FicWad

I was pretty much running down the hallway, because I was late for my senior art class. This is not how I wanted to thank Mr Hinckley for this great opportunity, but it wasn't my fault. I still didn't know my way around the school and my previous class had been on the other side of campus. I heard loud swearing and when I looked up I ran straight into someone. I immediately stumbled backward and my back violently hit a locker door.

"Fuck!I'm so sorry!" the guy exclaimed apologetically. "I hope your life didn't just flash before your eyes, because I nearly ran you over!" he joked.

I looked up until I looked straight into his gorgeous hazel eyes. He wasn't much taller than my own 4'11, I'd guess about 5'5, but it felt like I ran into a brick wall.

"Are you okay? Tell me, are you in shock?" he asked, holding onto my shoulders and looking worriedly into my eyes.

I couldn't respond. I was literally speechless and for once in my life I wasn't doing it to irritate someone, I really didn't know how to respond. I was starting to wonder whether I might really be in shock. I noticed the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile.

"You're new here, right?" he said.

"I,"I stuttered.

Nothing else would come out. My hands clutched onto my bag and I walked briskly past him. "I'll see you around!" he called after me.

Halfway down the hallway, I stopped, because my brain finally kicked into action again. The jerk nearly ran me over! I turned around to go yell at him, but he was already gone. Damn he was fast. Something else registered in the back of my mind, I remembered that I was super late for art class. I sprinted the rest of the way and entered class completely out of breath.

"Miss Smith," Mr Hinckley greeted me with a smile.

"I'm so sorry Mr Hinckley! I got lost and I was already late and then I..."

"It's okay. I understand," he chuckled. "Find yourself a seat."

I took a deep breath to calm myself down and then scanned the class for an open seat. My eyes fell on a boy with jet-black hair that came down to his neck and covered his ears. His attire mainly consisted of black clothes and I noticed that he was also wearing a Misfits hoodie. Of course I would have art with the boy I ran into twice and was a total bitch to the day before. He looked up and caught me staring at him and a curious look crossed his face. Embarrassed that Iwas caught staring, I turned away and chose a seat at the opposite side of the room, three seats from the back.

"Miss Monroe, I just gave the class work to do. I want you to draw something that's currently on your mind, something that affects you in some way. It could be a memory or a family member, a friend even. It doesn't matter, but I want to see emotion in the picture. No landscapes or things with no meaning. I'm not saying that there is any art without meaning, but I don't want you to look at this as a way for me to keep you busy. After you've finished I will take in your drawings and give them a look and then tomorrow I'll give you advice on what you did and teach you of ways to make whatever's in your mind better."

I nodded eagerly and immediately pulled out everything I needed. I started drawing: first the outlines and then the rest of the details. I drew a boy and a girl sitting across from each other. The girl sat hunched against a wall and the boy was crouching in front of her. I smiled satisfied when I finished it and handed it in at the end of class. Art had always been a way for me to express my feelings and my emotions often showed in my drawings. This particular picture was of the first day I arrived at the orphanage. It was years ago, but I still remember it clearly. I had sat hunched up, all alone, against a wall: arms wrapped tightly around my legs as tears flowed down my cheeks having just lost both my parents. I had felt a light tap on my arm and when I looked up, I'd seen a boy only about a year older than I was at the time crouched in front of me with the most sincere look on his face. He'd taken a seat next to me and given me a comforting hug. That same boy had become my best friend since then: the closest thing to a family I had. We were inseparable, except for the distance that was between us now.



*



"Jacey."

I looked up from the sketch I was working on to see Lisa standing in my bedroom doorway.

"Dinner is ready."

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, turning my attention back to my drawing.

She sighed deeply and I kind of expected her to leave, but contrary to my expectations she came into my room and stopped a few feet away from me.

"I understand that this is an adjustment for you and that's why I've given you your space these last couple of days. You can't just adjust to the house, though. It's time that you start adjusting to me too. Please come eat dinner with me."

I sighed and dropped my pencil, moving back my chair and getting to my feet. I turned and gave her an are-you-satisfied? look.

