Callum
“Smile, Callum. This is a good day. You finally get a home,” Mrs. Webster says as I sit nervously on the porch, waiting for my new parents to pick me up.
I haven’t smiled in almost a year and I’m not sure that look is possible at this point. I’m not upset that I’m finally getting out of this hellhole, but I hate people, especially ones that know my misfortunes. I’ve been pitied for far too long and I’m ready to take the world by the horns and ride out of this bitch on my own. I don’t need anyone.
A vehicle comes down the gravel driveway and it’s not what I expected at all. The sun bounces off the fresh coat of wax on the shiny black car, blinding me. I turn my head, squinting my eyes while still trying to look. It’s most definitely a Mercedes, though I’m not able to make out what kind. Maybach, maybe? I might be washed-up goods, but I know cars. In fact, reading a book every day for five years has made me exceptionally smart, even if I don’t apply my knowledge to my schoolwork.
“Here we go.” Mrs. Webster grabs my dingy black bag that holds the only things I need. My writing book, my memory box, and a clean pair of underwear.
I run my fingers over my bald head, remembering that I have no hair left. Bibs thought it would be a good idea to freshen me up with a haircut before leaving, and she royally fucked up so Mrs. Webster had to shave it all off. I look like Mr. Clean, waiting for a flood in these pants, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the car turns back around and leaves us standing here in dust. Who the hell would want me? Especially someone who drives a car that nice.
An elderly man steps out of the back seat and I’m confused as fuck. He’s old enough to be my great-grandfather. Why would he want a rebellious teenage boy living in his house?
This process was a bit different for me. Most of the kids meet their adoptive parents before pickup, but not me. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mrs. Webster sold me just to get me out of her damn house. Not that I care. At least I’m getting out.
“Hello there,” the gentleman says. He offers a hand, but I just look at it, then slide my eyes up to his. They’re warm and welcoming behind his glasses.
“Aren’t you a little old to be adopting a kid?”
The man chuckles, and Mrs. Webster swats my arm. “Forgive him. He’s a jokester.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“I’m Peter,” the man says, trying again with the hand.
Instead of giving it a shake, I bump my fist to his hand. “Callum. But you can call me, Cal.” I snatch my bag away from Mrs. Webster. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”
Mrs. Webster grabs my attention as I walk away. “Callum?”
I turn around and give her one last look. “Take care of yourself.”
And then it happens—I smile. “I plan to.”
When you enter the world alone, you have to take care of yourself. No one else is gonna do it for you.
My body shoots up in the bed as I pant, trying to catch my breath. I look behind me at the sweat spot on the black, satin pillowcase.
I prepared myself for the possibility that the nightmares would get worse, but in reality, nothing can prepare either of us for what’s to come.
