The Rush of Wings (boyxboy)

The Rush Of Wings Chapter One

Chapter One

That dream, I had it every night since I woke up in a hospital bed, with a social worker telling me that my family were dead and I was now to be taken into care. I had stared at the woman numbly, as one thought had circulated my mind. Why didn't I die as well? I knew why though, because I was some freak of nature who could heal at an inhuman rate. Broken bones, no problem; punctured lung, no biggie; bleeding of the brain, child's play. The doctors couldn't explain it, and frankly I think they were too scared to even try. My mother had always called me her little angel; my father on the other hand had only even seen me as a monster.

It's not like I had super strength, could run at the speed of light, could heal people, and could move things with my mind. No, those things would be handy, would have been able to help me protect the people that I loved; no instead I walked away from a car crash that killed both my parents and my twelve year old sister. I was then thrown into foster care at sixteen because my father's family didn't want me and my mother had no family here in Australia. My father's family looked on me with as must disgust as my father, and they blamed me for the accident. I couldn't judge them for that though; I blamed myself for the accident. If I hadn't continued to piss my father off, then he wouldn't have taken his eyes off the road and he would have been able to stop in time.

So I wasn't surprised when the middle aged woman in a black pencil skirt, red top and black blouse looked down at me in pity and said that I was now property of the state, and she would be there for me to make sure that from now on everything moved smoothly in my life. That promise of hers lasted a good seven months before she gave up on me and shouldered me off to the next social worker who was willing to try. That social worker lasted a whole four months before she gave up, the one after that lasted two and a half. Apparently foster families grew tired of me quickly, of my cold attitude, my lack of manners, my bad moods, and my blatant disrespect for the law.

I was now eighteen and free of the system, living in one of the dingy, one bedroom apartment buildings that the government set up for foster kids who had nowhere else to go once they turned eighteen. It was in one of these apartments that I pulled myself out of bed, swinging my long legs over the side till they hit the cold vinyl floor and looked around a room that was sickeningly familiar, reminding me that this was indeed my life. A groan of complaint sounded from behind me, and when I turned my head to see who had made the sound, I noticed the small, curvy female body that was tangled up in my bed sheets.

I smirked, and ran my eyes over the pale flesh; taking in the slim body, messy sex head blonde hair, and the dangly flower piercing at her navel. This girl was hot, and though I don't remember sleeping with her, I know that's what I did since my bed smelt like sex and there was a used condom on the floor by my feet. Well at least in my state of high last night I was smart enough to at least use protection, the last thing I needed was some slut pregnant with my kid. I could just see it now, some proud fucked up kid walking into school and telling his or her friends that their daddies a drug dealer who got their mummy knocked up in a government home.

I chuckled at my own thoughts and stood up from my bed, stretching my long arms over my head. I glared up at the too low ceiling when my hands came in contact with the painted plaster, annoyed for the hundredth time since I moved into this place that the roof was too damn low for a guy of my height. Though at six foot five, most places were too low for someone of my height. I was a pretty tall guy, something that made no sense since neither of my parents had been tall people. Something that I think had angered my father even more, when his son slowly started to tower over the top of him, it made abusing me a little harder.

I shoved the thought of my low life father from my mind, and walked towards my small bathroom. I turned the shower on and walked under the water, cringing slightly at the 'only just warm enough water' as it ran down my back. I had to bend at the knees for my head to fit under the shower head, something that irked me quite a bit. Stupid short people shower. I grabbed my body wash and began rubbing down my tattoo covered skin. My tattoos, the piercing at the bridge of my nose and the 12 inch gauges in my ears are strangely enough the only 'wounds' that my body hasn't healed from. It's as if my body knew that these were things that I wanted and it didn't have to fix them.