"You're going to hell for this! You… monster!" Tears flood her eyes, and hatred burns in her tone.
And I have to wonder if she’s right. If I am going to hell for this.
If I am a monster.
* * *
After the ambulance pulls away, I’m told that my time with Tina and Tim has come to an e
nd. Not that I didn’t expect that already. And I’m glad. Although, I’m a bit stressed out over where I’ll end up next. But honestly, at this point, I’m just grateful I didn’t get arrested.
A few hours later, I've packed up all of my stuff, and the police put me in a vehicle to take me down to social services so they can hand me over to my caseworker.
We arrive only minutes later, and I find myself wishing the drive was longer because my social worker is… Well, let's just say not very nice.
Her name is Beth, and she has what people call a resting bitch face. The expression is fitting too since she can be a real bitch sometimes.
“You know, I wish I could say I’m not surprised you made yet another one of your foster parents have a psychotic breakdown,” she tells me after the police officer has filled her in on what happened. “But I’m not.” She shuts my file and overlaps her hands on top of it. “You’ve been in the system for seventeen years, basically since you were born. Most babies who get put into the system end up getting adopted. But you… you were trouble even when you were in diapers. And your record…” She shakes her head, her bitch face in full form. “Stealing, lying, causing trouble, scaring everyone… And now this…” She gives another shake of her head. “Do you know how complicated it’s going to be to place you in a home now? It was already bad enough…” She sighs. “How did you even cause that poor man to have a breakdown?”
“I didn’t,” I mutter, fiddling with the leather bands I keep on my wrist to hide the scars Tim gave me from tying me up with that damn belt.
The way the scars look, people always assume I put them there myself. That I’m either a cutter or suicidal. Tim and Tina used that to their benefit, told everyone stories about how they found me in the bathroom cutting my wrist with a razor blade. Whenever I tried to defend myself, they’d punish me. So eventually, I learned to keep my mouth shut.
“Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t. Honestly, you lie so much I don’t know what to believe anymore.” She sighs again. “You’re just lucky you can’t get charged for causing someone to have a nervous breakdown.”
“I didn’t do anything, Beth,” I insist, but the words liar, liar whisper through my mind. “I swear I didn’t.”
She shakes her head. “That’d be easier to believe if this wasn’t the first time you’ve caused trouble, but it’s not. You’re one of my most troubled cases. I’m honestly surprised Tim and Tina even took you in. And now…” She lets out an exasperated sigh.
I bite down on my tongue, wanting to scream in frustration. But I resist the urge, knowing she’s right. I have gotten into a lot of trouble over the years, have caused a lot of breakdowns.
You’re a liar.
No one wants you.
You’re a monster.
As an overwhelming loneliness overcomes me, I hug my backpack against my chest. It contains all of my belongings; a few outfits, my journal, a couple of books, and a locket that was left with me when my mother—or father—left me at the fire station only a few days after I was born. No one knows who my parents are, why they abandoned me, or even when my real birthday is. I had nothing with me other than a blanket, the basket that I was in, and that locket. That’s it. There wasn’t even a photo in the locket. Just a piece of paper that had Haven Wyllowravelee written on it. Everyone assumed that was my name, but no one could ever find any records of me being born, or linking me to anyone who could be my parents, like I was some sort of alien dropped into the world. Maybe that’s what I am. I don’t know, though, besides my weird ability, odd personality, and freaky eyes, everything else about me seems normal. I can bleed, get hurt, scar. In fact, I scar really easily.
Still, I can't stop thinking about where I come from and why I am the way I am. Sometimes I find myself making up stories in my head about why my parents dropped me off at the station. Maybe my mom was running from bad people and thought it'd be the only way I'd be safe. Maybe both my parents were killed, and someone else left me there. Deep down, though, I know those kinds of stories probably aren't what really happened. That more than likely my parents just didn't want me, just like Lea said.
"At this point, I'm not even sure where to place you," Beth continues on, interrupting my internal pity party. "With your file and you being seventeen… It's hard to place seventeen-year-olds as it is."
“So I’m going to a group home again?” I ask, a bit of relief washing over me.
Sure, group homes suck balls, but the idea of moving in with another foster family, of not knowing what kind of family I’ll get placed with… my stomach churns just thinking about it. At least in a group home, I’m less likely to have to deal with Tims. Although, group homes come with their own complications, but still…
I think I need a break from living with adults.
"Unfortunately, I don't think we have another option right now," Beth replies, reaching for her phone. "Go wait out in the waiting room while I make some calls and find out which home can take you in."
Nodding, I leave her office and get comfortable in the waiting area, which is vacant since it’s Sunday. Since this isn’t my first rodeo, I know it could take Beth hours to get me set up in a group home. Thankfully, I have some books I can read.
But I barely get one out when Beth strolls into the waiting room.
"Good news, Haven." She smiles at me. Actually freakin' smiles, something I've never seen her do in the years I've known her. "I've managed to get you into a special group home that focuses on unique teenagers like you."
“Um… okay.” Her smile is freaking me out, but I do my best not to stare at it. “What do you mean by unique?” God, please don’t let this be one of those group homes for dangerous kids.