She watched the buildings of Chicago's South Side zoom past outside of the car window, but really she was focusing on which way to kill the driver.
She didn't have any weapons; they had made sure of that. Maybe she could strangle him, but that would cause too much commotion if the car got out of control. She could take off her shoe and hit him across the head repeatedly, but that would probably just make him more angry than dead.
"Fuck." She whispered under her breath, because they were stopping now and that could only mean one thing. She was out of time. He seemed to make sure to avoid eye contact as he opened the door for her, and she almost laughed because it seemed like he was her limo driver instead of a foster care worker. She shot him one last glare before grabbing her small plastic bag of belongings and shutting the door behind her, studying the house in front of her.
"Come on now." He said in what was probably meant to be a soothing voice but really just made her want to punch him in the throat. Too late now though, in broad daylight. She should've done it when she had the chance. She gave him the finger and climbed up the stairs slowly, knowing full well her whole world was about to change. How stupid could she be, getting caught after almost 8 years of careful planning? She was really more mad at herself than anyone, but she would take it out on this poor sucker while she could. After minutes of standing there he seemed to figure out she wasn't going to knock so he did it himself, and they waited 5 minutes with no answer before he knocked again. Finally, someone answered. He was obviously fucking trashed, with a joint in one hand and a beer can in the other.
"Wrong house." was all he said before shutting the door again, but the foster care worker stopped it just in time.
"Are you Terry Milkovitch?" He asked, and the other guy shook his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes frozen.
"He's in prison." This was obviously news to the worker, and she hoped that was enough for her to go anywhere else but here.
"Well.. who are you?" He tried, and the guy seemed to be running out of patience.
"Iggy. Now can I fucking help you, or do you just want to stand there shitting your pants?" She fought back a laugh at the worker's expression. This was obviously not what he was expecting.
"And- what is your relation to Terry Milkovitch?" Iggy seemed pissed beyond belief, almost crushing the can with his fist.
"Holy shit, his son. Now is that all, sir?" He spat in the worker's face and she snickered loud enough for him to hear. He seemed to look between them and come to a conclusion- probably that he didn't give two shits what happened to her so it was good enough.
"This is your sister, Marina." That was the first time Iggy acknowledged her, looking her up and down with a dissatisfied glance.
"Alright, congratulations for having the shittiest genes of them all. Anything else?" The man seemed shocked that this revelation hadn't changed his tone at all. She didn't know what he was expecting.
"Well, she has to live with you now. You're the only family she has left." Iggy shrugged and took another drag from the joint. She smiled when the worker coughed.
"Alright. Come on, Marnie." He grabbed her by the arm and shut the door before the worker could say another word.
"Marina." She corrected, though knew there was no use. Iggy shrugged again, offering her the joint which she gladly took. It had been a long day.
"Tomato, tomato. You can have Mandy's room." She guessed that was her other sister. Great. Her room seemed nice enough. Definitely better than anything she had.
"Thanks." She muttered, but when she turned around he was already gone.