Hey guys! So this is my first The Fosters story with an actual, continuous plot, and I'm really excited to write about this! I mainly enjoy writing series of one shots for The Fosters, and I decided to try something a little more⦠intense. Also, my last sentence is like TFIOS overload, so yeah. Tell me how you like it!
Hope you all enjoy, this is simply just the prologue.
Reposted because every time I tried opening this document, it wouldn't open.
Prologue
The dark was a wonderful place to be. Because if you lie down and close your eyes real tight, you can really be anywhere you want to be. Let yourself think about anything, anyone you want, imagine that they're right next to you. Of course, everything wonderful ends, and it doesn't only end, it rots. Nothing wonderful can be permanent. Sometimes, her mother would tell her it's better that way; that it's so much more special because it rarely happens. She always told her, 'Wonderful moments are just like living things. We all die, because we're all too wonderful to last. But we always have the memories, which is what makes it so special.' Thinking of that now seemed so foolish to her. She wasn't that kind of person anymore. She wasn't the girl who believed in happily ever after. That's not who she was.
Who was she? She didn't know anymore. She preferred not to know. What was she? In her opinion, she was a tossed around toy. Only temporary before someone would get bored, and send her away, not caring where she'd get shipped off to. Sometimes she thought she knew who she was, what she was. But it didn't take long for her ideas to disperse into the air like magic. As if it never existed in the first place.
Nothing wonderful lasts. That sentence had never had so much meaning, so much honesty to her until this day. In her dreams, she was in a familiar place, a memory. She was racing her brother, trying to trip him so he wouldn't win, their mother watching them, laughing every moment she would glance away from her book.
She remembered that day so clearly.
The sun shined brightly upon them, reflecting onto the metal from her toy swing set, which she unfortunately had the share with her brother. They count down together, backwards from three. Suddenly they both squeak out a loud 'Go!' and run throughout their backyard, the 9 and 5 year old giggling hysterically as they nudge each other.
And every laugh that came out of their mouths, their mother would recite, staring at them from the lawn chair by the swing set. She was so beautiful. A beautiful women, with a beautiful family, and wonderful children. Wonderful. Her bright eyes sparkled in the day light, her hair up in a tight ponytail. She wore a casual attire, dark shorts and white shirt. But it still made her look so ravishing, so elegant.
Everything would look beautiful on their mother. She was so jealous of her, wishing she could be as beautiful. She always told her mother, she always told her she was beautiful, she always said she hoped when she grew up, she'd look just like her. It was funny to her at the time, how she'd always answer the same thing, in the same ways. She'd smile, and place a strand of hair behind the young girl's ear, and she'd whisper. "You're already so beautiful, Baby. One day, I promise, you'll be even more beautiful than me." And the young girl would always smile, explaining how it could be impossible, but her mother would persist, telling her that nothing was impossible. And young girl would always listen, believing every word she said.
"Nothing is impossible," she would tell her science teachers when they would explain how no one could drive a car into space. "Nothing is impossible," she would tell her father when he would tell her mother how they could never pay their bills in time. "Nothing is impossible," she would tell her brother when he explained how he could never beat her at floor hockey. Nothing is impossible.
Innocence was another beautiful thing. The beautiful oblivion of a child. Thinking of all these memories now, enveloped by blankets as she laid in a bed, her bed, in a dark room, her new room, they all seemed ridiculous. She was usually smart, how could she believe her mother. Yet, she remembered, every child believes their parent when innocence is still written across their forehead, radiantly alive in their hearts.
Never before has she ever felt more betrayed by anyone than by her mother when she realised how almost everything was impossible, how she never ended up being as beautiful as he mother, how the fact that nothing wonderful lasts makes it special. It doesn't, what would make wonderful things special, is if they really did last.
Too bad they don't. She remembers the moment when she really knew what the meaning of her mother's words about 'wonderful' were the night she had died.
She knew what the social worker was trying to say. Unlike her brother, it took her only seconds to comprehend what she was trying to explain. She was dead. Gone. No longer living. To most people, the definition of her mother's death was how she would no longer be breathing. To her, it meant to more goodnight stories, no more hugs and kisses, no more movie nights when they'd all sit next to one another on their tiny couch, eating popcorn and giggling. No more 'I love you's', no more singing in the kitchen and dancing in the backyard. No more crawling into her bed after a nightmare, and worst of all, no more Mom. No more Mom.
She wasn't one to cry, but there was no holding back. She cried loudly, hysterically. The women tried to comfort her, but she backed away, off the couch and into the wall, her brother still confused, staring at her with wide eyes.
