Juveniles

Chapter 2

The first day I had come, Blaine (he was twelve and I was eleven) stepped up to me.

"You're cute." Thus was born our in-a-relationship-but-not bond. We were inseparable, and so far no one had approached either of us asking to be more than friends, so we kept to ourselves. Sure, he held my hand, and we hugged when either of us remembered or felt sad, but only because we only had each other. Blaine's parents had both died in a car crash. We were alone as you could be in a Home full of teenagers.

There were kids in the Home who had murdered a whole restaurant full of people, shot both their parents, or lit up a house with their whole family inside. And then there were the kids who had gone through such a traumatic experience that they wouldn’t talk.

You could always tell who those were. They sat in corners with arms crossed over their knees or curled in the fetal position. Soft laughter or crying resonated from their raw throats. When you talked to them (I don't recommend it) they would talk nonsense. But the scariest thing was that they looked scared. It seemed like they didn't want to say it, but something was making them. When they got up and walked around, they kept looking over their shoulder and whimpering.

We called them Psychos.

During one of those rare times when Blaine left my side, I sat down by the quietest Psycho, thinking it was a normal girl. I started talking to it. Telling it my name and where I was from. I didn't realize it had looked up to stare at me. So when I asked it a question, I turned and it's face was inches from mine. I couldn't help it. I screamed bloody murder. It had no mouth. A patch of skin grafted over it lips made it's eyes seem ten times larger.

Or it would have if the eyes hadn't been sewed close with thick black thread. It's eyelids were stretched out, almost as thin as paper. I buried my face in my hands and screamed. Shrieked like I had the night my parents died. Blaine burst out of the single doorway that led to the recreation room, his dark hair a mess for who-knows-what reason. His eyes probed the room, searching for me. The rest of the teenagers had gone silent, making my howls even louder. It seemed like forever until Blaine came over and pulled me away from the mouth-less girl. He had to pick me up and carry me to my room, still screaming and everyone's eyes locked on my fingers scrabbling against Blaine's neck.

He didn't protest. Even when I drew blood with my nails, all he did was wince and walk a little faster. Blaine kicked my door close with his foot and laid me gently on my bed with my head in his lap. My screams slowly melted into tears, flowing down my face onto Blaine's jeans. After I had cried for what seemed like an hour, I just laid there and hiccupped quietly. Blaine stayed silent. Stroking my hair and remaining tears away.

"What . . . What happened? To . . . Her?" I stuttered. He shook his head. He looked older than his fourteen years.

"Who knows?" He bent down and kissed my hair. "Get some sleep." I looked at the mini-grandfather clock that Trisha had given me for my 13th birthday. It was almost midnight. Blaine started to get up, but I dug my nails into his leg. On purpose this time.

"Don't leave." I hissed. How could he think of leaving me like this? He chuckled softly, and laid down, his arm over me.

When I woke up, he was gone.

That was the last time I cried.