“Summer! Turn down the volume already!” I heard a loud yell from the downstairs.
“Shut the fuck up!” I yelled back through the loud music and shut the door loudly. “This is it. I’ve had enough of this shit already.” I hissed. Fucking foster homes. Like they knew how to be parents. Like they even cared about us. Only getting the monthly payment from the government and they were good to go.
For over a decade, I’ve spent most years of my childhood and early puberty almost like a turtle with its home on its back. Never being able to settle down in one place longer than half a year, I was probably one of the most problematic kids in the Social Services Department. I’ve been from town to town, city to city and even from state to state at some point but no one had the – well, balls I would say – to deal with me. I’ve lived many different lives with many different foster parents, from the good old country family in a farm to the single woman high up in her career but also looking for some charity work to the gay socialite couples and I’ve managed to turn each and every foster parent’s day into a living nightmare that at the end, it was either them begging the Services to take me back or I would ran away.
Just like I was planning to do so right now. I’ve had enough of this life and when I knew a most glamorous and well, full of action life awaited me out there, I couldn’t just sit on my ass in this hell’s hole.
I knew I was wrong and I was the one with problems, but I never admitted it. Which 17 year old does anyway?
I could still hear the loud yell of my foster mom from downstairs, going on and on about how irresponsible and arrogant and ill-mannered I was.
Tell me something I don’t know.
Checking myself one last time before the mirror and finally being satisfied with my look, I grab my duffel bag and headed out of the room and down the stairs, only to be stopped by my foster parent.
“Where are you going again?”
I sighed. “Out.”
“It’s a school night.” She sounded more calm now and even a little bit.. what do you say, regretful? “Why don’t you just stay home and get on with your school work, and then maybe we’ll watch a movie?”
Ah, here was the poor attempt of trying to communicate.
I plastered a fake grin on my face, fake enough for her to know that I didn’t give a rat’s ass. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
I saw the anger fueling in her eyes as her jaw clenched tightly. Then she noticed the duffel bag hanging from my shoulder.
“Oh so now you’re leaving the house, aren’t you?” she hissed, crossing her arms across her chest. “You think that sorry ass so called rock star boyfriend of yours is gonna be taking the responsibility of a 17 year old? How long do you think it’ll take him to get arrested when I call the cops and tell them he’s with an underage girl?”
I’ve heard this bullshit before. “Oh no you won’t.” I hissed back. “You know you won’t. We both know that you’re done dealing with me. And I’ll be 18 in a few days, just for your info.”
Something in my voice or probably something she saw in my eyes startled her and she backed away as I made my way towards the door.
“If you ever step outside the door, Summer, you can never come back.” Her voice was trembling. And no, not with sadness but more with anger. “You can never set foot in this house, ever again.”
Letting out a scoff, I grabbed the door handle and turned around to face her.