My name is Brandon, and my wrists ache, not as much as my jaw, where I had just gotten punched a few minutes before. I bring my hands to the spot, wanting the numbness to go away. It hurt, but I'll live. I've had a lot worse.
"You okay there, kid?" One of the guards ask, poking me with the butt of his gun as if to tell me to walk faster. "You got hit pretty hard."
I grumble a few things to myself, things that would probably land me here for another week, but I stop suddenly. "Why do I have to wear these?" I demand, my anger only growing.
"Because you do," A different guard tells me, pushing me in the direction I should be walking in. "Maybe you should have thought about it before you go into a fight." He says, and I remember how he just stood there, watching as three guys came up too me. I was nice enough to try to walk away. But it just went downhill from there.
"That wasn't my fault!" I tell him, turning away from him. I am tired of all on these snobby guards. I'm just a sixteen year old. What is the worst thing I can do? "It's not my fault that some people here are jealous bastards."
"That kid has been here longer than you, you'd be jealous to, wouldn't you?" The nicer one says, and I can hear him playing with his keys. My wrists start to ache again, and I shake my head as the other guard, the one who needed to work on his patience pushes me again.
"I wouldn't. I'd let his sorry ass rot in that cell, you know. I wasn't dealing with drugs that got me in here. I'm probably the only safe teenager here." I tell them, knowing that it would only annoy them even more.
"You beat up your foster brother for no reason, kid. I'd say you're one of the most dangerous teenager here."
I raise an eyebrow questionably even though they couldn't see me. "So you're saying that you're scared of me?"
"I'm saying that you have anger problems, kid. You put him in the hospital when you were done with him."
I feel anger, and I restrain against the handcuffs, only to have pain shoot up my arms, and I grit my teeth. "That asshole deserved it! He raped my sister! I was protecting her!" At the sudden memory of why I've even ended up in juvie, I remember that I haven't seen my sister in almost a year. I left her alone for a year with that bastard of a foster brother. "My sister! Is she okay? I want to see her! She's not at that house anymore, is she? Tell me she's safe. You can let me rot in that cage for all I fucking care, just tell me she's safe!"
"We don't know anything about your sister, kid. All we know is that you're getting out today and that you're going to a safe place, hopefully, kid."
"I'm not a kid," I spit out, shaking my head at them. Do they really think that I'm a kid? I'm far from a kid. I know how to take care of myself. I've been doing it my entire life. "I can take care of myself! I don't need anybody, like you petty people do."
Suddenly, the guard, who was taller than the nicer one slams the butt of his gun into my jaw, causing me to fall over, and I have to shake my head a few times to clear it. Bastard. I think, as I hear the two guards fighting as I lean against the wall, ignoring the new pain shooting up my jaw. I already have a black eye, too. It wasn't going to make a difference.
I force myself to get to my feet, using the wall to help me, even though my brain is still foggy. "Un cuff me!" I demand, holding out my hands too the shorter, nicer guard, knowing that he would. "Now! I'm not just some boxing bag, you know!" I tell the older one, who grips his gun so hard that his knuckles turn white.
"How 'bout you shut your wise ass, kid. It doesn't matter if you can take care of yourself, punk- you're still a kid. You're only sixteen."
"Says the guard who takes advantages of a minor," I spit out, not breaking from his cold, harsh stare. "I know more than you think, so why don't you shut you-"
The younger guard steps between us, his hand on my chest. "Both of you stop talking! You're only making things worse, which means the more time you two get to deal with each other!" His voice is softer as he pulls a key out of the many on his keychain, taking my wrists, and unlock the cuffs. "There you go, kid."
I rub my wrists, and ignore his comment. "Where you gonna put me this time? A group home?" I ask, and it's a simple question, after all, I'm probably on the 'dangerous' list in The Foster system. Group Homes are when all of the those kids go, and they don't get second chances, no chance to get fostered or adopted by people who wanted kids.
"A place where you learn your god dammed lesson," the older guard says roughly, opening the front door, shoving a small bag of clothes they probably packed for me into my arms. "See you soon, kid." He growls sharply as the door close behind me, and I'm greeted by sunlight and Bill, a short pudgy man, holding his folder so I can see Child Services slapped down on the front.
