Chapter 1

“Please just explain to me what happened?” the Therapist said from the other side of the table.

I hate this.

I hate having to go to these meetings 4 times a week; no matter how many times he will ask, I’m not going to tell him what happened.

I bite my lower lip and look at the sea foam green walls. There were pictures hanging, some were on line paper and looked like someone scribbled with crayons, and the rest looked like professional sketches of what I assume were his wife and kids.

From his clients, no doubt.

“Your foster parents told me what happened, Ivy. And I understand how emotionally devastating that can be”.

He meant physical too, no matter if he said it or not. It was obvious. You could see all the burns on my legs, and the scars on my face and arms that my mom had made with her long nails.

I hate her.

“How much longer do I have to be here?” I ask, looking directly into his icy blue eyes.

“About 10 minutes” he said dryly.
Can this take any longer?

I start to rub my face, irritated, feeling the slight but noticeable scar tissue under my skin.

“That didn’t happen from the fire, did something happen with your mom before the fire?”

Stop, stop, STOP!

I cover my ears.

Don’t talk about her!

I close my eyes and try to clear my head. This is a method I use more than I should. Whenever I get frustrated or overly annoyed, I just cover my ears and clear my head.

I would do this a lot when my mom would come home high on whatever drug she took that night.

Before I knew it, I heard the door open.

I uncover my ears and turn around to see my foster parents.

The Stanton’s.

I remember the first day I met them. It was about 2 months ago. I was sitting on my bunk in the foster home, listening to some random talk show on the cheap radio in the corner. I never expected to be adopted. I mean, who in their right mind would adopt a 13-year-old?

“Ivory, there are some people here to see you” Mrs. El said walking in. I looked at her, confused, but got up anyway.

Mrs. El is my social worker, her real name is Eleanor Leveque, but she said I could call her Mrs. El.

I didn’t know why I had to meet these people, they were just going to react like all the other possible foster parents; they would take one look at me and know I’m too scarred to be healed.

I slip on my black slippers and follow her out to her car.

“Don’t you have to tell someone that I’m leaving?” I say as I slip into the passenger seat of her grey Hyundai sonata.

“It’s already taken care of” she said flashing me a wide smile.

She pulls out of the driveway and drives down the bumpy dirt road down to the social workers office, where the couple was waiting quietly in the small blue room.

“Hello” the Mrs. El as we walked into the room. I slide behind her desk and take a seat in her chair.

“This is Ivory Lawson, she is 13, her birthday is September 5^th, and she has been here 2 ½ months. But you probably already know that from reading her file” Mrs. El said smiling.

I stare at the couple, trying to find any signs of discomfort or uneasiness.

All I got was happiness.

It was a man and a woman. The woman had to be in her late twenties or early thirties, cause she looked pretty young. She had short blond hair that was in a pixie cut, with big innocent brown eyes. Her nose was small and ski slope like, and she had puffy lips, giving her an exotic look to her already gorgeous profile. She sat there wearing a white tank top, dark blue jeans, and sandals. She was skinny, petite, unlike the man I assume was her husband. He was long, with a dark tan. His face was also exotic, with medium size lips, and thick black eyebrows. His nose was long, and wide, perfectly symmetrical. He also looked fairly young. He was wearing a grey t-shirt, black jeans, and black sneakers.

“This is Melissa and Gregory Stanton, and they are planning on adopting” Mrs. El said. “Here, I will let you guys talk. Ivy, you can take a seat in my chair if you want”.

I nod. She smiles, than walks out the room, shutting the door quietly.

“Hello Ivory, or can we call you Ivy?” Melissa said as I took a seat in the deep blue computer chair behind her spotless desk.

“Either one is cool” I say shrugging.

We sit there for a few seconds in semi-awkward silence.

“So what’s your favorite food?” Melissa said smiling widely. “I personally like spaghetti”.

This shocked me, to say the least. Usually these people come in here, and the first thing they want to do I poke around in my business.

“I know you have been through a lot” they would say “but we are here to help you”.

Yeah right.

Let me tell you one thing, don’t trust anyone. They will just end up screwing you over in the end.

Trust me.

After that meeting with the Stanton’s, they came back a few more times. Conversation became easier, and before I knew it, they were signing the papers to adopt me.

“She’s not making progress.” I heard the therapist whisper to my foster parents as I sat in the office, waiting quietly. “She won’t respond to anything I ask her, the only time she talks is to ask when it’s time to go. I think, in my humble opinion, that you have her re-evaluated”.

There was a silence; one of those longer-than-needed silences.

“The doctor said there was no need to re-evaluate her the last time we went” Melissa whispered.

When did he say that?

“Well, if you’re up for it, maybe I could suggest instead of having 4 meetings a week, she could go to this support group for kids between the ages of twelve and eighteen. She would only have to come to this office once every 2 weeks”.

Another silence.

“That. Sounds. Fantastic” Melissa said.

I smile to myself.

Anything is better than sitting in this office four times a week.

Reviews

[Draconic]

I like how you capture emotions while leaving more to the reader's imagination. It's quite good, while at the same time it paints of picture of what's happening around the person the story is about. It actually has me looking forward to more, which is good. Nice job.