A/N: Hi all this is my first fan-fic ever so please go easy and thanks for taking the time to look.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Fosters or anything else, ABC Family does, obviously
Time. It is something I have to much of and yet not enough. Three weeks have passed since I left the only place I have ever felt safe. I wish that I could say 'my home' but, in my mind I knew that it never could be. Happy endings don't exist for people like me, people who are selfish. Jude was right. We had the best possible family want to adopt us and in one moment I ruined it. Selfish. With nothing else to do with all this time, I think, about that one word. Was it worth it? I don't know. Lately I have been thinking about what I want more. Brandon or a family. And if I am truly honest with myself I think I know which way I am leaning. But nothing is certain and until I figure it out I can't face them, any of them.
In the three weeks that I have been gone I made my way across the country. Wyatt took me as far as Indiana and I made my way to New York City from there. Mostly by hitchhiking and other things I am sure Lena and Stef would not approve of. Pain unfurls in my chest when I think about them. I wonder if they are worried. No one has ever cared before but I had never met parents like them. Guilt is another emotion that is a constant. In trying not to be selfish I ruined Lena and Stef's happy day. See told you I was selfish, I can't even be selfless right. I wonder if Jude is happy. I'm sure he must be, he gets to stay with the Fosters and he doesn't have to worry about me ruining things for him anymore. We've been apart before so I'm sure that he'll get over me. Or so I hope. I hope the same for Brandon. I hope that he stayed with Talia. I hope he is happy.
Presently I am walking around Central Park trying to stay warm. It is bitterly cold here. I have never experienced winter before because I had never been out of California. I was most definitely not dressed appropriately. I layered almost all the clothes I owned on and it still didn't feel like enough. On top of that it make my backpack feel to light and reminds me that I haven't eaten in a couple of days. But that's fine. I know how to survive, I've had to do it before.
One foot in front of the other. Maybe the military thing will help. I began to chant left, left, left, right, left in my head. I am so focused on placing my feet on uncovered ground that I failed to notice them man in front of me. I bumped into him and slipped on a patch of ice falling down. As I sat in the snow the man turned to look at me and I immediately got scared. He was homeless, scrawny, and clearly starving. But it wasn't his appearance that frightened me. It was the look in his eyes. His eyes are glassy and have a crazed look about them, the look that says he's too far gone to care anymore. I've seen that look among many of the people here. They are the more dangerous type because they don't care.
The man and I just stare at each other. I'm almost to frightened to move but somehow manage to make my fingers close on the one possession that I have left, my backpack. The man notices and he too grabs the strap. I try to tug it free from his grasp as I stand up but his grip is too strong. I take a split second to debate whether to ditch the bag and go or fight and in that second he grabs a knife from his belt. I immediately let go of the strap and turn to run, but the ice make it hard to find my footing. Time seems to slow and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, feel the blood rushing through my veins. Then time rushes forward and I feel pain in the middle of my back. Stupid I should know better than to turn my back on them.
I feel the blade pull out of my back, the cold steel burning as tears my flesh. Before I even have time to fall I hear the man running away. As I fall toward the ice ground I can't help but smile at the thought that there is practically nothing in the bag. Nothing to survive with anyway. I crawled my way toward a park bench and pull myself onto it. I don't feel any pain anymore. Isn't that a bad thing. I can't remember. Maybe I am so cold that it's numb. That would be nice. I tentatively put my hand to my back and it comes away bloody. I know I need to stop the bleeding so I take one of my shirts that I have on and tie it tight around the wound.
Not knowing what to do next I contemplate my next move. I now literally have nothing but the clothes on my back and the one thing I wanted to forget about. I still have the phone that they gave me. And right now I was thankful that I didn't leave it in the backpack. I haven't had the courage to turn it on but it is something that connect me to the family. All I have to do is turn it on and call and this can all end. Deep down I know that they will come for me. I know they will let me come home. But some part of me, the part that shares a space with my selfishness, keeps reminding me that I left because I am not worthy of being apart of that family. I stare at the phone the black screen reflecting my pale face back at me. Gathering my courage I go to turn it on.
"Hey you!"
I look up from the screen in a panic. The voice belongs to a police officer. He's making his way over to me and I shove the phone back into my pocket. My moment of courage is gone and instead I give into the fear and run. I know that he will report me and I will get sent back, which is what I wanted not two seconds ago right? I don't know so I do the only thing I have ever been good at, run.
So...what did you think. R&R please. And i'm open to sugestions if your so inclined to give them :)