The NutCracker

Chapter 1

TW⚠️mature themes ahead! (ikr already LOL)

Buzz Buzz Buzz *snooze*

Buzz Buzz Buzz *snooze*

Buzz Bu- RIINGGG RINGGG RINNGG

"Oh my fucking god" I sigh as I search for my phone somewhere on the nightstand beside my bed. Eyes still closed because duh, I'm tryna sleep, so who in their right mind is stopping me from getting my beauty rest.

"Hello?" I answer with a bit of rasp due to my voice still groggy from sleep.

"Wake the fuck up! Your alarm has been going off for literally 30 minutes. " The line goes dead.

This bitch just hung up on me.. I sigh as I rub my eyes and look over to my alarm clock and read the time. 8:30! FUCK I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE OUT THE HOUSE AT 8!" I get a sudden burst of energy and rush into the bathroom located in my bedroom and start to quickly brush my teeth and wash my face.

Today was the start of my new job at the Pillsbury Asylum. After long schooling, I finally was able to achieve my dream of being a Psychiatrist. I know, what kind of person is willing wants to work at an asylum? Well, maybe the kind of person that watched their father abuse alcohol. The holes in the wall quickly turned into my mother's bruises. Which then turned into my mother abusing drugs. When accidentally going to kindergarten with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of vodka in my backpack I was taken by child services. I haven't seen my parents since I was 4. I don't even remember their voices, all I have is a tiny crumpled-up picture in the locket of my necklace. Can't say that I miss them though. It's hard to miss something you barely knew.

I was in the system will about 8. From foster home to foster home, never finding the place I felt like I could call mine. I was finally adopted before my 9th birthday. Overall I'm lucky to say that growing up wasn't too bad. Can't say that I was bullied. My adopted father was an ex-marine so he taught me how to fight. I never really recalled receiving anything other than notes on how to "sharpen my arm" or to "straighten my leg." My adopted mother was nice I guess. Quiet lady. cooked and cleaned for her husband. She practically lived for him. I despised her for it. Made her look weak.

By the time I was 10 I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. I didn't have many friends due to the constant moving when I was in foster care, so even after I was adopted I decided to keep it that way. I always stayed to myself, but best believe I was no pushover.

My first fight was in my freshman year of high school. I wasn't looking at where I was going and bumped into some girl, stepping on her white airforces. I tried apologizing and walking away but that's when she yanked me back from my backpack. I don't remember much after that. I just remember hearing sirens and looking down at my bloody and bruised hands.

"Jesus what the hell is wrong with you..."

"serious anger issues.."

I heard the whispers all around me. Then I was whisked away into a cop car and remember being in a holding cell for what felt like days. I tried calling my parents. No answer.

If anything I thought my father would be proud. Shit.. he taught me everything I knew..

Eventually, a social worker came, and I was back in the system.

That same social worker took me under her wing and here I am today..

I felt like god, or whoever just wanted me to be on my own. No siblings, no real parents just drill sergeants, barely any friends. I made it my goal to want to be there for people who felt like they were at the lowest point. Nobody will feel as alone, unseen, and unimportant as me.. nobody.