Page 102 of Done Waiting

“Oh, God, Jagger.” Her eyes are full of sympathy.

Itrust her. I need to tell her about my past.

“You know about the worst case of abuse. What I didn’t tell you is what happened next.” Closing my eyes, the sting of betrayal causes a sharp pain to run through my chest.

Releasing her face, my hand rubs over my heart, the desire for revenge slithering through my body like a snake.

Clearing my throat, I begin.

After I was treated at the hospital for the burns my dad inflicted on me with that scalding pot of water, I was able to stay at Brandt’s house for a few days. My adopted father, John Brandt, is a doctor in the EmergencyRoom at Falls Creek Hospital. My adopted mother, Alicia, was a nurse until she left to stay at home and raise Abby and Jason. John and Alicia convinced my dad to let them take care of me. He reluctantly agreed, but I’m fairly certain it was because John threatened him.

When I returned home, my dad was pissed. I wasn’t certain why he was so angry at me, considering he was the one who inflicted his horrible abuse on me, but hatred shone in his steely eyes. I couldn’t sleep that night or for many nights after, fearing he’d kill me.

Maddie’s audible gasp pulls me from memories of my past. I pull her closer, needing to feel her warmth and strength. She tightens her grip on me, squeezing me against her body, offering her silent support.

My dad’s addiction got worse, and with it, so did his temper. But hope entered my life in the form of a new social worker. A neighbor who had recently moved into the house across the street from us witnessed my father beating me in the front yard one day and called it in. I had no faith that this social worker would be any different from the others until she looked at me with her blue eyes and a solemn expression. When she told me she believed the injuries and neglect I suffered were the direct result of my abusive father, my heart pounded from the hope filling my chest.

She interviewed Jason’s family and told me they’d been approved as my foster family, but we had to go through the process. My heart beat hopefully, believing I finally found someone to help me. That my prayers have been answered. My social worker seemed competent and devoted to getting me outof that house and for the first time since my mom died, things seemed to be looking up.

Until the social worker betrayed me in the worst way.

Three days after my fourteenth birthday, my growling stomach woke me up late one night. I stumbled downstairs as quietly as I could, sneaking into the kitchen. I found a slice of cheese still in a wrapper, and I didn’t see any mold on it, so I quietly unwrapped it and was nibbling on it when I heard my father’s voice coming down the stairs. Thankfully, I hadn’t turned on any lights, knowing I would have been beaten for getting up. Terror filled me as my eyes darted around the kitchen, finally landing on the closet between the kitchen and living room. Soundlessly slipping inside, I pressed my ear to the door, hoping he didn’t know I was awake.

What I heard made my blood run cold.

I recognized the woman’s voice and froze.No. It can’t be. Why would she be here this late?

The voices stopped in the kitchen. I heard the scraping of chairs as they sat down and then their entire conversation, which my social worker called a “business transaction.” She wanted my dad to handle a “problem” for her. In return, she had some “good heroin and cocaine” she was going to give him.

My dad’s husky voice creeped me out when I heard him saying that wasn’t enough. He needed more.

The noises I heard after that scarred me for life. I peeked out of the closet a few times, hoping I could sneak out and go back to bed. After she finished giving him a blow job in the kitchen, they moved to the living room, where I heard their grunts and moans and the squeak of our rickety couch as he fucked her.

There was no other way to get up the stairs so I could get back to bed. I didn’t want my social worker to see me awake at this time of night, figuring she’d hold it against me, and mychances of being fostered by Jason’s family would be shot to hell.

Finally, their moans and groans stopped, and I heard their clothing rustling as they dressed. But the words she said to my dad before she left would forever haunt me. “Don’t worry about Jagger. I set it up perfectly. You’ll look like a model citizen and he will be viewed as a troubled young boy with a mental illness who lost it after his mother died.” Her evil laugh carried through the air. “He’ll be sent away and out of your hair soon.” Her heels tapped on the floor, her voice lowering. “Then you’ll be free to work for me once I get that promotion. I have big plans for our future.”

Bile rose in my throat, and I had to slap my hand over my mouth and take deep breaths in and out through my nose to prevent vomiting up the slice of cheese I’d just eaten.

How could she betray me like that?

I didn’t have a mental illness. My attendance and tardiness at school weren’t great because of the beatings, but I still earned excellent grades, despite my spotty attendance. And yeah, I’d gotten in trouble for hitting Scott Baker when he taunted me about my dad’s problem with “drugs, alcohol, and whores,” but there were enough witnesses to back up my reason for losing my shit. After being sent to the principal’s office, my punishment had been regular meetings with the school counselor and an in-school suspension for a couple of days.

After she left and my dad went to bed, I remained inside the small closet, tears streaming down my face. I don’t know what I did to deserve all the shit I’d be dealt in life, but I was getting sick of doing the right things. Nothing good ever happened to me.

Once I finally stopped crying and peeked out of the closet to make sure it was safe, I slipped out and crept up the stairs,my broken heart in pieces as betrayal coursed through me. Thankfully, my dad’s loud snores indicated he didn’t know I was still awake and had left my bedroom.

I snuck back into my room, closing the door. Leaning against it, I stared at the dirty ceiling.

Hope floated away like a whisper on the breeze. The world was a corrupt, fucked-up place. My social worker just proved that.

Rather than go to bed, I crept over to my dirty window, looking up at the stars in the sky. “Please, Mom, help me. There must be another way. Help me get out of here and let me live with Jason’s family.” Tears streamed down my face once again. “I can’t take it anymore. I-I’d rather d-die than go to some m-mental institution.”

Maddie’s scalding tears pull me from my past. My gaze, which had been blindly focused on the wall in front of the tub, focused on her.

“I’m so sorry,” Her head dips to my chest as sobs wrack her small frame.

My chin rests on her head, breathing in her honey and vanilla scent. She calms me in a way nothing else ever has. Her presence waters the seed of hope I didn’t know I still carried inside, causing it to blossom and grow. “It’s not your fault, baby girl.” Tilting my head, I bury my face in her silky hair.

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