Hey guys! I'm sorry I didn't notice the formatting mistake; it should be all fixed now. If people like Chapter 2, Ill continue. If not, I wont. Please leave any questions/comments/ideas/criticisms/etc. in the comments. Thanks!

-Rowan

It can't be Callie, it just can't. I simply refuse to think that this doe-eyed girl in front of me is my sister. I mean, I haven't seen her since she was around eleven, and who knows how much she might have changed? But I just get a feeling, that this girl, this happy, comfortable girl standing in front of me is my sister. She must feel it too because her eyes widen in what I think is shock.
"Jude?" She gasps, and I give her a slight nod. I am now 100% sure that this is Callie, my Callie, by the sound of her voice. Nobody has the same voice as hers. She comes towards me and wraps me in a hug. Her arms are warm and welcoming, but I can't. I can't, I don't want to be touched. So I back away, trying not to hurt her feelings, but too late. I can see the hurt in her eyes, and I am sorry. But the last time someone gave me a hug was not a good experience, and I'm sorry, but I don't want to deal with touch. Touch is completely unnecessary, like how talking is. Sometimes I talk, but I find it way easier to just go along with things, to not have a voice. When I was nine, I was really talkative, and I talked about everything. And I mean, everything. Apparently, my foster dad got fed up after a few weeks, and that's when the beatings started. Or, I mean, the beatings from him started. Those were definitely not my first.
Anyways, I just learned that is way easier to just...not talk, than it is to get in trouble for, and most likely beaten for, talking back or having a bad attitude. Except when I got in trouble for 'ignoring them.' But that's where all of my former foster parents were wrong; I could hear them loud and clear, and I was fully absorbing what they said, I just didn't respond. But they didn't care. I mean, who did back then? Whoever did? There have only been three people in the entire world who have ever truly cared for me: My mother, who died in a car accident right before we were placed in the foster system, Callie, and my ex-foster brother, Ian. Ian would be sixteen by now, I think. Ian is (was?) the biological son of my ex-foster mother. That was one of the worst homes I'd been in, and I was only ten. I won't go into detail, but it was bad. But Ian was always there for me, and I felt truly loved for the first time in years, for the first time since Callie left. But after things got too bad, Ian convinced me to run away with him. And that's why I went to juvie, for that and for stealing. Ian had sent me into the store to get food, and once he saw the cop cars, he must've panicked and ran for it. I'm not mad at him, at least not anymore. But I just hope he's okay.
I was suddenly pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of Stef clearing her throat. Callie was still staring at me, a concerned look in her eyes. She must see the old scars and my most recent bruising. I notice that the women and the other kids are staring at us./p
"Do you two know each other?" Stef asked, clearly awkward.
"Yeah, Mom, this is my brother, Jude. The one I told you about," Callie said. Mom? Why is Callie calling this woman, this absolute stranger, Mom?
"Oh," Stef said, and her hard expression immediately softened. "Well, welcome, Jude. Lena, would you mind taking the kids somewhere, to a movie or something? I would like to talk to Callie and Jude if that's okay?"
"Of course, honey," Lena said as she grabbed her purse. Mariana did the same, and the boys followed.
"Jude, are you hungry?" Stef asked gently as she walked into the kitchen. As if on cue, I followed. I shrugged in response. I couldn't just take their food, could I?
"You sure?" she asked again.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I whisper, and oh shit, it's happening. Sometimes I choose not to talk, but sometimes I just automatically shut down. It's only happened a few times, but I hate it. I hate not being in control of my own voice. Because when I shut down, I cannot talk, no matter how hard I try, it just won't happen. And if this family is like the last one, then I am mortally screwed.
But I don't think this home is the same as the others. I mean, Callie and the other kids seemed to feel safe, and they looked well-fed and happy. And they didn't seem to be in pain! Like, no bruises or anything! That's a first. But I know that I'm just hoping they're different when I know they can't be. I am Jude Jacob, and I am pretty much the most unlucky person I know. So if the most unlucky person on the face of the earth is placed in home #14, it obviously is going to be a bad one, just like the last dozen./p
Suddenly, Stef reached out and grabs my arm. Shit! I was not expecting that! I jerk back and stand up straight, to make myself look taller. It's practically instinct by now. I think Callie notices the fear in my eyes because she starts crying. And I don't know what to do, I've never been good with people! Stef and Callie sit down at the counter, and I stand awkwardly next to the fridge.
"What happened to you, Jude?" Callie asks me once she calmed down. I shrug. I don't know what happened, Callie. Maybe I was left alone, by you, in the foster system for, I don't know, seven years?! But I can't get mad, Callie's the one who stood by me since I was born and protected me since we entered the system. I'm honestly glad that Callie is happy. She deserves it. I don't. Simple as that.