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Shattered

One

Look, I'm sorry if it sounds like I'm rambling. I haven't been sleeping well for the past the past few months. Everything just happened so fast, I can hardly wrap my head around it all. I will, however, try to make sense of these occurrences and give you my account.
I was put in Foster Care at the age of fifteen because my parents were dead. They were taken from me seven months prior, and I was placed in an emergency group home until 'proper placement' could be found for me. According to my case worker, Madaline Shculler, there was a will left by my father that if anything were to happen to he and my mum, guardianship was to be assumed by some alleged 'family friend'.
So that is how I ended up on the front steps of this old Victorian house at the end of Fifth Street.
Madaline Shculler led me inside and up a flight of stares and to a small room. My one suitcase and knitted knap bag was swallowed by the room's vacantness as well as my own person.
I'm not entirely sure of when or how, but I ended up crashing on the air mattress and went into a restless and dreamless sleep.

The first thing I see when I open my eyes is a dog gnawing at my shoelace lazily. I find it disturbingly odd.
He was big for a dog- a Doberman, perhaps. He seemed quite content, unfazed by my presence. His black eyes are twinkling, I caught several glimpses of its pearly-white teeth. They were sharp and deadly. The idea of those things near me frightened me alone, no doubt could that jaw of his snap my leg in half. I really did not want to disturb the beast, he's only chewing my shoe, however, I think I'd better.
Just in case.
But when I tried to flick my foot, nothing happened. My foot wouldn't respond. Nothing responded.
My foot didn't work, my feet wouldn't work. It's like my body didn't understand what I needed it to do.
I don't understand.
I DON'T understand.
I decided to close my eyes to work out what is going on. But I couldn't think straight. My head hurt, my arms were sore and shoulders stiff, my wrists ached and my temples were pounding. I felt paralyzed. Maybe I was dreaming.
But I knew that I wasn't. And when I opened my eyes, the horse-sized canine was still there. I watch him, intrigued by it's presence. 'Mean-looking' would be an understatement, yet it wasn't vicious either. I was still quite wary about those teeth of his being so close to me.
I turned my attention back to my legs. They were stretched out in front of me. I had to think for a while, and eventually, I came to the conclusion that I was sitting down.
If I'm sitting down, that means I must be sitting on something. I ease my neck to turn slightly, it still being stiff, and find plush pastel green on either side of my legs.
I know what you are thinking right now, and understand why you think it. Of course it was a blanket, I was sitting on a bed. But my sight would fade in and out and my head was blaring with this throbbing pain- my mind refused to function. I'd etc se weird headaches, you see.
I was getting somewhere, though.
The horse-dog was still chewing on my laces, and I was sure that from there he'd move on to my foot, and I couldn't have that.
I attempt to flick my foot again, and this time, it worked. My foot moved. It wasn't much, hardly a movement at all, but the dog now knew I was alive. Whether that was a good thing or not, I was to find out. The dog jerks back, emitting a small growl, before it trotted off into the dark, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. I was left staring at the dust now, alone. It was fine and powder-y, the kind of dust you would find in an unused room. There was a button or two lying on the floor, a piece of thread- other useless things that only bemused me even more.
None of this was making any sense.
Okay, bed. What could I deduct from an old, faded duvet? Its a duvet, so not much.

But as my sleep had begun to ware off, everything flooded back to me with chilling realization.
I was in another stranger's house and I was in foster care because my family was permanently gone and no longer would I be home.
I looked up at the ceiling again and saw that there was wooden wall directly behind my back.
My arms were not paralyzed. They had fallen asleep due to my position.
I am not home. This is not my home.
Just those few things alone were enough to trigger my attacks.
I made myself sit there for a while, counting the rings in the wood of the floor, taking deep breaths to slow down my heart and keep myself from panicking.
It was beyond easy.

I really wanted to, to panic, I mean. But if I were to have one of my attacks like this, I'd be screwed.
I wanted my brother. If he were here now, he'd be able to talk me through this and all of it would be okay.

I wanted him.

I needed him.

But Wyaat wasn't here, and crying about it wouldn't get me
anywhere.
A loud crash brought me back to reality.
I could hear movement and sounds above me. Talking. I heard people talking. One voice sounded angry, another, seemed to be pleading...? The voices were close, I could comprehend most of what was being said.

"... you can't just do that!" one shouted.
"YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CAN NOT DO!" Roared another, this voice was deeper than the first. Both were males.
"But I CAN tell you what's stupid and what's completely fucked! You can't just skip out on a meeting with a social worker. Her life depends on us- on you!" countered the first. They released an aggravated groan followed by the sound of shattering glass. "I get it, Harold, I really do. But I-"
"Don't you dare call me that! That is not my name! And don't say you understand because you don't! Nobody understands. You don't know what it's like to be like this, to make people cringe when they see you! And to give you concerning looks and.. -So don't you dare say that you do!"
"I don't, you're right. But that doesn't mean I don't understand uncertainty."
It was quiet for a moment.
"What is that supposed to mean, Payne?"
"What I'm saying is that you've got to pull yourself together and think!" the first voice elaborated. Silence. "You've got one shot. You screw this up... there's no second chances..."
I heard the sound of shuffling.
To be like what?
"You're awake."
My breath hitches in my throat when I'm met by a pair of blue eyes. They were warm and gentle, heavy brows hung over them.
His face was triangular in shape, ending him with deeply carved cheek bone and a chin rounded out softly- not too sharp and not too wide. He also had this honey-brown coloured hair, it was fringed and stuck out in many different places- and judging by how he keeps flicking it back from his eyes, it was extremely thick and needed a trim.
He eased the door open a bit more to let himself in, strode over to the bed and knelt down beside me. I flinched away.
"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, I swear." he put his hands up as if to show he was innocent. I nodded slowly. My head still hurt. He hesitantly took seat beside me, however a good distance away.
"He's not bad, you know." The man says randomly.
"P-pardon?"
He looks up, in all sincerity and sympathy, he repeats, "He's not bad, I promise you. Your father put you in a good home."
I shake my head. "What?"
"Harry Styles. The one who your father left guardianship to."
My jaw clenches and I can feel the pressure building behind my eyes, no tears though.
"T-take me home," I plead. "Take me back to the other family."
"I'm sorry, but I can't." he said sadly. "Come on love, come down with me and get you in something warm, yeah?"
I shook my head.
"I promise nothing will happen to you," he coaxed.
"Why am I even here?" I spat.
"Look, Rebecca, I know about your family, their will gave guardianship to his parents, his parents aren't here, so it went to the next adult... we're only trying to protect you..."
"We?" I spat. "Who even are you?"
"Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson. M' friends normally call me Lou or Tommo." said boy replies simply.
"I'm not going down there." I repeated slowly, crossing my arms.
"We would really like for you too. Please don't be difficult."
"You know, I find it amusing how you seem so shocked by my reaction. I'm in another foster home, the seventh one just in the past six months I may add, and I'm being difficult."
"Well, when you say it like-"
"What, like how it is? Give me proof that I'm not going to be leaving next week and I'll come down."
Louis' eyes saddened, nodded in understanding. He lumbered to his feet, and just like how he answered, quietly slipped out the door, shutting it softly behind him. Once more I was alone. This can't be happening.