I woke up with a startled gasp as my hands shot out in front of me, colliding with the face of my foster brother who had shook me awake.
“Jake, what the hell are you doing!” I almost screamed.
He dropped onto the bed and burst out laughing rolling around like an excited puppy dog.
“You should have seen your face!” he cackled with a stupid grin on his face.
‘Yeah you won’t be laughing when I’m done with you…’ I thought. Frustrated I pointed at the door and glared at him. He got the message and left with the small click of the door shutting.
I sighed, thinking of the many ways to kill him silently while I pulled off the covers and proceeded to get changed into some casual clothes. ‘I could pulverise him with a taser…. But where would I find one? Meh too lazy….I’ll just stick some rats in his school lunch box…’
“What’re you thinking about?” Came a voice from the door.
I yelped in surprised and lunged under the bed covers hiding myself from my foster mother.
“Don’t judge me” I muttered from under the covers “No one plans a murder out loud” I added.
Mum chuckled and informed me that breakfast was ready, “And don’t be late” She warned, “You know what your father is like” and with that she left the room.
“He is not my father” I said quietly crawling back off the bed and continuing dressing.
I threw on an over-sized jumper that said ‘Stay weird’ upside down and a pair of dark jeans that were also a size too big. I slipped a small knife into my sock and pulled my favourite pair of black boots on quickly grabbing my school bag, phone and iPod leaving the bedroom and rushing down the stairs into the kitchen. I arrived to the smell of French toast and maple syrup, my mouth watered and I sighed in pleasure of the delicious smell. When I entered I saw my foster mom, brother and sister eating at the dining table, thankfully Mr Simmons wasn’t there. I sat down next to my mom and quickly shoved a bite size piece into my mouth as I devoured the meal mercilessly.
Footsteps coming down the stairs interrupted my moment of enjoyment.
“Damn…” I muttered under my breath. Thankfully no one heard me and the room fell into an unsettling silence as that man entered. He wore a professional business suit with an untied dark blue tie, too simple for him to even bother doing up himself. Of course he ordered my mom to tie it up as he grabbed his brief case and walked to the front door, not even saying a simple ‘good morning’ to his children. Rude was all I thought but I dare not say it out loud or I would be walking to school with another bruise.
When he slipped out the door I let out a sigh of relief and my posture slacked.
“You’re afraid of him aren’t you?” my foster sister muttered in a teasing tone. I didn’t answer, not like the little brat deserved one anyway.
She was scared of him too, I could see the way she froze when he entered the room, she was just finding an excuse to look tough. Though I couldn’t blame her for being scared of him, it was a shared feeling in this family and I adopted it the moment I met the man.
I remember the first time I met Mr Simmons, it was at the local airport when I was being picked up. I had just walked off the plane and was looking around for the people who matched the description I had been given from my temporary carer.
‘They’ll look like an odd couple, the man should be dressed in a suit and the lady should be dressed in something casual like a skirt and top. You should be able to see them as they stand out quite a bit’
She was right, they both stood out like an elephant in a mall. Ms Simmons stood upon a seat with a red sign saying ‘Katra Chandler’ in big black letters and bright red clothes as Mr Simmons stood next to her in a red suit and black tie. The look on Mr Simmons face was sending a message of ‘I really DON’T want to be here’ and ‘why are we doing this?’
It seemed that the moment I stepped into his line of sight, his soul was filled with disgust at not only me and what I was wearing but the fact that he was breathing the same air as me at that very moment. In a way he looked as if he wanted to die on that very spot as he said “and you are Katra I’m guessing?”
“Damn right I am” I muttered. I regretted that the moment his face turned red and his eyes narrowed down at me. I had gulped and mumbled an apology as I avoided his angry gaze.
Back then when I wasn’t in this stupid house, I lived with my real parents until they were murdered. I was actually happy at that time; it was as if no one could ruin the peace in my family. But of course those were the mere fantasies of a child who didn’t know right from wrong.
I sighed in sadness, it had been more than 15 years since my parent’s death and still I had yet to move on. The wounds were still too fresh and the scar on my hip was a constant reminder of how I was torn in two the moment my mother and father’s bodies became motionless. I had constant flashes of memories that led to becoming mute for a few weeks every year. Doctors said I was in danger of losing my voice and forgetting how to speak as the weeks I became silent crept closer and closer together.
“Katra!” my thoughts were interrupted by Mrs Simmons call. I looked up to her as she stood next my figure as I pushed my empty plate away from me. I looked at her through the corner of my eye as she spoke to me with stress in her eyes.
“Did you even listen to a word I just said?” I shook my head, not bothering to apologize. She sighed as I pushed my chair out, the legs making an annoying screech on the polished floor.
“I said I hope you’re not planning to skip class again. I don’t want you to get expelled for a third time, nor would your father appreciate it if you got suspended for the fifth time this term” I snorted the moment she said ‘your father’. She wasn’t taken aback; in fact she was expecting the behaviour I usually had towards those two damn words.
“As the many times I have said before, that man is NOT my father” I spat, not directly at her but towards no one in general. She didn’t bother to hide her offense and slightly narrowed her eyes at me.
“You know he was the one who adopted you, if it weren’t for him you would still be in that god forsaken orphanage. How can you be so against him when he’s done so much for you? He’s sent you to a great school, fed you, clothed you, supplied you with entertainment and yet all you do is talk bad about him behind his back!” she scolded me. Generally I would take this with a shrug and simple roll of the eyes but this time my fuse blew short.
“If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t live in fear of angering a man who calls himself my dad when my real parents are dead! If it weren’t for him, by now I would be happily living by myself! I have no reason to call that man a part of my family and he has no right to think he can replace someone who still is my dad!” I screeched. The look of horror on her face showed me that my point had gotten across. My head snapped to the side as I looked for my school bag, hurriedly chucking it over my shoulder and filling out the door. My feet slapped against the concrete, walking down the path way and out the front gate of the house. I made my way past the neighbour’s house and started the half hour walk to the private high school; St Rose’s Academy.
St Rose was a very unique school, specifically for kids with rich families. I can say that I never ever fit in much; I mean realistically I never really fit in anywhere. The differences between me and the other students were huge. They wore formal uniforms; I wore what I wanted, most girls wore a ton of makeup; none of that crap would get within a metre of my face, most had the perfect attitude and went to every class; I skipped all of my classes and never conversed with others. I hated them, they disliked me in general. However there is one thing I know about them that I love.
They were perfect…
I was real