"Don't you want to hurt me as much as I hurt you?"
"I want to rip your heart out."
"Do it, then. Fuck me like you hate me. And rip my heart out."
***
Everyone at Fairmont High School knows that Cleo Fitzgerald is to blame for putting her boyfriend...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I HATE BEING TOUCHED.
Even when it's supposed to feel good.
Kissing.
Fucking.
That shit makes me want to sever my left nut. But bruised knuckles don't bother me. These days, violence is the only kind of touch that I appreciate. Aggression and paranoia have always been in my blood. CPS rescued me from my old man's fists when I was twelve. At first, I felt grateful. I thought they saved me. But then I realized faces and places might change, but shit stays shitty.
It didn't matter where they sent me. One hellhole usually led to a crazier one. Growing up the way I did, you're not allowed to show weakness, and you can never back down. The system makes us that way. Kids can't be kids. Everyone pushes and pushes and pushes until they find someone that might break. The moment you show fear, you're done. They own you. I've rammed my fist into sons of bitches who were twice my size and knocked their teeth out. I did it so everyone else would think twice about fucking with me.
Sometimes, the other kids weren't the problem. It was the adults. A few months back, I was kicked out of another home for assaulting my guardian. When my case worker, Ms. Cassidy, saw what I did to Seth's face, she wouldn't stop bitching about how brass knuckles are never the answer.
Bitch can shove a fistful of answers up her ass.
I don't feel a shred of remorse. Fuck him and his roach-infested apartment in West Adams. Fuck her, too. If she wanted me to play nice, Seth shouldn't have grabbed my dick when I was sleeping. Apparently, pedos expect you to just shut up and take it. They don't like it when you swing back and dislocate their jaws.
This is why I've been trying to run. I'm not twelve anymore. I'm almost eighteen, and I know what it's like to be homeless. It's scary as hell, but, sometimes, diseases are better than the cure. I don't want a roof over my head or food on my plate if it's coming from dick-grabbing bitches like Seth. On the streets, at least, I don't owe anything to anyone. It's every fucker for himself.
For months, I was dead-set on disappearing again. I had some cash saved up. Right as I was about to dip, however, Ms. Cassidy changed my mind.
Shocking, I know.
Apparently, she was contacted by some rich fucks who got caught in a scandal last year. They've been desperate to foster a minor ever since. Preferably a troubled one. Some shit about wanting to boost their image by doing good for the community.
Ms. Cassidy said I was lucky. People never ask for teens, especially ones with violent histories like mine. The couple didn't want to deal with the mess of babies or the neediness of younger kids. They wanted someone who could be removed from their lives in a few months without causing another scandal. I was aging out of the system soon. So I was chosen. This time, Ms. Cassidy didn't toss me into another hellhole. I was sent to one of Los Angeles' prime zip codes.
