15 Birthdays Past

It's 5:00 in the morning. To get up at this hour is definetely a sin to me. Trust me, I didn't plan on it. We have to get up at 7:00 at the Orphanage. Yup, I'm an orphan. I've been in the hellhole for almost 6 years. That's all I know. I don't know my birthday or my parents, even. Is it possible to hate someone and not even know them? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I hate those bastards.

I think I have long term memory loss. I don't remember anything prior to that awful cab ride to this prison. I don't usually talk to anyone. Like ever. I've learned it's better to play it safe, to walk on eggshells to make people ignore you instead of asking for trouble. I've talked to so many psychiatrists I've lost count. They think I'm a lost cause. I've learned to accept the fact that no one is going to want me. After lots of sleepless, silent nights of sobbing I've learned to accept that people would never want the darkhaired sullen-faced brat who never spoke a word to anyone over the blond, bubbly girl.

I awoke to a shaking of my shoulders. I almost screamed but a warm hand immediately covered my mouth. It was a boy of my age. His skin was noticeably tan against my pale skin. He had blue eyes that pierced me inside. My stomach did a flip.

"Happy Birthday," he murmured.