Ultra Luna

Chapter 1 - Foster Care

Nella POV

I'll never forget the day the orphanage closed. The floors were dust-covered, wallpaper peeling off the old plaster walls. Moving boxes filled the hallways—tan sheets covering what little furniture they had. Cobwebs filled the corners after years of neglect. The place looked like we felt worn, haggard, torn up. I may have only been nine, but I understood what was about to happen, probably better than most.

Matron Sharen stood at the entrance of her now disused office. Her lip upturned in a sneer as the well-dressed social worker whispered in her ear. The matron had her white hair tied up in a bun so tight that the wrinkles in her forehead straightened. I don't remember the color of her eyes, just the stare she would give us. One of annoyance and irritation. Like we were a fly buzzing around her head.

Back then I was still honing my power, learning to differentiate someone's body language from their thoughts. Yes, I could read thoughts. Matron Sharen was easy though, as her thoughts aligned with her stares.

All of the children, myself included, are huddled in a corner. Most of us were wearing all the clothes we owned as the place was freezing. There hadn't been heat in weeks. Some of the younger children had blankets wrapped around their shoulders. I was wearing leggings, with jeans overtop, high-top boots, a t-shirt, and a sweater lined on the inside with extra fuzz to make it pass for a coat. All of my clothes were too small for my frame. The sweater was a light blue color that I was quite fond of. The air filled with tears, chatter, and childhood wonder about the next adventures.

The Matron clapped her hands twice, gaining the attention of the children. "Children, Children" this was what she called us as she never bothered to learn our names. "You will follow the directions of this social worker. Each child will be placed with a temporary family. Siblings will stay together." The words scraped through her shrill voice "I don't want any fussing now. Be good little kids." She said as if she had power over us.

The social worker started to pair children off with families. Some of the children were embraced with open arms while others were treated more as obligations. As the crowd of children started to thin the number of families decreased. I stood there waiting for my name to be called. Two more children are placed with families leaving me alone. There were no more families left.

Suddenly a large man walked in wearing a stained white tank top and blue jeans. His stomach protruded over his pants, barely covered by the shirt. Hairs on his arms showed singe marks from the cigarettes he smoked and his teeth were yellow and stained. A putrid smell of body odor and alcohol radiated out of his skin.

He stared at the matron of the orphanage, leaning back into his stance. "She has interesting eyes," he grunts, barely opening his mouth to speak. Investigating me he walked around me slowly, taking me in. I sighed a little, it's not like he had a choice anymore I was the last one left. As per usual.

He was right about one thing. I do have interesting eyes. They would be a boring brown if it weren't for the two gold circles on the outside and inside. I always wondered if they were my mother's eyes. Honing in my mind-reading powers I prepared myself for the horrifying thoughts this man was going to have. Stupid b***h of a wife sending me all the way downtown to pick up this disgusting child. She's only good for two things slavery and her cunt. Although she's a little young for the second one.

At the time I didn't understand what he meant, not really anyway, but I would soon find out. We made our way out to his car, a blue two-door pickup truck. The paint had faded off and there were rust holes in the fenders. I opened the door and climbed in, never ridden in a car before that day. He turned the ignition, not checking to see if my seatbelt had been on. The radio played a propaganda station that was yelling some s**t about how to be a man. As soon as we pulled out of the parking lot he lit a cigarette driving in silence.

We pulled up to a trailer park. It was exactly what you pictured in your mind. Old beat-up trailers, yards not mowed. Broken, torn-down lawn chairs in the front yard. Dogs on chains barking loudly. Pulling up to the worst one of all he peeled in slamming on the brakes. Getting out of the car I followed the silent man in. Ensuring I took careful steps on the broken patio.

As soon as he opened the door a wave of cigarette smoke and m*******a overloaded my senses. Three other children, all older than me were muttering as they did chores around the house. The older of the three, Carla, nodded in my direction. The man yelled "Get back to work you b***h" as a wave of terror flooded through Carla's face.

Sitting on the couch stoned out of her mind was his wife. She was eating a bag of chips, making an intentional mess as one of the other children cleaned it up. "Sit down" He growled to me. I obliged carefully removing the old newspapers from the rickety chair. "You will call me sir, and her ma'am" he barked "You will do chores for your food and clothes. Carla and you will bunk together. Under no circumstances do you tell anyone at school what happens at this home or it will be the last thing you do. Do I make myself clear?" Even today his voice makes me shiver.

The only thing I could muster out of my little child mouth was "I get to go to school?"

His response was a nod. "Carla come here and get this one set up."

Carla smiled at me sweetly saying "Yes sir." She pulled me to the side and almost unintelligibly whispered "Whatever happens don't let him touch you." as she showed me what our day entailed.

First thing in the morning we would get up, prepare breakfast, make a lunch for sir and ma'am, and start a load of laundry. Then school and homework - because they didn't want the school to get suspicious of our care. After school, we would cook supper, clean up, and then, using only toothbrushes and a cup scrub every inch of the home. If this was all done to a sufficient level we would then be allowed a t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and a pair of cheap slip-on canvas sneakers. Oh and of course our one meal a day.

I'm still here, nine years later, doing the same exact routine. Sir did try to touch me, but I bit his hand causing a deep permanent scar. I also kicked him in the nuts and scratched his chest until it bled. That was the last time he tried. I guess he wasn't expecting me to fight back. He beat me for at least a week. Getting beat was something I was very used to from my orphanage days so I wasn't too phased. Half the time he was too drunk or high to really hurt anyone.

Last year I was able to convince Sir and Ma'am to let me get a job. I say convince, but I give them ninety percent of my wage as what Sir called "rent and the goddamn grace to have a roof over my head." I lied to them and told them I was a hostess at the restaurant so I only got a small percentage of the tips. I'm really a waitress. In the last year, I have been able to save up a few thousand dollars, hiding the bills in my school locker.

I turn nineteen this weekend and I intend to run away. Look, life on the run isn't going to be easy, but I gave up the idea of having an easy life a long time ago. As long as I am away from this place, I will do whatever I have to for my survival.