Kitten's Wild Possessive Lover

CATALINA POV What suddenly changed? I knew this wouldn’t last forever, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why today of all day’s things have to change so drastically. I’m used to being uprooted, growing up in the foster care system. Living with different families all my life, moving often and abruptly. I’ve been with the Keller’s the longest, maybe that’s why I’m so shocked. I was placed with them at fourteen and when aged out of foster care they allowed me to stay if I kept house and cooked. I stupidly never thought about getting a job or finding other housing. I was grateful they let me stay and thought they saw me as family, distant family, but family none the less. There was no reason for me to think things would change, but they did. The day after my nineteenth birthday, Joe and Karen (the Keller’s) informed me that I was no longer welcome, and that I needed to leave at once. No warning, no time to prepare or plan. I was too hurt to question it, too upset with myself for getting comfortable. I usually do a good job of protecting myself, keeping my guard up. I never allowed myself to express the hurt or loneliness I felt. That didn't stop me from expressing my opinion. Some of my foster parents used those moments to make me aware of my dependence on them. I always wondered if there was something about me that was unappealing, or unattractive. None of the foster families I was assigned to ever showed interest in adopting me. Most children that go into foster care as infants are adopted quickly. They are more sought out than older children. I have no memory of any foster homes prior to the age of six. I always wondered if I truly was in foster care as an infant, Ms. Bevy, my case worker assures me, I was. I have no reason to doubt her. What incentive would she have to lie to me? There are so many unanswered questions. Why did no one want me? Not my parents or any potential "parents" that could have adopted me. Why did they all choose to homeschool me? Why wasn’t I allowed to have some semblance of a normal childhood by going to school? Having friends or at least kids my age to converse with. Ms. Bevy always avoided me and didn't really try to find a permanent home. At least it didn't seem like it. I wonder if she said something to the couples that fostered me. That could not be, could it? Was she allowed to do that? But why would she? Maybe all caseworkers are like her. Not that it matters anymore. Being homeschooled all my life made it difficult to prepare for all the different situations I may encounter. I watched the news, and knew about the bad people in the world. Aware of crime, mental health issues and plain old mean people. But knowing them and dealing with them firsthand is quite different. Joe and Karen seemed like normal people, only being able to compare them to other foster parents and my caseworker. Now I’m thrusted out on my own, not prepared at all. Roaming the streets of Los Angeles after being dropped off by the Keller’s. A small plastic bag in my hand with a change of clothes I was allowed to take with me and the twenty dollars they gave me so she could get around and maybe eat. Although food is the furthest thing from my mind right now. Primarily, I need to find a job and a place to stay. What am I going to put on my applications? Can I make things up? Would they check? Unsure of where to begin or what I’m qualified to do. I noticed a help wanted sign outside of a breakfast diner, Clara's Diner. I stood in front of the restaurant considering my options (of which I have none) and thinking about how I went from having a home, food, and safety to being homeless. Now the thoughts of love and family seem insignificant. No time to cry, I suppose. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get so comfortable. Who would want someone around that is not part of their family? If they wanted me, they would have adopted me. No pity party for me, no time for that. They treated me well enough, distant, yes, but not abusive or neglectful. My experiences in foster care are proof that they were a blessing. Better ignored and fed than beaten and starved. They indeed fed me and fed me well. I am not a petite little girl by no means. I am a curvy and short, about five foot three, Latina with big hips and big breast. I am what you would call thick and I'm okay with it. I've never had to impress anyone with the way I look. Nothing special about me, I suppose; brown hair and brown eyes. Not ugly, but like I said, nothing special. I never thought of what independence would mean, never had to. I was always told what to do and how to do it. My whole life was always planned out for me, by my caseworker or foster parents. I was never put in any situation where I needed to make choices. I was told to be grateful for having a home, food, and someone to be responsible for me. Told horror stories of kids that end up on the streets, hungry and alone. Some of my more colorful foster parents felt the need to go into detail about the things those kids might have to do for food. Some even took advantage of my need for those things, putting me in a position I have no business being in at such an early age. The time with the Keller’s may have been paradise in comparison to such experiences, but I’m no fool. I knew that they, just like every other family that fostered me, were only interested in the money sent to them. My clothes were always from thrift stores. I did no activities aside from my homeschooling. My bedroom consisted of a dresser and a twin-sized bed. It always looked like I had just moved in, no personal touches or items. I never asked for any, being of the mindset that some kids don’t even have a room, let alone a bed. That’s what happens when you are conditioned the way I was. It makes you feel like you have more than enough when you have nothing at all. When the people caring for you have more than enough money sent to them to care for you in the first place. Seeing a help wanted poster outside or the diner seemed like a sign, literally! I walked in and took in my surroundings. The place is clean and busy. Looking around for someone that works here so I can ask for an application is proving to be difficult. They are very overwhelmed and the staff I do see running around have no time to spare for me. Finally, I see a man walk up to the cashier to cash out an elderly couple that is close to walking out without paying. Having been waiting for so long to pay. I wait behind them hoping that once he helps them, he can give me a second. He eyes me behind them, and I can tell he is looking at my less than stellar outfit. Yikes! He is going to think I’m homeless. They aren’t torn or dirty, but they don’t look like they belong to me. I was only ever given clothes from the thrift stores. Except for my undergarments, thank goodness! Looking at his nametag as the couple leave and trying to put my best "I really need a job" face. “Hi there David, I saw your sign outside and I would like to fill out an application.” I smiled. He is looking at me as if I asked him for his kidney. Confused, so confused... this is going to be harder than I thought. He's probably still wondering what hole I crawled out of. “I'm sorry…. what?” he finally replied after a few seconds. “An application? Your sign outside says you need help. Don't you?” I said, looking around at the unhappy patrons that were hungry and about to revolt. “OH YEAH! Sorry... I'm a little overwhelmed.” He responds and reaches for an application and a pen from underneath the podium. Handing them to me and then quickly ran off after without another word. I sat down at the counter near the podium and started to fill out the application. Not letting the awkward departure from David affect me. He seems young and maybe a bit over his head.