Memory Burns

Trish's house catches on fire, causing both of her parents' deaths. Only she knows that she was the cause of that fire. She goes to live in an orphanage in the hopes of being adopted, but something weighs on her mind. Somebody who had threatened her had intentionally killed her parents, and now they want to kill her. She goes from foster home to foster home, trying to adjust to the life she now has and let go of the ones she lost.

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11. Chapter 11- How Things Changed

I drop my suitcase off by bed and look around. I am shocked to see a chandelier hanging high above me. The curtains veiling 5 foot high windows are beige and shimmery, reflecting off of the light that shines dully from a large lamp in the corner. Gold flowered wallpaper finishes off the look with a dark wood floors and a fluffy beige carpet at the foot of a king bed. A tall mirror sits in the corner, broad and giant.
I walk over to it and stare at myself. I am not the girl I used to be; I look hollow; I look empty. I suck in my stomach and press my hand to it. My stomach now matches my heart. I let my breath out and keep my hand pressed there. I can feel my ribs. My blonde hair grown out past my hips, in a way that my mother would never have approved of.
My mother doesn't understand, though, that sometime, you don't have a choice how you live. You don't have a choice how you look. You don't have a choice of what family you were born into. I sigh to myself and look away in disgust.
My mother always told me I was special, I was unique because I have brown eyes intead of blue with blonde hair. And she filled me up with that lie, and I felt special. But now I know that looks won't change the situation you are in.
I shake my head, smiling. I am being a pessimist, trying to make other feel bad for me. My mother would scorn me.
"We have breakfast ready if you want it!" Mrs. Long's shrill voice echoes off the tall walls.
"Alright," I yell tentatively.
I reluctantly step down the stairs, feeling awkward seeing her after her little tantrum.
I also don't want to face Mr. Long, who was full of calm fury that made me shiver in fear. I feel that they don't really care about me, but about something else.
I step down the last step, panting, and lean against the sparkling granite counter top.
"Here you go..." a weak voice barely travels to me, and I look up in surprise.
"Who are you?" I say, surprised to see a chubby woman wearing all white and a chef's hat. She wears gloves and her greasy brown hair is pulled up into a tight bun.
"I'm this house's chef... now eat up..." she smiles weakly at me, exposing missing teeth and black teeth. She holds up a cigarette.
"Those aren't allowed!" I almost yell.
"They never notice. They are almost never here," her wimpy voice scares me now. I stare at the cigarette and my hands shake.
"Here you go!" she lights the cigarette and I hop back, but she tosses it towards me carelessly, and I catch it in midair, burning my fingers.
"Hey, honey-" Mrs. Long, who just walked in the room freezes in mid-sentence. I see her warm eyes narrow and her mouth pull into a frown of distaste.
"Get that damn thing out of your hand into the trashcan." her voice is sharp, almost stinging me.
I feel sharp fingernails pressing into my shoulder, and I grimace in pain.
"Turn around, young lady," Mrs. Long's voice sounds unfamiliar.
"I heard you started a fire in your own house from this, too!" her voice is high pitched.
"Excuse me, miss-" I hear the chef's small voice call out to her, but Mrs. Long's growling drowns out her quiet voice.
"Do you have something to say to me?" I look into her eyes and bite my lip.
I have 2 options. I can either tell her the truth and get her chef introuble or I can lie to her and get myself in trouble.
But I sigh. I can't make somebody lose their job, eving if they do deserve it.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly, barely audible.
"You think sorry's gonna cover it, honey?" Her voice is shrill and her cheeks are full of an angry blush.
I feel the stinging before I see her hand move, and I grab my face in pain. I feel another starburst of pain on my side, and then another on my shoulder. I cry out, struggling away from Mrs. Long.
I feel a heeled shoe press into my back and I stumble forward onto my stomach. I feel the boot press into my back, and it stomp again and again. I begin to feel the world go dim, and I roll over onto my stomach, staring at Mrs. Long.
"My new life..." my voice trails off and I clutch onto the light that stays in my eyes.
But finally, I release the trouble, and I feel my eyes close slowly. The numbness washes over me.

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