"Brandon! What happened? Are you okay?" I try not to roll my eyes, Bill was just doing his job; pretending to care about what happened to my face, and I don't answer. I only talked to the guards because they had no problem acting like they didn't care. It is something I'm used to. I look down at my worn out Nikes, only to realize that Bill was looking at me, waiting for an answer.
"I got in a fight," I mumble, running one of my hands through my hair that clearly needed a hair cut. "Where's my sister?"
Bill ignores my question, just like I expected and he pulls my arm roughly, leading me to a woman. She's staring at me, but I don't mind, I don't care. All I care about is finding my younger sister, Sarah. "I need to see Sarah," I tell Bill, ready to yell at him if I have to. "Just let me talk to her, at least." I say pleadingly, I have to make sure she's okay. I haven't seen her in a freakin' year, and Bill hasn't even answer my questions about her.
The woman, who has a dark skin is still looking at me, then to Bill, then to me again, and her eyes meet mine. "It's only for a few weeks, right?" I have the feeling that it's not the first time she've said that, judging by the look on her face, how she looked sorry for me.
A few minutes later, I was following the woman to her car, told to put my bag in the trunk, and to sit in the shotgun seat as she leans against the drivers door, on the phone, clearly unhappy about something, and that something was probably me. She suddenly opens the door, startling me, but she doesn't tell.
"I'm Lena," The woman offers, starting the car stiffly, sneaking glances at me, and probably the bruises on my face. "I'll be your foster mother for a while, Brandon. That's your name, isn't it?"
I nod, not wanting to offer her anything else. A long time ago, I promised myself to never trust people, and it's worked so far. It just made it easier to get Sarah and I out of a bad foster house.
I can hear her mutter to herself, "Well, we're up to a great start," I don't tell her that I can hear her, instead, I just watch the road zip by. "At home, there's four other kids, Brandon. I think you'll get along with them just fine. Jude, he's 12, he's quite curious sometimes, so apologies if he asks you any uncomfortable questions. We adopted him about two months ago. Then there's Jesus and Mariana, they are twins, Me and Stef, my partner adopted them five years ago. They are 15, close to your age. We have a daughter named Callie, and she's your age. She is Jude's biological sister."
Callie. Her name sound familiar.
"What about her?" I ask, my voice raspy for some reason, and I clear my throat.
"What do you mean?"
"You said that Jude and Callie are biologically related. How come you didn't adopt her too?"
Lena hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and her knuckles turn white, and she doesn't answer my question, just simply changes the topic. "We're almost home. You won't meet any of the kids now because they are at school. They all go to Anchor Beach, and I am the assistant principle."
Great, I think, pressing my fingers to my jaw again, only to pull them away covered in blood. Just more rules for me. Lena parks in a driveway, which was no doubt her house, when she looks over at me, a concerned look on her face.
"Are you alright?" She asks, her hand already moving towards my face, and even though it's a caring gesture, I flinch, expecting her to hit me. Her hand falls limply at her side, and she mutters a quick apology, and gets out of the car, and I grab the bag that was probably full of too small clothes, and follow her, trailing a few feet behind her.
The house is nice, sneakers litter the floor by the front door, there's a pile of video games by the tv, there's a few decorations, like they are afraid that of there's anymore, they'll break. My eyes linger on the piano in the corner of the living room, and it brings memories flooding into my mind.
All of the lessons I got from my father.
I have to shake my head a few times to clear my head from the memories of my father before our family started falling apart. Before my dad got drunk that night and lost all control. I can hear Lena calling me, but I don't answer her, and I only hear my father talking to me happily.
"So, how was school today?"
"Good!"
My father had laughed at how happy I was. "How about we play some piano today?"
I nodded eagerly before announcing that I have remembered all of the notes, which only caused his smile to widen as my mother sat on the couch a few feet behind us, watching.
"Brandon?" Lena voice cuts through them like a knife. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?"
I shake my head again, trying to bring myself to reality before I answer her stiffly. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Lena nods understandably, and takes the bag out of my hands. "I had a short notice about you, so I'm sorry, but until me and Stef work out what we want to do, you'll have to sleep on the couch."
"That's great," I answer, licking my dry lips, and taste some blood from where it was cracked. "I'd usually sleep on the floor in the garage."
