This is my first fanfiction so I would really appreciate it if you could leave a comment or two. I would love the encouragement and I really do want to be a better writer so advice would be nice. Constructive criticism is welcome, bullying is not.
The point of view may or may not change after I finish with the introductions so if you don't like this style of writing it may change. This chapter is also a lot of Rachel just rambling, but a lot of what she says is vital for the setup of this story, so bear with me for now.
I Rachel Barbra Berry used to have almost everything. I had a stable and loving home life, and anything I ever asked for I was given. Now, I'm not saying that I was an ungrateful little brat, but I was definitely never in want of anything. I prefer to use the term privileged diva. But none of that really matters now. If you didn't notice the use of past tense earlier, well take notice now, because that wonderful life I used to have no longer exists.
This hell that I'm now living all started because some incompetent imbecile fell asleep while smoking a cigarette. Seriously! How in Barbra's name do you fall asleep smoking a cigarette! Urrg! Any ways, that incompetent imbecile happened to be my parents' lawyer Mr. Grossman. I know I should feel bad and I do a little. I mean I'm not heartless and vindictive person. Mr. Grossman did lose his entire building and all of his files in the fire; not to mention the smoke inhalation and burns that he received, but it was completely his own fault.
Another thing on Mr. Grossman is that I swear he had Dementia, or Alzheimer's, or both, because he could barely remember who he was having a current conversation with let alone anything that was said ten minutes ago. I mean it's a real possibility. He was eighty-four at the time.
Enough of my rambling. The reason any of this important is that because of said fire my Dads had to have a meeting with Mr. Grossman to redraw up a contract that had been lost. You see being as they are gay they could not have a child together, so they put an ad in the newspaper for a surrogate/egg donor. Several months later I was born. But before my birth they made my mother sign a contract that said that she could not contact me until I was eighteen.
For an eight year old kid I was of rather advanced intelligence, but it was not until several years later that I truly understood the implications of said document; implications that I later came to loath. How dare they dictate who got to be in my life or not! But again it doesn't really matter, because on the way to see Mr. Grossman they were involved in a head on collision with a drunk driver. One died instantly, the other died on the way to the hospital.
I was unharmed due to the fact that I was at home with my babysitter. They felt that I would grow bored and restless while they discussed the legal papers. That intuition saved my life, although with the life I'm living now I don't know if that was for the best.
My parents had no living relatives that I could be sent to live with and Mr. Grossman was such a dinosaur that he couldn't remember his own breakfast, so no one knew my mother's identity. I was obviously never told it; so I ended up in the system. Let me tell you it sucks.
I was a scared, lonely, grief-stricken eight year old that didn't know what to do. For the first couple of years I was moved from foster house to foster house. Some of them were worse than others. I was often beaten for crying too much, for talking too much, or for just even being alive.
I often went to bed hungry as a punishment for something that I usually never even did. Sometimes the foster "parents", note my use of quotations, did it for the same reasons they beat me, and sometimes it was because they had already spent the money to feed their addictions and habits, rather than to feed us.
I soon learned that the more you avoided them the better off you were. The houses where they never paid you any attention were always better than the ones that did.
When I was ten I thought that I was finally catching a break. There was a couple in Seattle that wanted to adopt me. Their last daughter had recently gone away to college and they felt that their house was too empty, but the man felt they were too old to raise a baby. They compromised and decided to adopt an older child, which is rare. I was never in any serious trouble so it was an easy choice to pick me over many of the other children.
At that time I had been at a home in Springfield, Illinois. I had slowly been making my way west as I jumped from foster house to foster house. They had been visiting their daughter Chelsea, who was attending Benedictine University there, and thought that if they chose a child from the area, then she would get a say in who her little sister would be.
I was thrilled at first. Everyone in the system knows that being adopted is the best thing that can happen. You don't have to worry anymore because these people don't want you for government money; they want you because they want someone to love.
They brought me back to their home in Seattle. I was happy for a while. I had my own room, my own toys, I was never hungry, and the woman was always supper nice. But the man never set right in the pit of my stomach. He was always giving me strange looks and leers. I never felt comfortable with him around.
My brief happiness ended one night while I was lying in bed half asleep. Before I knew what was happening he had a gag around my mouth and was trying to pull my clothes off. Thankfully I managed to wiggle the gag off and let out a scream. He smacked me upside the head real good but it was too late. His wife came in seconds later to the horrific scene.
He was charged with attempted rape of a minor and I was removed and put back into the system. I have always felt bad for the woman. She had been a very kind and giving person. To go through life with someone for almost thirty years only to find out too late what kind of monster they are with your own eyes must have been extremely difficult.
I was only there for three months but I wish that those three months had never happened. It would have been easier that way. Regardless, I was glad I was rid of that house and that man, but that meant I was back to square one again. For the last four years I have gone from foster house to orphanage, to foster house to orphanage again. It's a vicious cycle that only ends when you turn eighteen.
I often cry myself to sleep at night. I do so quietly now unlike the screeching sobs that racked by body when I first entered the system. I had learned quickly that crying didn't bring you comfort, it only brought you pain. My dreams are filled with nightmares of the attempted rape, of monsters from dark corners; even my dads' deaths haunt my unconscious state.
But every once in a while I have a dream that calms me. I dream of an older woman who looks very much like myself, although her face is still a blurred image. She has my hair and the voice of an angel. Her songs I hear in my head lull me to sleep when I have a particularly terrible day. Without her I know that I would be dead by now. She gives me strength to carry on. She is my savior. That angel is my mother. I know it is. I can just tell. Sometimes it feels as though she is calling me to her, and go to her is just what I plan to do.
I really have no idea what I'm doing. I have very little money, hardly any survival skills, I have really no information on my mother, and I'm only fourteen so I can't drive. This really seems to be doomed to fail from the beginning. There is one I have going for me though. I am determined. When I set my mind and heart to something then I get it. This time will be no exception, because I Rachel Barbra Berry am going to find my mother and nothing will stop me.
I thank you for taking time to read my first chapter. I don't know when the next one will be up. I will try to get it up quickly. The next chapter will have Shelby in it. Please review. Thank you again. – Shadow Dogma
ps. I don't yet know what pairings there will be, but I know that there will be Shelby/Will.
