(Brother Series - Book One)
Asher Bernardi; A teenage boy dealing with the trauma of transferring from one foster home to another after he was given up at the fine age of two years old, each home is worst than the last, what happens when his curren...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
~ Asher Alexander Bernardi ~
"Emily what did I tell you about bringing guys into my house, you need to stop this slutty behavior before we get rid of you." My foster mother — Amber — says while throwing a pair of male boxers at my face.
My boxers.
'Please do.' I think to myself, I almost never speak to her in general let alone 'back talk' her.
I roll my eyes, ball up the underwear, and toss it into my hamper.
I should get up and shower for my second hell of the day.
School.
Which is actually not much better than my 'home life'.
Kids are still assholes and there's this one guy that often likes to see how hard he can punch me in the face before I cry 'like a girl.'
Which in the grand scheme of things would have to be pretty damn hard since I basically trained myself to show zero emotions while receiving beatings, tears make it worst, about a year ago in my old home I was beaten to the brink of death for shedding a tear, they actually had to call an ambulance or else I would have literally died, they had told the social worker it was self-defense and I was going crazy trying to harm their biological son.
He was always in fights so he had bruises lining his face and cut-open knuckles, one glance at him and they believed the story of me being violent. I've never even bitch slapped someone let alone hurt someone so much they have to beat me into oblivion but alright.
Also, did I ever mention how that label now follows me?
Yup, every time I am moved into a new foster home I am described as violent and out of control.
I don't know man, I just really want my iced tea but I don't think it's worth physically fighting over, and that says a lot. Kyan claims it's an unhealthy addiction, I think he has a few screws loose.
Sliding off my black hoodie that's actually 4 sizes too big, the easiest way to conceal the curves that are deemed feminine by society, especially if I'm not binding.
Allowing my joggers to drop to the floor and stepping into the shower, audibly wincing as the warm water flows down the scrapes and cuts that scatter over my stomach and back.
Once I was content with my level of cleanliness I exited the shower and wrapped my old worn-out white towel around my chest as I went to pick out today's outfit.
Silently praying I will be dried off enough to get my binder on because there's no way I'm going to school without binding and it's simply a bitch to get on while you're wet.
