Lost

Chapter 1

Let's start at the beginning. You know, before I met the gang and before I fell completely in love with a boy.
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" Bethany I have had it up to here with your juvenile delinquency!" Ms carol my foster mother yelled raising her hand over her head in exasperation. "I can't take it anymore! Every time you leave this house I'm terrified of when you come back here, if you come back at all!"
I crossed my arms and spread my legs out under the table.
"I've only been here 3 weeks." I said with a shrug and a tool of my eyes.

"Exactly!" Ms carol screached in my ear slamming her palms down on the table with so much force it rattled.
When I didn't flinch or give any response she straightened with a look of remorse. "Pack your things you'll be leaving in the morning." She said quietly and started to dial something on her new expensive phone.
I rolled my eyes once more getting up from my seat and walking across the hall to the small room that I had been occupying for the last three weeks. I pulled out my suit case and since I hadn't really unpacked I only needed to put the rest of my things in. I never had much  of anything. Afew outfits. A picture or two. Some jewelry, cheap makeup two books, a .45 caliber, a jack knife, a little safe with some backup money and Pablo my stuffed shark.if is owned anything else It had been long forgotten and lost at old foster homes. I plugged my cheap old iPod in to charge and lay down staring at the blank ceiling.
I'd bed by now your wondering what happened to my parents and family right?
Well if you must know i had a little brother who had just turned three, my mom had been 24 and my dad was 26. My mother was 16 and my father was 18 when they had me. I was 5 years older then my little brother Caleb. He'd be 12 right now. We were driving home from a little 'road trip' to the mall when police cars came swerving around the corner chasing some bad guys. They had just passed us when one of the bad guys pulled out a gun and shot out the window aiming for the police. Unfortunately he had bad aim and shot through my dads windshield shooting him straight in the head. I remember the blood splashing the window, my mother and calebs cries as the car lost control with no driver and flipped over. I remember being completely silent as the feeling of no gravity hit me. Then I remember hitting the ground like we'd rammed into a wall and being pulled from the car. I'd expected it to be my mother or a police officer. Only it wasn't; it was a man in his mid thirties with blood all over his chest. He stole me away from the car and shoved me into his telling me to be quite. Years later I'd still been held in captivity by the man who's name is never figured out, getting beaten, starved, and finally I had escaped. I was 11 by then and had no idea what to do. So I lived off the streets with the kids who had no family and came from a rough past too. Nobody knew my past but nobody asked. I liked it like that. But it all had to come to an end when I'd turned 13 and made a mistake which caused me my freedom and now here I am in another foster home. My real name is Annabeth Skylar. But to the entire world Annabeth Skylar has been dead for nine years. And so now my name is Bethany Scratch. Over the two years I spent living on the streets I learned a lot. And that includes creating a fake person. Such as Bethany scratch. Annabeth Skylar no longer exists.

I sighed getting up from the cold springy bed and pulled on my old combat boots and a worn out leather jacket that smelled of cigarettes and alcohol and then I left out the front door with ms. Carol yelling after me. I hopped over afew fences and then made my way to the busy town where I found a guy in a dark alley just waiting for his next customer. I slid him a twenty  I swiped from ms. Carols wallet not saying anything and he handed me his newest drug. I had no clue what it was and I doubt he did either, but drugs are drugs am I right? I put the bottle of tablets into my jacket pocket and then made my way to jacks. He's a friend of mine. Although I'm only 17 I can pass for older if I wanted to but jack knows how old I am. Yet he still does my tattoos without question. I had 87 so far all over my body. Even had one of a small pocket watch under my left eye. This time I'd be getting two new ones straight down both middle fingers saying 'fuck you'.
When I was down I payed him with more of carols money and we went into the back room smoked some weed and sometime around 4 I had made my way back home drunk as a sailor.