Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FIFTEEN YEARS OLD
Whoever said silence was peaceful lied. It’s a warning.
The voices downstairs come in muffled through the floorboards of my bedroom.
I can’t make out the words, but based on the tone in their voices, I know they’re arguing.
And it’s only going to get worse. It always gets worse.
I quickly put on my pj’s then slowly push my drawers closed, knowing that if I make the slightest noise their attention will turn on me.
My foster parents hate each other, but not more than they hate any of us that live here.
Sure, they keep a relatively clean home, but they don’t even try to hide the fact that they suck.
The day I was brought here they were fighting so loudly you could hear it from the street.
The social worker didn’t even flinch when the “dad” opened the door with a beer in his hand, swaying a little on his feet.
Clearly drunk with a creepy grin plastered on his stupid face.
The system is so fucked. I’m here because I’m an unwanted orphan.
The others are here because their birth parents were abusive, drug addicts, or both.
But then there are some that shouldn't even be here.
They have parents that they get to see sometimes–parents who love them, who fight so hard to get them back.
I don't think the state cares that homes like this can be just as bad, if not worse than the ones we came from.
Some foster parents genuinely want to help the kids they take in. Ms. Thompson was one of those people. These people clearly see us as a paycheck and nothing more.
Tip toeing across the room to put my dirty clothes in the hamper, glass explodes from downstairs followed by something that sounds like furniture slamming before crashing through a wall.
I jump, dropping my clothes on the hardwood floor.
Leaving them I turn and rush to my bed as silently as I can.
The mattress swallows me whole and I flip the covers over me.
Closing my eyes, I pretend to be asleep in case he gets bored with beating his wife and decides to come upstairs. It wouldn't be the first time.
The murmured sounds of arguing turns into a screaming match and more glass shatters, followed by pained screams. Throwing my hands over my ears, I squeeze my eyes tighter and curl into a ball, and start humming.
I don’t know the song or where the tune comes from, but it makes the yelling not so loud in my mind.
The crescendo of screams only gets louder, making my hands and hums useless.
I’m not sure how long I stay like this, wishing for it to stop, when suddenly the floorboards creak and a weight dips at the foot of my mattress. Scrambling to sit up and scoot back against the wall, I fling the covers off of me.
“Breathe, Ashlynn. It’s just me,” a voice whispers, and I recognize it instantly.
Karson sits on the corner of the bed, looking feral with his unkempt hair, a black hoodie that’s started to become too small, and jeans that are ripped from the middle of his shins to the tops of his thighs. His gray eyes bounce back and forth between mine, and he gives me a soft smile.
Ever since that day that he kicked Billy’s ass a few months ago, we’ve been close.
He kept the promise he made to me that day and has protected me, even when it meant the drunk asshole downstairs turns all his rage onto him.
He stays by my side anywhere I go, and even though I don’t talk to him, he talks to me.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him, at this point I think I’m just too nervous to let anyone get too close to me.
He’s seventeen and will be tossed onto the streets in a year, and I’ll be alone again.
I don’t think my heart can handle it when that happens.
I lose everyone.
Shoving a hand in his pocket, he pulls out a small, pink iPod with the headphones wrapped around it. My eyebrows raise, and he shrugs at my unspoken question.
“Stole it.” My jaw drops a little and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t judge me,” he mocks. “I took it from that bitch that was making fun of you in the cafeteria at school. She deserved it.”
I give him a small smile as another crash violently shakes the walls, causing me to jump.
“Here,” he says, uncoiling the headphones from around the device and scooting up the mattress to sit closer to me.
He reaches out and gently tucks my hair behind my right ear, then puts one of the headphones in it before putting the other in his left.
He fiddles with it for a second, then when he’s found the song he’s looking for he places it in his lap.
The music starts but the screaming gets louder. Karson turns up the volume on the iPod and grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together before giving it a gentle squeeze.
My nerves start to settle, the music drowning out most of the noise as I lean my head on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything else as we listen to Echo by Trapt on repeat until the fighting stops, and I fall asleep, still on his shoulder.