Lena looks up at me, a small look if shock on her face, almost as if she doesn't believe me. But when her eyes meet mine, I can tell she knows I am telling the truth. "Why don't we go to the kitchen? They kids will be home soon, so I'll have to start dinner, they're usually starving on Fridays after school."
I don't want to follow Lena into the kitchen, I want to find Sarah. I don't want to find her, I have to find her. I won't be able to go a few more days without knowing where she is. Maybe she got kicked out of the house like I did and is in a good house where they care about her and are planing to adopt her. Maybe. Even though I don't want too, I follow Lena and sit on one of the stools, realizing how tired I really am, with my body aching, and my jaw throbbing.
I watch Lena as walks around the kitchen, cooking something I didn't recognize. It would certainly beat prison food, for sure. I hear the front door open, and look over at it, and see kids pilling into the house, kicking off their shoes, talking about something. Two boys and two girls. One of the girls look at me, and her brown eyes meet mine, and they seem familiar. I blink and look away, and she goes back to talking to the shorter girl.
The younger boy, who I figured is Jude doesn't ask a single question as all of them pile into the kitchen, asking Lena questions. I can hear them asking what's for dinner, or if they're doing anything this weekend, and a few quite whispers about me. Lena, ignoring all of their questions, commanding them to sit down and be quite while she finishes cooking.
It seems natural the way they all sit down at the same time, small talk already among them. One of the girls sit next to me, the one who noticed me when they got home. "I'm Callie," She offers, her brown eyes meeting mine again, and I nod quietly. I hear her sigh before she tried again, "Do you want a drink? Or an ice pa-"
"Got in a fight?" I turn my head to look at who it came from, and Callie and Lena scold him. "Jesus!" I don't answer his question, but I can tell they are all staring at me, waiting for my response, but all I can think about his how familiar Callie's voice is. It's the one I've heard everyday when I was locked up in that cell.
"It's okay. I know what it feels like. To be thrown around. Wondering why all of this shit is happening to you, wondering why the people who were supposed to love you the most didn't."
It was the day I thrown into the back of the police car. The day Liam called the cops on me. I remember pleading the cop to give me one more chance, telling him that I was just trying to protect my sister from him. It was the day Sarah had told me what he did to her, and I just lost it. He cuffed me quickly, throwing me into the back of his car where a girl and boy were sitting, and the cop was telling them to get away from me, that I was dangerous.
The girl completely ignored him, looking at me. "What's your name?"
"B-Brandon." I told her, not knowing what else to do, besides answer her question.
"What happened?" She asked me, her eyes meeting mine. When I don't answer her, she goes on, "It's okay. I know what it's like. It's okay. I know what it feels like. To be thrown around. Wondering why all of this shit is happening to you, wondering why the people who were supposed to love you the most didn't."
"I got in a fight with my foster brother," I tell her, believing every word she told me. "He raped my sister. Now I'm stuck in this car on my way to juvie because I was protecting her."
I watched as she tensed up when I told her that, and figured out that the same thing happened to her. "It's happened to me too," She whispered. "I was protecting my brother. My foster father called the cops... Told them I just went crazy. Nobody cared about my side of the story."
"What's it like?" I ask. "It's my first time."
"Depends on how you act."
I nodded, and looked away from her, but I could feel her staring at me. "What?" I spit.
"I'm sorry. I wish.. I wish there was something I could do. I know you're hoping somebody'll come get you, but they don't care."
"I want a kiss," I blurt, and the cop in front started yelling at the girl, telling her to stop talking to me, to act like I'm not here, but her eyes meet mine again. She looked confused, and I went on, "I doubt I'll get out anytime soon.. besides, it's not everyday when I see a pretty girl. I know it's stupid, bu-"
She crashed her lips onto mine, cutting me off, like she doesn't care that I wanted to kiss her. She kissed me longer than I thought she would, and when she pulled away, I wanted to kiss her back. "W-What's your name?" I ask as the cop pulls up to a parking spot in front of my hell for the next year. But this girl, the one I would only see this once, made it seem like it wasn't going to be that bad. And maybe it won't. I'm not the one who did anything wrong. I was just the one who got blamed for it.
"Callie," Her face showed even more confusion, probably wondering why she kissed me, a small frown on her face, and she shakes her head a little. "I'm Callie Jacob."
I got pulled out of the car after that.