"I don't understand," he explained, starting to stand from his seat on the couch as well, moving towards his sister. "She's dead! She's dead! Dad crashed the car and killed her! What don't you understand, you idiot!" Never in her life has she called her brother an idiot in an actual, rude way. Never has she done it since. When he finally took it all in, he backed into the wall facing her, sunk down onto the floor, and sobbed, repeating the same words over and over again, "I want Mommy!"
The social worker, who was supposed to be used to this, who was supposed to be used to hysterical, crying children, seemed quite tense. She wanted to yell at her, tell her to get out of her house, to bring her to their father, but she had already explained how he would be having to go to jail. "This isn't fair," she repeated, running off into her room, throwing herself onto her bed, sobbing into her pillow.
Her mother was right. Nothing wonderful can stay. But she wished that she could've stayed longer, had more time. She wished she could've held on a little tighter, lingered a little longer. It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. From that moment on, nothing would be fair.
After what seemed like hours of crying in her pillow, she heard tiny footsteps walk into her room, causing her to take a small peek from her pillow, her eyes bright red. She saw her brother there, tears running down his face fast, not seeming to stop, one after the other.
She knew that her mother would want her to be there for him. She knew it. And she knew that she herself, would want to be there for him, too. She stood up, grabbed his hand and together they walked back into the room where the social worker was waiting, phone in a hand, a small smile spreads across her face when she sees them.
"That's it, sit here," she directed them back onto the couch, both of them clutching on each other's hands. "You are just wonderful children, aren't you?"
Another memory exploded into her mind. It was just one, then the next, then the other. And it wouldn't stop. She remembered every time something's happened for the first time.
"You're a little, dumb brat!" She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he slurred those words into her face. "What don't you understand from don't eat anything unless I give it to you!"
"I'm sorry!" The eleven year old yelped, unshed tears threatening to spill over, but she was persistent. Her brother was right next to her, and she denied letting him see her cry ever again, for a long time. "We were just really hungry, and you were sleeping. We didn't want to wake you!"
He laughed loudly, and if she knew better, she would've thought it was genuine. These foster parents were real good actors. "Well then you should've waited!" He suddenly grabbed her shirt and pulled her back into the wall, pinning her arms back, her brother just watched, shocked. This was the first time a foster parent had ever treated them in such way. Never once had they hurt them, never once has any foster parent touched them the way he was.
"I'll wait next time," the girl spoke calmly, but nervously, trying not to say anything wrong. "Good. But here's to make sure you never do it again!" At first she expected him to give her food, to let her go. Instead, she felt a rough hand come hard against her face.
It was funny, she expected it to hurt, but it didn't. It was just numb, but that was so much worse. She would rather feel something, than nothing at all. "Go to your room and I'll feed you in an hour."
She didn't have to be told twice. She grabbed onto her brother's shoulders and took him with her, no reluctance on his part. As she tried to go up the stairs, every step was like stepping on sharp pieces of glass. She remembers how she stepped on a broken beer bottle as she tried to sneak some cookies up.
When she finally made it up to the room her and her brother share, she collapsed onto her bed, and buried her head into the pillow. The smack was beginning to make her head spin. A loud gasp caused her to unlatch herself from her bed. "Your foot!"
Her brother's word made her look down instinctively. At first she only saw skin, but after paying more attention she saw dry blood from the corners. Carefully, she sat on the edge of her bed and turned her foot slightly, so she could see underneath it.
She almost gagged at the sight of her foot. Glass cut open her skin, some pieces still stuck inside. Wet blood and dry blood everywhere, all over her foot. At first, she almost panicked. But then she remembered she couldn't. Her brother was in the room, and was most likely ever more petrified than her. When she looked up to catch a glimpse at his face, she was right. His face was pale and his eyes were wide in horror.
"Don't worry, Buddy. I've got this," she lied, standing on one foot, heading to the bathroom she and her brother shared, grasping everything to help balance herself on the way, her brother rushing to her side to help her out.
There wasn't much their foster father had given them. He always said less is more. Bull shit. More is more, and it's the obvious truth. The eleven year old opened the cupboards over the sink, grateful she was tall enough to reach. Inside, she found tweezers, towels, some hydrogen peroxide and bandages. More than she could've hoped for.
After setting those things onto her bed, she asked her brother to wet the towels. He followed her orders immediately, coming moments later. Carefully, she washed off the dry blood, and any area around the cuts. Afterwards, she placed her towel down and took in a deep breath. Her shaky hands start removing the small shards of glass away, which wasn't as painful as she had thought. But now, the large, thick piece of glass just below her toes was still left inside her foot. The girl just stared at it, wishing that if she stared long enough, it would disappear. Wishing that all this could disappear. That she could be home.
