I... was neglected by everyone.
"What are you, stupid?!" He would tell me as he stomped my head to the ground. It was traumatizing. But it wasn't just him. My classmates would taunt me for every little thing, from the way I walked to the way I talked. I was an outcast, a pariah in their eyes. Even the teachers seemed to ignore me, as if I were invisible.
It hurt so much, feeling like I didn't belong anywhere. I yearned for someone to notice me, to see me as something other than a worthless piece of garbage. But no one ever did. So I kept to myself, burying my pain deep within me, afraid to let anyone get close enough to hurt me again.As I grew older, the pain turned to anger. Anger at the world for being so cruel, anger at myself for not being able to fit in. I lashed out at anyone who dared to cross me. I was only eight.
My mother, I remember the death of my father. I remembered the blood he shed on her hands, trembling with fear in the bathroom sink as the water washed the blood to the sink, turning from white to a lighter shade of red. She looked traumatized; she looked psychotic with her eyes nearly miosis-like. She then saw me. The horror in her eyes as she scanned me for any way out. I didn't know at the time she was washing away evidence of my father's death. Though, as I grew older, I realized father never came home.
She drank. A few days after the incident, she had run. I stayed with my grandparents, but when she came back and took me, she drank like hell wasn't even on her ass. She took a large swig from each of the three beer bottles in quick succession, not leaving time for the dregs at the bottom to settle. The buzz flushed her cheeks pink, making them round and full. She was pretty again. Though, she lost her job.
"You're going away for a little bit," my mother told me as I approached just outside our house by way of the driveway entrance. "I'll see you soon..."
After, a tall, strong man with broad shoulders and long dreadlocks that fell past his shoulder blades in thick braids handed a suitcase to my mother, who had been hiding her face since. She squatted down and set the suitcase down, taking her palms of her hands and holding my cheeks with them lovingly. "Go with him," she said. "I love you," she added as he turned and walked down the drive towards his truck without looking back.
"Mommy..." I faintly cried to myself. I didn't know if she was coming back. I remember his enlarged hand gripping my shoulder, squeezing it tightly.
I don't even remember the name I was given by my mother. The man looked down at my small body. "What's your name?" He asked, his voice suddenly angelic.
I then said a name. A name I don't remember.
"Hm... how about I call you Jake?" he hummed as he picked up my suitcase and we headed to his truck.
As we drove away, I watched my mother shrink away in the distance until she was nothing but a speck. Tears streamed down my face, and the man put a hand on my back, comforting me.
"Don't worry, Jake. Everything's going to be okay," he said softly, his voice lulling me into a sense of safety.
But safety wasn't what I found with him. He took me to a rundown motel on the outskirts of town, and from there, things only got worse. He didn't call me by the name he gave me, only referring to me as "kid". He forced me to sleep on the floor while he took the bed, and he would come back late at night, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes.
One night, he came into the room and sat down on the floor beside me. He smelled worse than usual, and his eyes were bloodshot.
"Hey, kid, you know I love you, right?" he slurred, his hand reaching out to stroke my hair.I flinched away from him, feeling a sense of disgust and fear. I knew where this was going.
He leaned in closer, his face twisted in a grotesque expression. "Don't you want to make me happy?" he whispered, his hand now gripping my arm tightly.
I tried to pull away, but he was too strong. I felt sick to my stomach, and tears streamed down my face as he forced himself upon me.
After that night, I knew there was no escape. He controlled every aspect of my life, and I was trapped with him. I longed to see my mother again, but I knew she was gone for good.
*
"Kid, I want you to meet Evanna."
I didn't know how to react. She was only young. Any younger than five. Her long brunette hair was tangled and half was burnt, she seemed messy and was a teary mess. At the time I had just turned ten, the man, who had introduced himself as Mark, the only good thing he has ever done was put a roof over my head and celebrate the usual holidays.
That night, she slept in my 'room', which was really just a storage closet that was empty, not a single toy or book to entertain myself, which then, I had found a different hobby.
"Hey... how'd you end up with the old man?" I asked her. Did she get sold too? She was very pretty girl, I wouldn't be surprised if she was.
Quietly, she looked at her feet, I remember tears rolling down her cheeks. Did I struck a nerve? I can still think, her cold body as I hugged her into an embrace of comfort. Would he do the things he did to me... to her?
"T...They died..." She spoke so clearly, it surprised me. "Mommy and daddy were yelling... and then... the car crashed..."
That's all I remember that night.
*
I barely recognized myself anymore. I was now sixteen, Evanna just turned eleven, when Mark came to approach us, holding a paper in hand. There was a table in front of us, in the place he called our 'living room', which was really underground in a hidden spot. On the paper was a quite beautiful blonde girl and boy, who seemed to be at a house, talking to another similar blonde boy.
"I need you two on your first missions," Mark pointed out, his finger on the words Addy Bushroot and Andrew McMillan. "Separate this couple."
Evanna and I looked up at him with questioning eyes. The man sighed and plowed on. "Look here," he pointed at the names again. "This is my foster son, Andrew McMillan, and I want to keep them separated from each other. It could cause problems if they date."
"Why's that?" I asked, getting irritated with the guy's attitude. "Do you have some sort of problem with him?"
Slap. My head reeled back as hot pain shot up my cheek with the sting of flesh burning under hot fingers against skin. I hissed silently through my teeth and clenched them together to stop myself from yelling my head off at that jerkass bastard that calls himself Mark. Slap again, this time on Evanna's face as she stared wide-eyed at the whole scene unfolding before us.
He growled loudly at us both then said simply: "That's my foster son, Andrew McMillan and I want to keep them separated from each other." He emphasized 'wanted' instead of 'can't'. And then he whirled around on his heels and left the room. Evanna and I stayed put for what felt like hours but was only minutes - the effect of being yelled at by Mark would do strange things to people - exactly where we stood last until Mark came back into view with a black book crammed between his hands tightly so it wouldn't spill anything but looked about as heavy as an encyclopedia for children or something equally huge like that. He talked to us again then went away and we were left alone for about half an hour more before he came back for good that time with what looked like breakfast ready for us to eat (if you can call pastries filled with flowers 'breakfast'). As we sat at the table and picked at the food, I couldn't help but think about what Mark had said earlier. Why did he want Addy and Andrew separated so badly? I decided to do some digging of my own.
"Evanna, do you know anything about Andrew McMillan?" I asked, trying to keep my voice low.
Evanna shook her head. "No, I don't. But I can tell you one thing, I don't trust Mark."
I nodded in agreement. "Me neither. We need to find out what he's hiding."
We spent the next few days snooping around Mark's office, trying to find any clues as to why he wanted Addy and Andrew separated. It wasn't until we stumbled upon a file marked "confidential" that we found out the truth.
Inside the file were pictures and documents detailing Andrew's past. It turns out that Andrew had been in and out of juvenile detention centers since he was thirteen. Mark had taken him under his wing after he was released from the last one, and had been trying to rehabilitate him ever since. But when Addy came into the picture, Mark feared that Andrew would revert back to his old ways if they were allowed to be together. He wanted to keep them apart because he wanted what was best for Andrew - a chance at starting over and having a better life.
Mark's actions may have seemed harsh at first, but upon further inspection we realized that it was all out of love and care for Andrew, who had been through so much in his life already. We also understood why Mark had been so protective of him - he saw potential in the young man and wanted him to have every opportunity possible to succeed in life. It truly was admirable how far Mark had gone just to help this one boy he barely knew, and we both felt a newfound respect for the man once we gained insight into his hidden motivations.