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CHAPTER ONE
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When I was seven, I was taken away from my parents for abuse and neglect.
That was the last time I saw them, and the dark room they kept me in for years.
I thought I had escaped the abuse, but it was only a taste of what was to come in the following years.
This latest foster home has been the easiest to navigate, but it still comes with the occasional black eye or busted lip.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I need to get out of here before my case worker shows up and sends me somewhere else.
It’s almost summer here in Wisconsin. The weather is nice enough to sleep outside until I find a place to stay.
Maybe I can stay with a co-worker or something for a few days until I figure things out.
I’ve roughed it on the streets before for a little while in between places, but it's been years since I’ve done that.
I look older now, so I won’t get picked up by the police again. I’ll even stop going to school and just get my GED so they won’t catch me again. Nothing is worse than being sent to a new foster family; especially as a teenager.
The rules are always overly strict, the other foster kids hate me, and I never stay long enough in one place to get comfortable.
I’m not a bad kid; I’m just damaged and can’t trust people.
I trusted my parents, and they abused me throughout my entire childhood.
Trust doesn’t come easily for many people around me because of this.
I’ve always felt more comfortable being alone than with people who don’t want to know me.
I’ve been just another paycheck for my previous foster parents.
There isn’t much here to take with me, just some clothes that barely fit anymore, a cell phone I bought with my money I earned from work, and a blanket to cover myself with while I sleep.
As soon as I open the bedroom door, a cloud of cigarette smoke engulfs me, and loud snoring comes from down the hallway.
My escape route is clear if I hear snoring; I sneak in and out of the house all the time while my foster dad is asleep.
It gets much more difficult when my foster mother is here.
She works during the day and goes out at night, but sometimes she shows up at random times, making me have to wait around to leave or get back into the house.
I don’t want any issues tonight, so I pray that she’s not anywhere close by so I can leave without anyone noticing.
The last foster kid they had left two months after I got here.
So it’s been just us for almost a year. That’s when the physical abuse started, and things have gotten worse as time goes by.
It’s my time to go; I can take care of myself.
Anything is better than living here, not knowing when the next fight will start or if I’ll be hit again.
Once I safely exit my latest prison, I turn back to look at the house as my glasses fog up from the cold.
Its weathered front door, the overgrown landscaping in the front, and dark, uninviting windows look back at me.
There was never anything for me in this house; it was just another place to go when I had nothing.
I still have nothing, but that’s fine; I need little to survive, anyway.