The Runaway Sister

one | not so forgotten

It's been eight years.

Eight years since I've laid eyes on the men I have been desperately trying to forget. The people who do not value human life. The men who stay awake late into the night, listening to their victims scream.

I am haunted by those men. My brothers, the people I share my parent's blood with. The people I shared a house with for seven years until I was graciously removed from their rough grasp.

I have become a different person. My name is different. My hair is not bobbed and blonde, rather it is brunette and long. I am not homeschooled, I attend a state school near the children's home.

Their little Evelyn is no longer small nor innocent.

Why do they want me back? Uncle told me they were planning on getting rid of me. My uncle saved me just in time.

Perhaps I am needed for something. It might be a marriage for an alliance. Do Mafias still do that? My brothers probably do. They just want me back to marry me off in a few years.

"Eve," Mrs. White snaps her fingers in front of my face to make my attention return to her, "Have you been paying attention to me?" I shook my head, a slight blush of embarrassment creeping onto my cheeks.

"No... Sorry. What did you say, ma'am?"

"Have you cleaned your room? Packed your things? Said your goodbyes to the other children?"

I leave for Vermont in three hours. My social worker, a bitter woman, will come to drop me off at the airport near London. I'm expected to leave my whole life behind to live with sociopaths.

Exciting, eh?

"No, not yet. I'll go now," I mumble. Mrs. White sighs, rubbing her hand on her forehead in annoyance. She stomps away when another child begins to cry in the kitchen.

I turn on my heel and sprint up the stairs two at a time. Once I reach the top of the stairs, Vicky comes up to me. She's a few months older than me, and comes and goes. She, like most, prefers this children's home south of Bristol instead of unpredictable foster families.

"Hello there, Eve! Mrs. White says you're leaving for the States?" She asks, her eyes sparkling in amazement.

At night, Vicky, who shares a room with me and another girl, Jane, talks about her desire to be an actor in California—Hollywood. Jane and I usually encourage her silly fantasies, but I doubt she'll get there. Vicky can't memorize lines and she is never casted lead roles in school plays.

"Yes. My brothers live near New York. It's rather sudden for them to take interest in me, actually." I have always figured they forgot about me. Since I have a new passport and all, wouldn't they want to use their money elsewhere? Why waste it on finding their good-for-nothing sister?

It must have taken a good deal of effort to find me hidden in some lonesome English village. Uncle gave me a new name—Eve Windsor—and gave me a British passport so I look like I was born in a London hospital.

My made-up past before getting adopted is fuzzy in the system. Supposedly, I was left by my family at a hospital and they've never been seen since. It's convenient that the officials bought the story easily.

My case was simple to close once my brothers found me two months ago. My eldest brother, the cruel, infamous Alexander Rhodes, signed the custody papers in less than a month and there wasn't even a court hearing.

Alexander told the British government that I was taken by our clinically mad relative and left at a hospital. Of course, that doesn't explain why I was so eager to leave them behind at age seven—an age where I was perfectly aware of my surroundings.

"Oh, you're so lucky! I wish I have relatives who live in America!" Vicky whines, her lips still turned into a smile.

I smile politely. "I'd gladly give you mine."

Vicky's brows crease. "Oh? But why? Aren't you excited?"

I laugh softly and nod, "Of course. I'm just teasing, Vicky." Vicky bobs her head, bidding me quaint farewell and heading downstairs for lunch. I had no one else to say 'goodbye' to.

Jane left three days ago to live with her fourth foster family. She's a year younger than me, but at that age I had been with eight families in two years. Who wants to deal with a traumatized teenager?

I walk into the third bedroom on the second floor. It's small and narrow, but holds two bunk beds and a dresser. I sleep on the bottom bed.

I have little personal items, just a locket with the image of my adoptive mother. My minimalistic bunk is nothing like Vicky's, who has posters of celebrities and plush toys everywhere.

My backpack holds all of my possessions—some shirts, pants, skirts. My school uniform is being left behind, seeing as another foster child who comes to this home might use it.

I collapse onto the bed, the soft blanket warming up my cold face. I sigh, wrapping my hands over my bony arms. None of the care workers call me down to eat, they know it's hopeless.

I rarely eat with the others. When I am stressed, I can't seem to stomach anything. At first, they tried to coax me to the table. Sometimes I went along, other times I just stared at the ceiling until the woman left.

Tears slide down my face and land on the mattress. Why couldn't they just leave me alone? I'm happy here. I get high marks at school, I have a solid group of friends, and I'm on the right track to go to university on a full scholarship. I have finally settled. I am living.

Now my life will be jumbled up again.

Someone subtly knocks on the door, but then it opens a few seconds after. One of the new care workers, she lets us call her Sarah seeing as she's only in her early 20s, steps inside.

"Hi there, Eve. How about some food? You won't be able to eat until you arrive at your brothers' home."

"That's fine, Sarah. I'm not hungry."

Sarah frowns. She moves closer, stopping closer to me. She stops at the end of the bed, placing a hand on the bunk's railing. "I thought you might say that," She moves her hand from behind her back and holds out a bag of crisps to me. "I snuck it past Mrs. White."

I smile, sit up, and take it from her. I move my legs, clearing a spot for Sarah to sit. "Thanks," I say, opening the bag and taking a small crisp from the plastic container. I swallow it, but immediately feel the need to throw it back up. I set the crisps back down. Sarah sighs.

"Why are you so fatigued today, Eve? Why are you not excited to go live with your brothers?" She smiles softly.

I shrug. "Oh, you know. It's odd that they found me."

"But that's wonderful! You're going to have a happy family. That's what all children want."

I glare at Sarah. "You know nothing about me! You know nothing about the people who I share blood with!"

Sarah seems taken aback by my outburst. She knows me as a quiet, solemn, skinny girl. I never talk back. I never outwardly disagree. I keep my tone controlled and I remain calm in all situations. I blend in. 

"Oh" is all she said. Sarah left, leaving me alone with a filled bag of crisps. I stare at them, but then throw them to the floor in frustration. I let out a huff, rapid tears falling onto my clothes.

The doorbell rings.

Time to go.