Love For Blood

I woke up, just before my alarm clock blared; my mind had this strange un-natural awareness of my body and its surroundings. I stepped out of my bed, half expecting the floor to not be there. But like every other morning I have experienced in Clearwater New Jersey, the hard wood floors were bitterly cold against my bare feet. There was more then just the cold I can hear and feel the vibrations of Frankie’s, my adopted father, voice downstairs in the kitchen. I could smell the cheese Danish and coffee on his breath as he spoke into his cell phone. I could hear the voice on the other end of the phone as well, just as clearly with slight concentration. It was his boss, Carl. Personally I was never to fond of Carl, he was an older man in his 50’s; he was bitter towards Frankie because he was younger and better suited to run the company.
I’m able to sense that Nichole, my adopted mother, was still fast asleep in the downstairs mast bedroom. Frankie and Nichole are both in their mid-thirties and have been married for 5 years. It was three years ago almost to the day that they had gone to the adoption agency looking to be put on a waiting list for a new born, but they winded up with me instead. Nichole is unable to have children and always dreamed of having a daughter.
I was leaving as they walked in, rushing off to skip school yet again. I had been fourteen years old, completely broken and mad at the world. I was in such rush to escape the group home that I ran directly into Frankie, and fell to the ground. It wasn’t that Frankie was a rather large guy, but I’m small now and three years ago I wasn’t done growing. My long auburn red hair had been frazzled in every direction covering my face. I began to cry, to weep. I wasn’t in any pain from the fall, but it was just one of those moments; where for days you have needed to cry but refused to let the emotions slip away till it all bubbles over and you loose control. At that moment I lost control, the tears turned to violent weeping, the tears carried my eye lines with them down my face, my breathing had grown abstract, and I began to tremble. The shaking could have been from the amount of drugs in my system, but none the less I had let the emotions loose and there was no stopping them now. Nichole and Frankie had been horrified and immediately bent down beside me. “Are you alright darling?” Nichole’s voice had been so sweet and innocent I almost hated her for it. “I’m terribly dory...I…I didn’t see you. Here let me…” he trailed off when I through my arms around Nichole and begged and pleaded for her to hold me. She did, with all the might her moderately sized body could exert she held me tight to her chest and let me cry. When I had reigned in my emotions I felt selfish and immature, immediately I apologized for my actions, but Frankie retorted “My dear, there is nothing you have done that should be followed by an apology. Now what is the name that accompanies that sweet face of yours?” he places his index figure under my chin angling it up from the ground, so he could look at my eyes when I answered “Serena, Serena Nerazzie” it was barely a whisper but through their smiles I knew they had heard.
Frankie helped me up and made sure that I wasn’t hurt in any way. They offered to take me out for breakfast but I refused, “I’m late for school, perhaps a rain-check?” I actually planned on going to school and hoped that I would get the opportunity to see them again. Planning and hoping were two things you never did as an orphan, for they only resulted in more pain then necessary. They agreed to meet me at the dinner just down the street the next morning at ten.
I did go to school that Friday, and has I stepped in the door it reminded me why I hated it so much. Everyone knew where I lived an looked at my like I was the dust, the gum on the bottom of their shoe had collected. The drug dealers that knew me from the streets, watched with eager eyes, re-raping me in their minds, following the contours of my body with intent. It made me feel even more mirthless and discussed then I did on a regular basis. I had skipped out during lunch and went to an old abandoned church. I loved the way the subtle wind whistled threw the broken stained glass windows and rustled the dry brittle leaves that littered the floor. The light hovering in refracted off the broken colored glass forming rainbow pattered on the broken wooden pews. I had spent many nights in that church when I was in no condition to go back to the group home. I had just laid there for hours dozing off for a nap. When I woke it was around four and I was hungry, dinner at the home was served at five, so I started my mile or so walk back. It was December; cold and getting darker with each step I took. Jersey isn’t safe at night especially for the young, small girl I had been, but I managed to make in back with-out getting into trouble and in-time for a meal. I ate what I could; it had been the first food I ate in four days, cocaine as that affect on the body. You soar high for days, not eating or sleeping. But when you crash, you crash faster and harder then you can imagine. I wasn’t cable of moving my body at that point, the exhaustion and withdrawal setting in fast. One of the care takers, Will, come over and picked me up, cradling me to his chest. Will had been working there for the last three years, the longest anyone has ever stayed, and he has been looking out for me since his first day, like he was my big brother.