Eventually, she realized how that would never work, how it was impossible and completely useless. Suddenly, she got angry. She mother had lied to her, this was impossible. The girl quickly ripped the piece out of her foot in anger, pain shooting through her, causing her to let out a shriek, luckily not loud enough for her foster father to hear.
The younger boy placed his hand on his sister's shoulder, grasping tightly. "Are you alright?" She wanted to yell at him. She just took out a piece of glass from her foot, of course she wasn't alright. But she remembered, her brother still had some innocence left, and she didn't want to take it away from him. Besides, she could never stay angry at her little brother in the first place. "Yeah, Bud. I'm just gonna clean it up now."
She took the hydrogen peroxide and started cleaning out the cuts. Surprisingly, it didn't burn much. She was starting to worry, nothing was hurting as much as expected. And she knew she wasn't strong enough for it to not be painful. "Buddy, do you mind handing me the bandages please?" She asked as she finished cleaning out the cuts. He immediately, rushed over to the other side of the bed to grab the bandage and hand it to her.
The girl wrapped her bandage around her foot carefully, the boy watching her observantly. "All done," she stated as she set the bandage on the bed, wrapping an arm around her brother, who leant his head upon her shoulder.
"I wish Mommy was here," he admitted, a tear falling from his eyes and onto the mattress. She really wanted to comfort him, she did. But she couldn't say anything, it was as though her mouth was frozen, stuck together. Instead, she wrapped her arm tighter around him, internally wishing the same.
Another memory overwhelmed her. The first time her brother had gotten bullied.
Although she was 13, she could cook pretty well. This foster family had an internet, which made her search up recipes online, and even though they were never there, they had plenty of food. She really liked this family. They only came home late at night from work, and left early in the morning. A young couple, workaholics, unable to have children, so to have the slightest idea of a family, they would foster kids. They weren't bad people at all, they just were never there. If anything, she like it much better this way. For her, it was a glimpse of what would happen when she'd turn 18. She would take in her 14 year old brother, get a job, a good life. Everything would be alright. She planned it out, and she wasn't letting this plan go down.
Suddenly she heard the door open, and she knew it was way early to be her foster parents. The small figure of her nine year old brother proves her right. "Hey, Buddy!" She exclaimed, waving at him. "Hi," he muttered, his head ducked down, his back facing her. "I'm going to my room for a bit."
Immediately, the girl knew something was wrong. "Umm, go ahead," she spoke with fake confidence, watching as he climbed up the stairs. Once he was up, she set her pasta bag down and followed him, her steps quiet. Once she arrive, she noticed the door was closed. He never closed the bedroom door, sometimes he'd even forget when he'd be changing.
So, without any warning, she burst open the door. In front of her, her brother stood shirtless, bruises all over his stomach, chest and the worst, a cut right above his eye. Without any hesitation she walked right over to him, grasping his face into her hands, observing him. "Who did this to you?!"
At first, he stayed quiet, but he knew how persistent his sisters was. "Hey! Who. Did. This. To. You?" She yelled, forcing him to look at her, his eyes overwhelmed with guilt and fear. Eventually, she realized he was just as persistent as she was when he stayed quiet. She let out a small sigh, and looked down at his stomach and chest, bruises all over his body. The girl ran her fingers over them, but he pushed away, causing her to be surprised. Usually, he would be the more sensitive, touchy-feely one. "I don't need your help. I don't need you protecting me!"
He ran out the door and locked himself into the bathroom. All she could do was stand there, wishing his outburst hadn't happened. If their mother was here, she would know what to do. She always did. The girl decided to act oblivious for the rest of the day until her would finally explain to her what happened. She wasn't letting him anywhere unless he would tell her exactly what happened, and who hurt him.
The only thing she hated more than the foster system, was her brother being hurt. She wouldn't tolerate this. She might even tell the young couple, they were stern, and they acted like they cared, so maybe they could help? But she wasn't one to ask for help. Her brother was her responsibility, no matter which foster home they were in.
The meal was fantastic. Maybe one of the best things she's ever cooked, and by how quickly her brother devoured it, she was pretty proud. After both of them finished, she brought the plates up to the sink and set them there, looking back at her brother. He just sat there his head ducked down, nothing but silence coming from his part, and she knew, this was her cue. She moved to sit on the couch, knowing if he really would tell her, he'd follow. And he did, he sat right next to her, their arms and legs brushing despite how much space there was left. "Who did it to you," she asked calmly, looking at him, his head still ducked down.
