The Foster Kid (GirlxGirl)

Sequel Chapter 1 Preview

It's been a minute!!! I've just had a very emotional night (came out to one of if not my best friend, whatta emotional rollercoaster) and I'm posting this at 2 in the morning on a whim. I actually have written a lot of the sequel it's just not in order, and I mostly wrote it for my own enjoyment because if I don't post it I don't have to worry about technicalities and leaving readers hanging if I don't finish it, etc.

So what I've decided is to post this first chapter, gage the response, and if you guys are interested, hopefully work really hard on it this summer before I start college. I would definitely like to finish it, there's just a lot riding on this sequel and I wanna live up to expectations.

Vote and leave me feedback in the comments if you want to see the whole book at some point in the future! If you've suggestions or constructive criticism I'm all for hearing that too! Thanks for reading <3

*just so everyone knows there will be no cheating and no more abuse, despite what this chapter may "foreshadow." However there is a lot of talk about suicide, alcohol, and drugs in case those are sensitive topics*

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Prologue

She told me she trusted me, but I knew it wasn't true.

The funny thing about suicide watch is that they think you don't know, but you do. They ask where you're going with an extra glance up from their phone just to make sure you don't look more off than usual. They stare at you with that extra-focused expression, trying desperately to break through the wall you've rebuilt. What's in there? they must be thinking. Rather, what was in there to make you go crazy, and is it still?

They stare at you while you cut your steak, because they have no idea where that knife might go when their eyes are turned away. Sometimes, depending on who they are, you are held at night. Held is the wrong word, though, isn't it? You are strapped to that bed like it's an operating table because they think if they loosen their grip even slightly, there's not a chance you'll be there in the morning.

In my case, it wasn't so much a they as a she, because she was— used to be, at least— the only one who cared. Of course, it could have been worse. We'd walk past the hospital downtown and she'd stare at it, wondering if it was a mistake that she hadn't forced me to go. Her hand in mine would tighten, her face would go pale. Gently pushing on her lower back was all I could do not to lose my temper and drag her back home.

Home. There was a funny thing about that, too. They say home is where the heart is but I knew my heart was with her yet still, I didn't feel like I had one. She didn't know that, and I didn't plan on sharing. I didn't keep secrets— not usually, anyway— but that one in particular would hurt her in a way there was no coming back from. So it stayed locked in the vault inside my head, to which the combination had been lost ages ago.

A year passed; some of her trust returned. Another year, and we were almost back to normal. But what was normal for us? Me pretending not to be depressed while I did everything I could to keep her happy? Her pretending that dealing with me wasn't barely worth the struggle?

It was around that two year mark when I decided to make a choice. I didn't want to, but I was tired of never getting anywhere with my life. I was tired of telling her not tonight or having to convince her that I loved her. And I knew depression medication wasn't addictive, but there was still that voice in the back of my head telling me I was making a mistake.

Didn't you learn from me? I heard it say. You force your way through the pain, you swallow your hurt and you smile instead. You keep going. You do anything you gotta do to survive, but don't you dare pick up that bottle of pills.