broke his nose.
But no amount of pep talk would have prepared me for who would walk into the office next. I expect Jenna, maybe Tyler, but instead it was her.
What is she doing here?
She leaned on the desk in front of me, disappointed running on her face. Her grey hairs started showing again, last time I saw her she had just dyed it dark brown.
She just sighed: “What were you thinking? Two weeks. They gave you two weeks and this is what you’re doing?”
Her voice cracked with frustration. Although she always tried to look well put together and professional with her grey blazer and briefcase, her face usually always came with the ”Get lost" look, but that didn’t even matter. I was always the one to break people, this time it seemed like I managed to do it again.
“Mrs Welsh?“, my voice seemed to snap her back into reality.
She put her face in her hand, the realisation hitting her that she had to now explain why she was there. She avoided eye contact with me as she said what I was fearing she would. Her speech just filtered in my head, like a long encrypted massage that I had to decipher. In the end the message was a clear and short one; They don’t want you anymore, they can’t handle someone like you.
It’s fine, I got used to it. I lost count of how many families gave up on me at that point. Everyone always told me that it takes time to find the right one. That sometimes it just doesn’t work out, but after the fifth one they stopped saying that. Everyone suddenly became quiet, like they knew they were wrong, they just couldn’t admit it.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find you a new foster family, Fifi.”
I wasn’t exactly worried about finding one, more about how long it will take before they drop me, because they always did.