After moments of silence, he answered her. "This boy at school. Brian. And his friends, too. Edward and Jake." He looked up to her, his cut healing slightly. She wondered what he tried to do to fix it. "Please, please don't say anything!" The girl tried to speak, but she didn't know what to say. She wanted to do what was best for him, tell the teachers, but she didn't want to get her brother angry.
"Baby, what he did was not okay," She explained, brushing a tear off his cheek. The boy nodded in acknowledgment. He knew that it wasn't okay. But he didn't want anyone to think he wasn't cool. His sister though, she wondered how nine year olds could possibly be this cruel. How could they pull this off in the first place? What kind of parents did they have? By all the foster homes she's been to, she knew there were many different types, and those were only three homes.
"Why did he do it?" She asked him, stroking his hair as he sat frozen on the couch, not leaning into his sister's touch, but not escaping it either. "The teacher asked him a question, and he got it wrong. Then, when Mr. Lockhart asked who knew the question, I answered and I got it right. So afterwards they came after me, calling me names, and I called them names back, trying to defend myself, but they just started hitting me." He spoke with no emotions, monotone.
The thirteen year old let out a sigh. "Baby." He just tuned to look at her, tears staining his face. "Why me? Why us? It's not fair."
Before she even thought about her brother's innocence, she answered him. "Nothing is fair, Baby. Nothing is fair." He didn't even bother mentioning their mother, she knew he was thinking about it. He slowly leaned into his sister's arms and cried, and she held him. She closed her eyes, and thought about her mother. Her wonderful mother.
And then, the most recent memory flooded her mind. The departing of her family. The moment when she had to say goodbye. One of the hardest moments in her life. It was her mother all over again.
The Latina wouldn't dare let go yet. Although one of their moms was waiting out in the car, ready to drive her almost daughter to her new home. Most likely crying herself, calling every lawyer she knew, all the cops. Trying her hardest not to let this girl be taken from them. And she wasn't going to stop until she could bring her home.
"This-isn't-fair," She chocked between sobs. The now sixteen year old girl was getting tired of hearing those words. She wasn't in the mood to explain to her how nothing was fair. "Look, I'm sure Moms are going to try their hardest to get me back."
"Oh I know that," the girl explained, tightening her grip on the girl. "I'm talking about how it's not fair for you!" This is why she loves them. Because they care, because they put her first when it's time to put her first, because they love her.
"It's fine. I'm used to this," she spoke the truth. She was used to it, but never was leaving a home as hard as this one. Especially the fact that she knew where she was going. She didn't want to go there, she hated them. "Well you shouldn't be!" The Latina's twin explained, his hands crossed over his chest in the back of them.
"I have to say bye to everyone else," the sixteen year old explained, "I'll see you soon, I promise." And then they hugged again, both of them latching on tightly to one another until the older girl let go, reaching out for the Latina's twin.
Without any hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her, holding on tightly, not wanting to let go wither. "I promise we'll get you back," he promised, "We'll fight for you, trust me." The girl nodded against his shoulder.
"Keep an eye on him, please," She didn't even have to say his name for the boy to know who she was talking about. "Don't worry, you'll see him at school in the hallways, and I'll help with his homework, and Mama, too."
"I don't know if I'm still going to anchor beach," the girl recalled, still holding onto him tightly. "Yes you are, Mom asked him, and he says he won't change you."
"Yeah, and he also said he would sign the abandonment papers," she spat. "And he did. It's just Sophia who ripped them up, that spoiled brat." The girl managed a laugh, but she still felt bad.
"Look, I'm angry at her, too, trust me. But I sort of feel guilty about saying those things. Even though she sort of deserved it." The boy just laughed and let her go, rubbing her shoulders slightly. "Bye, I'll miss you. We sit together at school?"
The girl nodded. "All of us. I'll miss you, too." After managing to let go of him, she went forward to her jamming buddy and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he held her back.
She didn't know how to feel about that kiss. She really didn't know. There was so much confusion. But they both agreed not speak of it. She knew how it would never happen again, she wouldn't let it. They were friends. Best friends.
"Don't jam with anyone else, yeah?" She asks him, his arms tight around her waist. "I promise." They both look back and stare at each other before bursting out laughing.
"You'll come back, I promise you," He states. "Oh, and I want you to keep that guitar." The girl looks at him, shocked. "No, no. I can't!"
"Please," he expresses. "I want you to." She just smiles and nods, hugging him even tighter. "We sit together on Monday?"
