Distraction, they said, would keep me from doing it again. I never had much self-control. The pain makes it feel easier.
“Two years,” I exhale. “Just two years.”
I let the rubber of a hair tie hit my wrist again.
But it’s never enough. No one sees that. No one sees how broken you are inside when all you do is smile. They see just another scarred teenager, just another girl who will be forgotten. The system is already broken, even more than I am. Still, no one cares. Those who do, they give up easily, because no one backs them up. One person can’t change everything, and they know it. So they stop trying.
I have known I am broken for a while now. The thoughts come quietly, telling me I am never enough, that I don’t deserve anything. That one day I will be like fog, there for a moment, then gone as soon as the sunlight touches me.
I raise the hair tie again and let it snap harder against my wrist.
The question of why they chose me comes again. Maybe because I know I am not good enough. Because I know I ruin everything I touch. Every small good thing that happens, I end up destroying. That is how it goes. I know I am my own worst enemy. No self-discipline. Too damn proud. I never let anyone help me because I tell myself I can do everything on my own, even when I can’t.
“One,” I inhale.
“Two,” I exhale.
“Three.”
I turn onto my back.
I stare at the ceiling, at the small dots that seem to come closer the longer I focus on them. My hands rest on my chest, fingers twisting the rubber as I do it again.
I close my eyes and move faster now, letting it burn, letting it snap harder against my skin.
I exhale again. My breath turns shallow.
A knock comes at the door. Loud, then softer, as someone hesitates with their hand still raised.
I stand up and drag my lip across my teeth as I walk toward the door.
“Who is it?” I ask, my hand hovering over the handle.
“Simona,” she says. “I came to say goodbye.”
I open the door.
She stands in front of me, looking at my face. This time, there is no file in her hands. I turn away and walk back to the bed.When I sit down, she follows and sits beside me, close enough that I can feel her next to me.
For a few seconds, neither of us speaks. Then she gently bumps my shoulder with hers.
“You’ll be good here, kiddo,” she says softly. “I promise.”
“How can adults promise things they don’t even know they can keep?” I say, turning toward her. I shift back slightly, pulling my legs onto the bed and crossing them beneath me.
“I guess you’ll find out soon,” she says, placing a palm on my shoulder.
“Yeah, right,” I say, looking at her as I shrug.
“The Harringtons are a good family,” she says. “They really are.” Her voice lowers. “The harsh truth is, if no one took you, you would end up in foster care. Moving from home to home. And considering your case, I thought…”
“My case?” My eyes widen, tears sting as they show at the corner of my eyes. “You have no idea about my case.” My voice cracks. “No one ever listened to me, so there is no fucking case.”
“Carmen,” she starts gently, “just be good, okay?”
“I’m not an adult,” I sigh. “So I can’t make promises, right?” I roll my eyes.
She smiles. “Since you act like you’re six, not sixteen.” She raises her hand and holds out her pinky. “How about a pinky promise?”
