Leaving

Screaming, screeching, shouting, I could hear it all. They were always fighting, fighting over me. I couldn't take it much longer. My so called "father" never wanted me. My mother always loved me. Maybe she loved me because I was the daughter she's always wanted. I was adopted by my parents fourteen years ago. They loved me or at least I thought they did. Now all they do is fight over me. It's never good. My mom defends me. My dad has taken to drinking every single night for the past year. He was laid off from his job a year and a half ago. It broke him. He never even tried to look for another job. My mom and I got jobs. We can barely make ends meet. I wish I could change things, but I can't. I know there's nothing I can do.

"She isn't! She's been with us for years and you never thought this way before! You wouldn't say anything if she was really ours!" I heard my mother's defense.

"It's too expensive to take care of a kid let alone a teenager. Send her back." My father replied.

"Send her back? Send her back where?" my mother was getting upset. I could tell the tears were coming.

"The adoption agency, foster care, group home. I could care less!" There was a loud slam. My dad had a habit of leaving before finishing any argument.

"Mom." I said. She was crying on the couch. There wasn't much I could do but sit with her and attempt to console her. It never worked.

"I've been thinking," she began, "about what your father has been saying. I don't agree with him at all. You know I would never send you away." She said.

"I believe you, mom. I know you would never send me anywhere. I know you love me." I replied.

"I do. I always will." She stood up and began to put on her coat. "I'm going to get your father. Lord knows he'll get himself killed one day. " She said before leaving.

Little did she know, my father wasn't the one who would be killed, she would. That night a drunk driver hit my mom's car. Her car skidded over the railing into the river. Her body was still missing. I'd never cried so hard in my life before. I promised myself I would never cry again. Nothing could ever be worse than losing my mom, the one person who's ever loved me.

"You're going, end of story." My father said when we go back from the funeral. He meant that I was going to the group home whether I wanted to go or not. I didn't have a choice or any say in the matter. My mother was always the person who defended me. With her gone, there was no one standing in my father's way. He's wanted me gone for over a year. It looks like he'll finally be getting his way.

I packed my bags as thoroughly as I could. I packed most of my mother's possessions as well. I couldn't trust her things with my dad. Who knows what we would've done with them. These were the last things I had left of her. There was no way I was giving them up. I packed everything I could my hands on, everything I owned and everything from my childhood days. There wasn't a single memory I was willing to leave behind.

Tonight would be my last night in this house. This was the only house I had ever lived in. This wasn't just any house. It was home. I spent my childhood here. I had no memory of where I had lived before I was adopted or how my birth parents looked. Every room in this house had numerous memories attached to it. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving everything behind, but I had no choice. In the morning, I would be going to my new home, leaving this one behind forever.

Last night went by too quickly. I wasn't ready to go, but I never argued. I said nothing to my dad the whole way there. I could neither think of what to say nor did I have the courage to say anything. I couldn't help but think of my mom. I missed her. If she were here, I would be at home, not on the road. I wouldn't have to go anywhere. I turned away from my dad, forcing myself to gaze out the window. I didn't want him to see me cry if I happened to get a little too emotional.

We reached our destination. A decrepit building stood erect at the end of the road. It looked old, really old, but still functional. It was three stories tall. Ivy or moss was growing along the window panes. There were bars on the windows and a large gate surrounding it. It resembled a prison-like school that showed no sign of hospitality at all. I felt afraid inside, but I wasn't going to let anyone know it.

I got out of the car and got my bags out of the trunk. My dad said his farewell. It was cold and distant. I could tell he didn't mean a single a word he said. He got in his car and left. I stood outside the building, frozen. I hesitated. Nothing made sense! My feet refused to move forward. Breathing became harder for me. Why was this happening? Why did I feel this way?

"Hey!" a masculine voice shouted from behind me. "You lost or something?" he asked.

I turned around. A teenage boy around my age stood near the front gate. He casually leaned on it, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a slight grin on his face. I didn't answer him.

"What's the matter?" he said, moving away from the gate towards me.

I still didn't answer. I felt myself grow tense as he approached me. I took a step back. He stopped. He hesitated.

"Listen, are you okay? You look scared. I'm not gonna hurt you or anything." He said.

I opened my mouth, determined to reply. "I...my..." was all that came out. I couldn't manage to say anything more.

"Okay. Calm down." He came closer. I didn't move back this time. "Come one." He said, reaching an arm out toward me. He picked up my bags and started walking into the building. I silently followed.

Six months later....

Life at a group home was as bad as it's depicted in all the books and movies. Some would say it's even worse. I've made a few friends, not close ones though. I'll only stay here until I'm eighteen, then I'll be left without a home.

The boy I met on my first day was Lucas. His mother is a very wealthy woman who grew up in a group home. Her parents didn't want her either. She decided to make a difference in young girls' lives by opening a different kind of group home. It looked menacing on the outside, but on the inside, it was almost a dream. It wasn't overly fancy, but it wasn't like a prison. Every girl here was grateful to be here instead of somewhere else.

Lucas and I are best friends. He's what makes days here bearable. I have exactly one year left here before I'll be kicked out onto the streets to fend for myself. I can't wait for that day to come. Why? Lucas and I have plans, wonderful plans involving college, traveling, great jobs, fun! I can't wait until those plans, those dreams come true. My dad made the best choice he could've made by sending me here. I hope he realizes that one day.