I open my eyes just a little bit. I swear I've never been in more pain in my life. I scan the room without moving my head. Dad's sitting on the chair in my room his head in his hands.

"Erica," He says without looking up. "Why?"

I just blink at him. I blink multiple times.

"Why would you do such a thing?" He says.

"I-I"

"I can't have anymore pain meds in here, because you might try to killl yourself again."

That's why I'm in so much pain.

"I can't look at you anymore," He says. "You're a disgrace to this family, Erica."

I swallow back the tears filling my eyes.

"I'm too busy to watch over you, and still work full time"

"What about Mom?" I say.

"She's too busy to watch over you, and watch over 4 little kids."

"4?"

"Yes. Yes. She adopted triplets."

"So what's going to happen to me, then?" I manage to say.

He sighs. Shakes his head. "You're going into foster care. You're going to get good--better-- parents."

I look down into my hands. Study the lines.

"I'm leaving you today. You'll live in a nice home. With nice parents, too."

Today. He's leaving me today. Giving up on me just like everyone else in the world.

"Bye, Erica" He says. Leaves the room. Never even looks back on me.

There's something about this moment that I can't wrap my fingers around. Can't understand. Can't breathe. I can't breathe. I need to remind myself to breathe. Breathe.

. . . .

My new foster parents should be here soon. It's almost March. I've spent the last 4 months in the hospital recovering. I wonder if they'll be nice. I wonder if they'll give me any sympathy for what happened. I wonder what they'll let me have. I wonder if they'll make me move away from this home. I wonder if they'll have other kids. I wonder if they'll have a big house. I wonder if I'll have my own room. I wonder. I wonder. I wonder. I wonder.

I wonder forever. But I'll never know until it happens.

. . . .

People have been coming into my room. Asking me questions about when I was younger. What my favorite colors are. What my personality is. Then someone walks in. Someone who I haven't seen yet. Someone who seems nice. He's wearing a black suit with a light blue tee-shirt underneath.

"Are you Erica?" He says.

I nod. Blink a few times.

"Your new foster parents are here," He says. "Do you have clothes here?"

I shake my head. He opens up his breif case and toses me a big tee-shirt and some sweat pants.

"Get changed." He has a very stern voice.

I get up out of my hospital bed, and walk over to the bathroom bringing the clothes with me.

I walk into the bathroom, and close the door. It clicks shut. I don't want to look into the mirror in fear that my broken and corrupt soul will break the mirror into teeny tiny pieces. I hold in my breath and dare my eyes to look up in the mirror. It didn't break.

My hair looks greasy and messy. The left side of my face looks disoriented from the fall. I just want to scream and shout and cry and die. But I keep all my emotions inside me.

I take my hospital gown off, and cold air wraps around my bare body. I quickly unfold the clothes and put them on. They're huge on me. I'm swimming in fabric. I have to keep pulling up the sweatpants. I have no underwear. This outfit looks absolutly ridiculous on me.

. . . .

I walk out of the bathroom 10 minutes later. I didn't know what to do with my long hair. It's halfway down my back now.

The man who gave me the clothes is sitting on the hospial bed playing on his iPhone. He doesn't look too much older than me. But he must be since he works.

He looks up from his phone and scans me up and down.

"The clothes are too big." I say still holding the sweat pants elastic at the top.

"Sorry, I didn't know you size." He says with a little aditude.

"What did you think? That I was some huge girl?"

"Well, there's always that possibility."  

I sniff the tee-shirt. It smells like old gym clothes.

"Where did you even get the clothes? The gym?" I say.

"What did you think? That I'd have girl clothes in my breif case?"

"These are your clothes?"

"Yep." He says. I sigh. Find a hair tie on the little bed side table. I grab it, pull a clump of the fabric of the shirt, and wrap the hair tie around it so it won't be so baggy. "Hey, don't do that, you'll mess up the fabric!" He says.

He's playing with me. He thinks this is funny. He's like an older brother teasing the little sister. I undo the hairtie containing the fabric.

"There, happy?" I say.

"Very," He says. "Now come on, you have to meet your new foster parents." He stands up. Walks over to the door. I follow him.

. . . .

He leads me down a few hallways, and some elavators, until we reach a room. He opens the door, and walks in. I follow him in. A lovely lady sits at the table. She smiles at me. I manage a weak tiny smile. Sit down at the table across from her.

"This is your new mom," He says.

"What's your name?" I say staring at him.

"My name is Ethan." He sighs. "Now please, get to know your new mom, you're going home with her today."

"Okay, Ethan," I say. I stare back at the lady sitting across from me. Ethan leaves the room. "What's your name?" I say.

"My name is Eleanoir." She says. "I have a nice home, you'll have your own room."

"Will I have any siblings?"

"No. No siblings."

"What about a father?"

"Yes. But, he's in the military, so that's why he's not here."

I nod my head understandingly. Stop talking. What else am I supposed to talk about. I stare down at the back of my hands. Study the lines forming my nails.

"Are you guys done in here?" Ethan says barging in. I nod. "What do you think? Do you like her?"

"Who are you asking, me or her?" I say.

"Either."

"I like her." Eleanoir says.

"I like her too." I say.

"Okay, good, now Miss Eleanoir please sign these papers, and she's all yours." Ethan says. Hands her some papers. She signs them.

. . . .

She drives me to her house. It's a long drive. But eventually we get there. I open my eyes.

"Where are we?" I say.

"This is my house, it's on the beach." She says.

"What state are we in?"

"Florida."

She gets out of the car and so do I. We walk into the house. It's a good sized house. She leads me up some steps into the atic.

"This is your room." She says.

It has a twin sized bed, and there's a little window at the front. There's a desk with a mirror. There's make-up and nail polish and hair brushes and a speaker and a laptop at the desk. There's a T.V. on the wall. There's a little closet with clothes just my size. Clothes of all colors; white, yellow, red, blue, green, black, and grey. There's mainly black and red, those are my favorites. There's shoes by the wall. There's different kinds of shoes there too; sandles, running shoes, fancy shoes, high heals, flip flops, boots, and a type I've never seen before. I pick them up. They're real cute. They have laces like regular tennis shoes, but they don't look like they have as much foot support. I look at the brand. Converse. Converse has the most colors. Red, yellow, white, blue, green, black, and grey. There's short ones, and ones that are higher. High tops. I turn around and see a big book case. She didn't know that I hate reading.

"Do you like it?" Eleanoir says.

"Yes. Yes I love it. I love it." I say.

I walk up to the book case. Not only are there books, but there's movies too. I read each and every cover; Divergent, Insurgent, Allegiant, Four, I Am Number Four, The Power Of Six, Shatter Me, Unravel Me, Ignite Me, The Fault In Our Stars, and so much more! There are so many movies too; What If, The Duff, The Fault In Our Stars, Project Almanac, and so much more!

The floors are wooden. There's a little blue rug in the middle of the floor. The rug is poofy, and warm under my feet. Soft too. I could fall asleep on this rug. I look in the last corner. There's a chair in the corner. A bungee chair. I've seen those in the store before. I go up to it. Sit down. It's bouncy. I like it. I'm so glad I have it.

. . . .

I lay in the bed staring up at the ceiling. It's 2 in the morning. I'm wide awake. I can't sleep. The bed is too comfortable. I'm trying I really am trying to sleep, I just can't.