Note: Thanks again for all the reviews! You guys keep me writing! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I have the next one mostly written, so I'll be updating soon. Peace, River
So, this began my cycle of running away, being kicked out, and getting removed from foster homes. After I got away from Brad I decided to give up my silence, mostly because I was afraid of who else would try to beat it out of me. I don't know how far I ran that day, but I was eventually stopped by the cops and returned to James. I never told him exactly why I ran away, but when he took me back to Brad and Chelsea they wouldn't take me, saying they wouldn't allow a thief to live in their home.
By the time I was ten I'd lived in seven different homes. Some of them were decent, others were not. My favorite one only lasted for a month, and I wish I could live there forever. I wish I hadn't messed it up like I did. I was nine when I lived there and had just been removed from an abusive home, so I wasn't quite myself. But they were patient, gave me my space, and told me everything would be okay. And for the first time in my life, I believed them.
They were an elderly couple, at least in their 60's, and took care of two of their grandkids who came from places like me. The only problem with them was that they were extremely religious, so they immediately took away all my cigarettes and lighters. I guess nine is a little young to smoke, but started when I was seven and hadn't been able to kick the habit.
Things went great for a while, but then I started school. I was getting in trouble all the time, first starting with smoking, cheating, and skipping class. Then I got into a fight. I was in fourth grade and he was in fifth. He tripped me on the way to my locker one day, causing me to fall flat on my face. He started laughing as his friends gathered around me. I jumped up and leapt on top of him, tackling him to the ground. He was at least twice my size, but he obviously didn't know how to fight. I punched him over and over, the way I'd indirectly been taught, until a teacher pulled me off.
At home that night my foster mom sat me down at the kitchen table and told me how disappointed she was. "Jack, violence isn't the answer," she said. "How would God want you to handle that situation?"
That was it, I'd had enough of going to church and her always talking about God. I looked her in the eyes, and boldly said, "There is no God." With that, I stood up and walked away. James came for me the next morning, but it's not like I wasn't expecting it.
The home I stayed in the longest, eight unbearable months, was when I was ten. The man, Dan, was usually high on cocaine, and more than once he forced me to have some too, but I didn't mind. It made what he did to me less painful. I can't believe it took so long for someone to notice that I wasn't okay, but then I was finally removed. For the first time in my life I was too afraid to runaway, too afraid to even try.
The worst night happened shortly before I was rescued. It was late, after midnight at least, and I was sitting on my floor, arms tied to the bedpost, waiting for Dan to get home. I saw headlights shine through the window and heard the door slam minutes later. I shook with fear as Dan swung open my door and came over to me.
"Miss me?" he growled as he untied my hands and pulled me to my feet by my already bruised arm. I followed him as he dragged me out of the room and into the kitchen where two other men were cooking meth. He pushed me to the floor and I sat there on my hands and knees, while he joined his friends.
"Look what we have tonight, guys," he sneered and they laughed. I studied the floor as they got high. I wished they'd had coke instead, meth always made Dan worse. And I wished they'd had some for me too, because then I wouldn't have to live through this hell.
Suddenly, I was yanked to my feet by my hair, only to have my face smashed against the counter. I tried, but I couldn't contain the cry of pain that escaped my lips. This only made them laugh and I fell back to the ground, blood spewing from my face.
I started to crawl away, but I was quickly stopped when one man grabbed my ankle, dragging me across the kitchen. "No," I said softly as he picked me up by my arms and carried me into the living room, dropping me on the floor. I struggled as he fumbled with my belt. I stopped suddenly when I felt something cold against my head. I looked up to see Dan standing there with a gun against my head.
"Don't fight it, Jack. We don't have time for your shit," he said, just above a whisper. As I was distracted, the other man succeeded in undoing my belt and pulling my jeans off. The gun still against my head, he flipped me over onto my stomach and tears fell from my eyes as I tried to block out my reality. I wanted to fight, to get away, but that damn gun made it impossible.
After nearly four hours, the three left me lying on the floor, shaking and terrified. As soon as they returned to the kitchen I forced myself to get up and re-dress myself. Minutes after I was dressed Dan came back into the living room.
"We ain't done with you yet," he growled, pushing me back to the floor and removing my jeans once again. He removed his also and one of his friends picked me up and placed me on top of him, and, once again, forced me to do this unforgivable act. It's not like he hadn't touched me before, but he never took it this far. And I didn't even have to drugs to numb me this time.
After Dan and his friends each had their turn, he dragged me back to my room by my hair, threw me inside and slammed the door. Finally, it was over.