Page 7 of Awakening the Wild
Someone like her. Christ. Couldn't they see what I could see—that this woman was perfect exactly as she was?
Thunder crashed outside, making her jump. The wind howled around the house like a living thing. She pulled my hoodie tighter around herself, and I fought the urge to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and promise nothing would ever hurt her again.
“I’ll build a fire. You bring the wine and the glasses.”
“That sounds good, but you’ll have to lead the way.”
I clicked on the flashlight that was on the counter and we walked down the hall to the living room. I settled her on the couch with an old quilt I picked up at a yard sale and as she refilled our wine glasses, I built a nice roaring fire.
"Tell me something about you," she said. “So you won’t be a stranger to me anymore.”
I tensed automatically. "Not much to tell."
"I told you about Michael. The least you can do is return the favor."
She had a point. Fair was fair.
"My parents died when I was five," I said. "Car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light."
"I'm so sorry." The fire crackled between us, casting dancing shadows across Tonya's face as she nursed her wine.
"I went to live with my aunt after that. She didn't want me. She made that crystal clear every single day. I was just another mouth to feed, another burden she hadn't asked for." The old memories tasted bitter even after all these years.
"That’s awful.”
"Foster care was worse when she told the state she just couldn’t take care of me anymore.” I stared into the fire, seeing those years play out in the flames. "The first family used me as free babysitting for their biological kids. Second family... let's just say the foster father had a temper and I talked back once. Only once. I got kicked out of there too."
Her sharp intake of breath made me look up. Tears shimmered in her hazel eyes.
"Don't," I said roughly. "Don't cry for me. I survived. That's more than a lot of kids in the system can say."
"It shouldn’t be about survival," she said. “You were just a kid.”
I shrugged. “That’s life.”
"How many homes were you in?" she asked.
"Seven or eight. Some lasted months, some only weeks. I learned not to unpack my stuff, not to get attached to the family dog, not to believe anyone who said they wanted to keep me." I ran a hand through my hair. "Every time someone gave me up, they had a reason. I was too much work, too sullen, too angry. They'd signed up to help a grateful orphan, not deal with a kid who had opinions and feelings."
"So you learned not to get attached to anything."
"Or anyone." I looked at her directly. "Everyone leaves, Tonya. It's just a matter of when."
She was quiet for a moment, absorbing that. "That must have been hard to be so alone.”
"It was, but then I met my brothers."
Her brow furrowed. "Your brothers?"
I smiled. "We met at Maplewood, a group home. All of us were angry at the world. My roommate was this kid named Neil. He was already six-foot-four, built like a linebacker. But he moved like he was afraid of breaking everything he touched."
"What happened to him?"
"His foster families kept sending him back. Said he was too big, too strong, too much. He'd learned to make himself small, quiet, like he was apologizing for taking up space." I refilled her wine glass. "Biggest guy I'd ever seen, and he acted like a ghost."
"That's heartbreaking."
"Then Sam showed up. He ran away three times in the first month. Finally stayed because Neil and I made it clear we had his back." I shook my head, remembering what a time Sam had given us. "Shane came last. He barely spoke, nightmares so bad the staff wanted to drug him into oblivion. The three of us pulled him out of that darkness."