"Of course," He says. "I want you to tell me all about it." The girl nods and backs away.
This goodbye, oh this one was going to kill her. As if the others weren't bad enough. The second she places himself in front of her little brother, he wraps his arms around her waist tightly, burying his face into her neck. "We meet after school?"
The girl nodded, afraid if she spoke, she'd burst out sobbing. "I'm gonna miss you so much. Moms are going to bring you back, they have to," he speaks, his voice muffled by her neck.
"I'm gonna miss you, too, Baby," she says, thinking she would could manage speaking without crying now, but the tears fell anyways. "I wish I could come with you," he states, tears coming out of his own eyes.
"I wish I could stay here," the girl manages a small giggle. "It'll be alright. I'll come home."
"Sweetheart," the voice of one of her mother's appears in the background. "Mom is waiting." With that being said, the boy tightens his grip around her, not wanting her to leave, but she pulls away, anyways.
"I'll see you on Monday, two days, can you handle it?" She asks him stroking his hair one last time before she no longer belongs in this house. "Yeah, I can. Bye."
The girl smiles, and hugs him one last time. "Bye, Buddy. I'll see you soon I promise." After finally managing the courage to let him go, she walks over to the curly haired women, the one she was so proud to call her mother, but no longer. "I got my job back, so I'll see you on Monday, too. And Mom is going to visit, too."
The girl smile and nods, both of them manage a small laugh, at nothing in particular. Suddenly, they both wrap their arms around one another holding on tightly.
"Baby, it's going to be alright. We love you so much, Honey." The girl nods against her mother's shoulder, tears spilling out quickly. "I love you, too. I promise I'll try not to get angry with them."
The older women manages a laugh and kisses her head lightly. "Good girl," she winks. "Don't do anything stupid either. But, and you know I don't encourage bad behaviour, can you try to get on Jill's nerves, maybe it'll increase your chances of coming home."
"Mama! How dare you?" the girl giggle sarcastically, but the women just stares at her, tears filling into her eyes. This was the first time she's ever called her that directly at her. "But I'll try my hardest."
They both laugh one last time. "I love you, Baby," the older women whispers, holding on to her tightly. "I love you, too Mama." After moments of staying like that, they separate, and dry their tears.
"Alright," her mother says. "I'm going to grab your bags and put them into the car." She grabs the bag and leaves the house. The girl just lingers by the door, casting once last glance at this family, at her family.
"Bye, I love you guys," She smiles, and leaves the door and she's about to enter her mother's car when she sees her blonde mother talking to someone who she despises deeply. The man who she will never call her father.
"Mom," she says, causing the man to cringe slightly, and the blonde's lips to tug up in joy. "Why is he here?" She acts as though he was nowhere near her site. Her mother's smile fades, and her other mother goes by her side, both of them latch onto one another without any reluctance.
"He, umm, insisted on driving you," the cop explained. But then she turns to her biological father. "Listen, Robert. Everyone got to say goodbye. And I know, this isn't goodbye, trust me. I won't let it be. But if you really love this girl let her say goodbye to the people she actually loves."
Without any other word, he steps back into his car, leaving the cop and the girl to say goodbye. "Lena, Love. Go check on the kids, please," she instructs her wife, kissing her gently before. "Of course, Baby. Bye, Honey." She blows a kiss to the girl, and both of them could almost hear their hearts breaking as the women walks through the door.
The second she's in the house, the blonde wraps her daughter in a tight hug. "I love you so much, Callie Quinn Adams Foster. And you are an Adams Foster, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
The girl's tears spill over to quickly, she thought it was almost impossible. "I love you, too, I love you so much, Mom. This isn't fair," she sobs into her mother's shoulder.
"Oh, Baby. Nothing is fair, nothing is fair." And at that moment, the girl knew how alike she was to this women. She loved her so much. She was her mother, Stef and Lena are her mother's. Marianna and Jesus are her siblings, as well as Brandon, and Jude.
"I'll see you Monday," she whispers into her mother's ear, and the women nods. "Alright, Baby. We'll see you Monday, and the next court meeting. We aren't giving up."
"I know. Goodbye Mom," she says and then she opens the car door of Robert's door and she enters. "Are you ready?" He asks her, smiling brightly, as if she had just finished visiting her friend's house.
"Yeah," she lies.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'll see them. She'll see her family. And right now, she drifts off to sleep, dreaming of all the wonderful things she had now, and she hoped to have for a long time. Some wonderful things last longer than other wonderful things.
Hope you all enjoyed!
