Riley POV
I need more. I was pulling the needle out of my arm, and wishing I had more crystal meth. I've been using a lot, and the high isn't as grand anymore. I need something more hard-core. This is exactly what landed me in this foster home, besides my parents getting killed. Don't get me wrong, I love it here, but some of the kids that come through here are enough to make you want to scream bloody murder. My real parents got sick of finding me passed out from over-dose. Who can blame them? They died after they sent me here. The rehab places weren't really doing anything. It would last for as long I was there, and as soon as I came back home, everything went to the way it was before I had left.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Shit..." I mumbled.
"Riley, open this door right now! I swear to the Lord if you're using, I will call the cops!" My foster mom screamed at my locked door.
I hurriedly shoved my needles and drugs under my bed, where I had a secret hiding place. I went over to the door and let Joan in.
"What were you doing that you needed to have the door shut and locked?" Joan asked suspiciously.
"I was trying to relax. I'm getting tired of all the crying and screaming." I lied. This was so routine that I could use the same line on Joan, and all she would do was shake her head and leave.
"Bullshit Riley. You're lucky I didn't actually see anything. You really need to get some help." Joan lectured.
I just nodded my head, and mumbled whatever. Like I knew she would do, she shook her head and walked out of my room. Instead of pulling out my drugs again and risking the chance to get caught, I just grabbed my I-pod and blare death metal into my ears.