Callie

I look Stef over, waiting for her to take back her offer. She can't be serious. Go live with her?

"What?" I finally ask, realizing I haven't said anything yet.

"You can come live with me."

I shake my head and lower the oxygen mask so that my voice comes out clearer, "No, I can't."

Stef tilts her head to the side, "Why not?"

I open my mouth, ready spit out a whole list of reasons but I find myself unable to say a single thing. What's the matter with me?

"I just...I can't."

"Course you can," Stef says with her signature smile, "I'm going to go talk to Bill right now. Hang tight, I'll be right back." I watch her walk away, off to find my social worker.

I can't understand why she's doing this; why she is so concerned about me. No one has taken this much interest in me in years, not since my mom. What does she want from me? I crane my neck to see where Stef is with Bill. She's speaking very energetically and he has a look on his face I can only describe as hesitation. He'll say no...right? This has to be a conflict of interest or something. My parole officer can't be my foster mom...I think. At this point, Stef is on the phone with someone and Bill is walking towards me.

Here we go.

"Hey, Callie," he greets with a tired smile, "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," I say curtly, "What's going on?"

Bill clasps his hands together, "Well, Officer Foster has graciously offered her home for you. She's a certified foster parent―"

"Can she do that?" I cut him off, "Is she allowed?"

"This is definitely a...unique situation, but I don't see any reason why this can't work. I've known Stef for years and I know for a fact she has nothing but good intentions."

I let out a breath and rub my nose a bit, "Whatever." Bill gives me a look. Stef heads back over to where we are.

"We're all set," she says, bringing her hands together, "I talked to the paramedic and he said you're free to go. Ready?"

I take off the oxygen mask and toss it onto the gurney, "I guess." I stand up and hop to the ground. A firefighter walks over to us and he's holding my bag.

"Here are your things, Ms. Jacob," he says, handing me the bag, "It doesn't look like there's any damage although your belongings might smell like smoke."

I nod, "Thanks." I turn to Stef, "Can we leave now?"

She shakes her head 'yes,', "Sure thing. Let's go."

Stef (a few minutes earlier…)

"I'm sorry, you want to what?"

I turn my body to look over at the ambulance Callie is sitting in before turning back around, "I want to foster Callie."

"Stef…"

"Hear me out, Lena." I plead in a desperate tone, "The other only option would be to send her to a group home and you know how bad they can be. She's not good with male authority figures; we'd be perfect." Lena doesn't speak for a moment and I swear I can hear the gears turning in her head as she thinks this over. Usually she's the one who gets goo-goo eyes and I'm the one saying no. Suddenly, the tables have been flipped.

"Okay," Lena finally says after what seems like an eternity, "You can bring her home with you for tonight. I need to meet her before we think any further than that."

I grin, "Thanks, Love. This means so much to me."

"I know. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay, love you."

"Love you, too."

Callie

The car ride to Stef's house is silent and I'm glad because I'm too tired to make pointless small talk. Not that I would know what to say anyway. I glance over at Stef who has her eyes trained on the road. What does she want from me? I let out a small cough and Stef doesn't even take her eyes off the road to reach a hand over and pat my back.

"You okay?"

I shrug her hand away, "Yeah." I turn my gaze towards the window. We're driving through a decent neighborhood with pretty large houses. How much money do parole officers make these days? The car begins to slow down and Stef turns into the driveway of an old Craftsman-style house. I can't see many details because it's so dark but you don't need much light to see that it's nice. She cuts the engine and opens her door and I do the same. Before I can even open the back door, Stef has taken my bag and slung it over her shoulder. I follow her to the front door and wait for her to open it with her keys.

The house is illuminated by soft light from different lamps. Stef leads me to the living room and I see a woman sitting in one of the chairs. She has dark skin with super curly dark-brown hair that is piled into a bun on top of her head. She smiles when she sees me and stands up.

"This is Callie," Stef says in way of introduction to this woman. She looks nothing like Stef so she can't be a relative…a friend maybe?

"Who are you?" I ask, pretty confused at this point.

"My name is Lena," she answers in a kind voice, "I'm Stef's partner."

I raise an eyebrow, "You're a parole officer, too?" I find that hard to believe.

Lena must find it hard to believe too because she laughs along with Stef, "No, Honey. Her domestic partner."

