“It don’t work like that, I’m afraid,” she huffs, rolling her eyes and pursing her lips.
I stop, my heart beating faster than my lungs can take in air. The thought of staying in this piss-smelling prison causes a mini panic attack to combust in my chest. I can’t stay here. More than most of the time, there’s hardly any food. Bugs and mice the size of house cats share the tight living space, and the so-called ‘disciplinary actions’ of the foster care system can cause more mental damage than most can handle. When one of the kids acts out, their punishment is taking visits away from those who have loved ones, and cleaning up the fecal matter of those who can’t control themselves and expel wherever they’re sitting. I’ve witnessed enough suicide attempts, seen enough breakdowns of those who are mere children because they can’t handle the Division of Family Services (DFS) system. I have fallen off the path of sanity more often than I can count through the years. My morals surely could be tested as the acts of a juvenile delinquent. Not every child who walks in the door of the system is bad, but it’s what foster parents like Aneta try and accomplish.
My face scowls with determination toward Aneta. “I don’t care if you send the damn police after my ass. Nothing is stopping me from leaving today.”
“Charlie, you’re not going anywhere.”
“Try and stop me,” I threaten, pushing past her.
“Charlotte Evans, you cannot leave until your social worker has a judge sign off on your release. If you step a damn foot out that door, I’m obligated to call the police,” Aneta screeches, using my whole name to emphasize her point. The house shakes from her feet pounding against the stained linoleum floor as she chases me toward the staircase. The walls, marked and scuffed from children sliding their hands down them instead of the railing, pass by as I descend the steps.
“Then call them! I’ll even wait a few minutes to give them a head start,” I sass, struggling with my suitcase down the steep stairs. She’ll call them. I know she will. She loves calling the police on me. Every time she and I get into an argument, she does just that, telling them I’m violent and out of control. It’s always a lie. She’s just a drama queen.
“Where will you go? You have no job, no money, no family.” She snorts the last part, causing my head to snap in her direction. She knows how much not having a family bothers me, so of course she would make it obvious I have nobody to run to in my darkest hour. I never had weekends away from this hellhole, a family fighting with all their might to get me back home, or some cute little couple who couldn’t have kids to come see me. I’m utterly alone, and it’s the worst feeling ever.
“Well, this for sure isn’t my fucking family. I’m leaving, and I don’t care if I have to sleep on a park bench. Anything out there is better than what’s going on in here,” I explain, my brown eyes staring at her dull green ones fiercely.
“I’m coming with!” My gaze follows the voice up the stairs, finding the new girl Jayden staring back. She just arrived last week and has been locked in her room most of the time. I took her under my wing as much as I could, but she has a mind of her own. I would take food to her room, but she wouldn’t eat it. I tried to talk to her, but she only responded some of the time. I get it, though; it’s hard being pushed into a new home. The first couple weeks, you don’t want anything to do with anyone. I respected that, but I also let her know I was here for her. Jayden smirks, looking down at us and scratching her head, which is covered in kinky curls. Jayden is one of the prettiest girls I’ve seen come through here. Her race is mixed, giving her a glowing tan, and her thick frame gives her a body full of sexy curves. I bet she receives a ton of male attention.
“NO!” Aneta yells, pointing at Jayden with a sturdy finger. “Charlie is one thing, but you, Jayden? You’re only seventeen and underage.” Aneta’s acne-scarred forehead wrinkles with annoyance as she waits for Jayden’s reply.
“Watch me,” Jayden clips. She pulls her brown suitcase behind her, the wheels thumping against each step as she makes her way down the first couple. My eyes fall on her suitcase, the only possession an orphan is guaranteed to have.
Jayden’s blue shirt, which looks like it used to have writing across the front of it, rides up from her white torn shorts, causing a sliver of skin to show as she wrestles the luggage down the steps.
“That’s it, I’m calling DFS!” Aneta yells. She sets the baby on the floor and throws her hands in the air as if she’s had enough. I knew she would call DFS, and the cops will be next. I expected it. I should be out before they get here, though.
“Where’re we going?” Jayden asks, out of breath, her curls spiraled out every which way.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” I reply sternly, my eyebrows raised to indicate just how serious I am.