Destructive (On Hold)

One Day

"Are you listening?"

A crackly series of jolts from the other end of the line indicated that yes, she was. "I don't think you should do this."

"So can you help me?"

She sighed. Never a good sign when someone sighs at you. "No, I can't help you... Just wait for a better opportunity to come along. Look, it's late, stop being an idiot and go home."

"I can't go home!" I hissed, through gritted yet shaking teeth. I was trembling from the cold, huddled into the corner of the phone box clutching the phone with my right hand. The rain was hitting the glass hard and viciously, trying to break in. "Please. You're my friend. You have to understand."

"Frankly, I don't understand at all. So what if your home life sucks? So does everyone else's. We all just deal with it," she replied matter-of-factly.

I couldn't even comprehend how mean that sounded, even if she didn't intend it to be. "You don't know what it's like, Ari! Okay, fine, you don't have to waste your time on me. Maybe I was asking too much. I'll just hold my own," I spat, and slammed the phone back into the reciever, before slumping against the window in defeat. As I slowly slid down onto the cold concrete, I contemplated my options.

I know I sound like a brat. If I were on the outside looking in, I would think I'm a brat. But this is entirely out of context, I swear. Before anyone judges me too harshly, allow me to introduce myself.

I'm Ruby. I don't have parents anymore. I like saying that better than "I'm an orphan," which is just a very depressing word, and sounds a bit like the word "aphid," which are undesirable bugs to have in your garden and are considered plant lice. I know, poor little old me in an orphanage and nobody loves me, your average cliche story. It isn't like that. Actually, now that I think about it, it kind of is, but with some variables.

Our "aunt and uncle" were okay for a while, before they let their true personalities show. The other kids and I - there's about 24 of us - live on limited rations of food and heat. We do all of the chores. Well, I wouldn't call it chores. It's not your mediocre daily dishes routine. It's almost exploitation, child labour. We do all of their work, raking leaves, dusting, polishing, clipping trees and bushes, and then we're hired out to other families around the neighborhood to do their work. And do we gain any profit? No. The money goes directly to our beloved Aunt and Uncle, whose names I can't bear to say. Us kids never earn a dime. Ever. But that isn't the biggest problem. Not for me, anyway.

The rest of the kids really hate me. As far as I know, I didn't do anything to deserve it. People just love to hate, I guess. I am Rainwood Foster Home's personal emotional punching bag. I'm not sure what quite started it. Maybe when I got in the way of resident cool-girl Alice's way on the staircase in the first few days of my re-accommodation and this somehow progressed into a full-blown catfight. Alice grew up and left, but my tarnished reputation only rusted further. Kids just got used to blaming stuff on me all the time. And I got used to taking the blame. 

Hot tears welled beneath my eyelids and I fiercely wiped them away. It's no time to be feeling sorry for myself. I've got to think. But as hard as I try, these morbid and unfortunately truthful thoughts keep worming themselves inside my brain. I've got nobody in the world, even though I thought I had Ariana, my friend at school. It's obvious she doesn't care as much as I thought she did. Another delightful surprise.

"Ruby! What the heck are you doing out here?!" Uh oh. I recognize that voice. A flashlight wavered over the glass of the booth. I shakily got to my feet, using the condensation soaked window to support me as I stumbled out of the phone booth. Aunt furiously waved her torch at me, about to go on a rant. "Why on Earth are you out here at this hour? Making me, a little old woman, walk around town at this time of night with all the hoodlums, looking for you. I work very hard, you know, but you just don't appreciate it. Have to make life harder for me and yourself. I swear you're Satan's spawn, you are. No priest could save you, not even the Pope himself." She huffed as she prodded me along with the tip of her umbrella. "Well, at least we've got a use for you. No need to fret, every child in my care will be beneficial to society in one way or another," she promised, raising her eyes up to the sky and curling her upper lip. So if you didn't get the hint she's a bit religious. "For Pete's sake, get out of the rain!" she shrieked.