I look between the two women for a moment before it clicks, "So you're dykes."

They both freeze for a moment and I almost feel bad. Almost. But I can't get too comfortable with these women because I'll be gone by the end of the week. Or by tomorrow, if I have it my way. The less I like them, and the less they like me, the easier this whole process will be.

Stef gives me a tight lipped smile, "Yes, we're gay. I hope that's not―"

"Where do I sleep?"

Stef gives me a look, like she's trying to keep her cool, "Excuse me?"

"It's not my first time in a foster home," I inform her, holding her gaze, "Where do I sleep?"

Lena takes over at this point, "For tonight, will you be okay on the couch? We have an extra bed in the garage but it's not put together."

I nod, "Yeah. S'fine."

Lena smiles, "If you come with me, I'll show you where the bathroom is. Stef, can you get some blankets and pillows?" Stef nods and she heads towards the stairs. I kind of wish she had stayed because I don't really want to be alone with Lena, but I guess I don't have a choice. She seems nice enough, but you can never be too sure.

"Callie?"

I look up and she's giving me a concerned look. I must have blanked out for a bit. I shake my head to clear it of the cobwebs that cloud it.

"Yeah, so the bathroom?"

Stef

I finally walk into the bedroom after getting Callie all set up. Lena is sitting up, a look on her face. I know it was unfair of me to spring this on her so soon and so late at night. I turn off the light and crawl into bed, not bothering to change into my pajamas. My sweats will do the trick. I try to relax but it's impossible with Lena's eyes boring a hole into the back of my head.

"So, Callie." She finally says.

"Callie."

"She's…something."

"Mm-hm."

She pauses for a moment, "So…what happened to her face?"

"She was in a fight with some girls before she got released. They were jealous she was getting out."

I can't see them, but I can feel Lena's eyes widen, "Stef, we can't have somebody violent in our house. We have our own kids to worry about."

I sigh and finally turn around to face her, "She's not violent. She's…resilient. Trust me; her bark is a lot worse than her bite." I reach a hand out to cup her cheek, "I wouldn't have brought her here if I thought she would harm any of us."

"Alright," Lena breathes out and slips a hand beneath my shirt to rest on my abdomen, "She can stay."

"Thanks, Love." I whisper into her hair and kiss the crown of her head, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Callie

After a few hours of sitting on the couch, I decide to get up. I can't let myself sleep because that's when bad things happen, especially when you're with people you don't know. I shuffle into the kitchen and look at the clock: 5:23 AM. With nothing better to do, I begin to look around, gather as much information about these people as I can. I look at the fridge, which is covered in papers and photos. I see a lot of photos of the same three kids. Two look Spanish and the other one is white with blue eyes but they're together in all of the photos. I know Stef mentioned she had a daughter…did she mean this Spanish girl? Did she and Lena adopt all of these kids?

I move on to the wall where a chore chart hangs: how suburban. The names on it are Brandon, Jesus, and Mariana. If I had to make an educated guess, I would say Jesus is the Spanish boy, Mariana is the girl, and Brandon is the one with blue eyes. A pain shoots through my ribs and I suddenly remember that I had the shit beaten out of me less than 24 hours ago. I head back to the living room to get my painkillers.

I've heard a lot of stories about foster kids getting addicted to drugs. To cope, I guess. I won't let myself become one of them. I have Jude to worry about and I have seen firsthand what an addiction can do to people. I guess I can cut a pill in half, just enough to get me through the night. I fish out a pill and bring it to the kitchen. I look around for something to cut it with and I see a cutlery block filled with knives. I select the biggest one, because I know it will get the job done the easiest.

I hear a noise behind me and I whirl around to see the Spanish girl standing in the doorway. She's looking at me with wide, terror-filled eyes and I can only imagine what I look like with my messed up face and tangled hair, all while holding a knife as big as my head.

I remember her name from that stupid chore chart, "Mariana."

She lets out a scream.

Guys. My allergies are KILLING me. My nose is stuffed and I can't stop sneezing and I just want to stay in bed until winter. I can't take pills because

A. I can't swallow them and crushing them is annoying/gross

B. They make me pass out. Not drowsy, just straight up pass out.

#thestruggle

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XOXO Liv