"Thank you," she smiled, turning away from me and leading the way to the kitchen.

I unwillingly followed, practically dragging my feet to the kitchen and falling down in one of the chairs at the table as she put a hot plate of food in front of me. I had to concede that it looked delicious, but in my short time here I've learned that Lisa was a great cook. We ate in silence for the most part, her probably not knowing what to say and me simply just not interested in starting up any form of conversation with the woman.

Finally she broke the silence by saying, "Is school better yet?"

"Nope."

"Have you at least made a friend or two?"

"Nope,"I reiterated, making a popping sound with my lips as I said this.

Lisa sighed loudly.

"You know, Jacey this is as much of an adjustment for me as it is for you."

"I doubt that," I muttered not looking at her and taking another bite of lasagna.

"I've never had to take care of anyone but myself and..."

"Spare me the pitiful story, okay. You chose to have me here. I didn't choose to be here. That's where the difference lies," I rudely cut her short.

Nothing she said would turn me in her favor or change my mind about the situation. This was not ideal and I think she was starting to realize that now.

"That's beside the point. Things will be a lot easier for both of us if you at least try to make an effort."

I let out a rather unladylike snort at her words, rolling my eyes at the same time.

"I understand that you have had a difficult life, but I would like to help change that. I honestly think I can give you so much more than a children's home ever could. I can provide you with food and clothes. I could give you a sense of family and stability..."

I slammed my fork down on the table rather aggressively and glared hard at her.

"Stability?"I snapped. "Stability? I have been passed around from orphanage to foster home and back over and over again. Where is the stability in that? I was uprooted from my home town and moved to another state! Where is the stability in that??I've been separated from the only family I have known since my parents' death. Where is the stability in that, huh?" I demanded loudly feeling the blood pounding in my ears. I couldn't believe that she had the audacity to claim that she provided me with anything but misery. "And where is this sense of family you supposedly give me?" I continued ruthlessly. "All I see is an artist who is alone, a woman who probably realized that she was never going to marry and have kids and that's why I'm here. You don't give a damn about me. This is entirely about you. I am here for your benefit. What I don't understand is why, if you were so desperate for someone to love, why didn't you adopt a baby or a toddler you could raise as your own and who wouldn't leave you the first chance they get, because that's what I'm going to do, get the fuck out of here!" I practically shouted that last part, loudly scraping back my chair and storming out of the kitchen, leaving her sitting alone completely speechless and probably shell shocked from my hefty reaction.

I slammed my bedroom door loudly and paced around angrily. The truth was I was more upset than angry. No one understood. No one had any idea what I was going through. How could anyone? How could anyone understand the loss piled up over years and years unless they've experienced it themselves? All these social workers and orphanage 'parents' and foster parents, how could they even begin to understand all the rejection, all the hurt, the fear, worry, all the tears and time wasted on hope when in reality there's no such thing. Hope only led to disappointment and disappointment in turn led to misery. No one knew...

I hurriedly grabbed a jacket and ran out the door again. Lisa looked up when I burst into the room and frowned deeply.

"Where are you going?"

"Out,"was all I said as I rushed passed her.

"Jacey!"she exclaimed, grabbing my wrist to keep me from leaving. "You can't just leave. It's dark outside and it's not safe."

"Let go of me," I said through gritted teeth, pulling my arm free of her grip.

"Jacey!"she called after me as I raced out the front door, down the steps and down the street.

I have no idea how far I've run or where I am, but I finally sag down against a tree, gasping for air, not because of the physical effort I just made, but because loud sobs are wracking my body. My shoulders shake and I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as if attempting to keep myself together. My chest heaves and tears stream down my face in rivers that betray my every emotion. They are a tell-tale of the complete emotional wreckage that I am. I am merely a husk of a person, my insides carved away over years of pain. In the beginning you try, attempt to keep up, attempt to adjust, but after all the loss and goodbyes you just give up. You have to. Nothing lasts forever and that's the horrible truth of reality.

Hope is purgatory. Better days are a myth. What awaits is just this...nothingness.