“Your crashing don’t even deny it! God, Say, what am I going to do with you? You’re going to wind up killing yourself by the time you turn 16! You are so much better then this. You deserve more then what you allow yourself to have. I hate seeing you suffer like this.” His face had been pure pity and disappointment, like It was every time he watched me suffer through the night, due to some sort of substance. I felt horrible looking into his eyes; they were so fragile like they were going to shatter to a million pieces at any moment. All I could to was groan in pain and clench my torso in response. He sat with me like he had many times before; brushing my hair out of my sweaty face, holding my hand through the convulsions, and when I finally fell asleep he promised to have me up at nine and left me water.
The next morning I woke to the utterly aggravating sound of care taker Kelly’s voice. I faked a small smile as best I could and reached desperately for the water that will had left. When I had drank all twenty ounces, I quickly showered and prepared for my breakfast date with Nichole and Frankie. Throwing on my jeans with the least amount of holes, my favorite black t-shirt, and the tattered converse that swept the city with me for the past two years; they had been a Christmas present from will. I felt the wade of singles crinkle as I stuffed them into my pocket.
I had arrived at the dinner ten minutes early and they were already there with a table; smiling as they meet my gaze and I couldn’t help but return the gesture. They were so kind and I was so undeserving of their presence. Yet there they were, waiting for me.
About twenty two hours before that moment they had gone into the office of the group home orphanage and asked about Serene Nerazzie. They had found out that I was left on their door step as a two day old infant, with only an index card saying my name and date of birth. They found out that I rarely went to school, like most kids that spent their entire lives growing up in such an environment. The elderly women with the red lip stick that smeared her teeth and the loosely fitted corporate attire had informed them that I kept to myself besides will, that I had a drug problem, that I was raped at the age of eleven, and that I loved to write and draw. And somehow they were still there smiling and waiting, for me. At the time I could not bring myself to fathom why someone would even want to look at me after knowing all that, never mind have a meal and conversation with me.
I walked over and gently placed my weight in the right side of the booth, Nichole and Frankie were perched together on the left side. “Hello Serena.” Frankie’s voice was easy and carefree allowing the mood to follow. “Order what ever you would like, it’s on us.” Nichole said with a smile, there was no sign of pity in her voice but boy did it show in her eyes. “No really you don’t have to…” I was cut off by Frankie “Please it’s the least I can do, after all I did knock you flat off your feet yesterday.” He was so gracious and mannered with is words that I simply could not say anything but, “Thank you both, thank you so very much.” I meant that sentence with everything particle that I was, even if it wasn’t much then.
After that breakfast we began to meet every Saturday. The three of us sat in the same booth every time and talked for hours, sometimes even spending the entire day together; going to see a movie or just walking around the city. They always tried to give me money and ask if I needed anything but I refused, their company was already more then I deserved from them. But on the first Saturday in February they did something I never expected, or had even allowed myself to wish for; they asked my permission to adopt me. They wanted me! But there were conditions, I had to stop taking drugs, and I had to go to school. It was a small price to pay for what they were offering.
We celebrated by them showing me their house in Clearwater New Jersey. It was beautiful, set on a large piece of land just outside the city. The house was new, but with an old Victorian style, everything was unbelievable. I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment when I stepped through the elegant front door for the first time. The dark hard wood floors, the rich colors used in the fabrics, and grand cathedral ceilings all complimented each other and formed this essences of life, lived to the fullest.
The tour included their bedroom, the master bedroom on the first floor, the kitchen, formal living room, formal dinning room, family room, bathroom, office, and library. Then we moved to the second floor witch was mine. It consisted of a huge room with a walk in closet, a full bathroom, and just down the short hallway was the door that led to the attic. It was the perfect space, more then I had ever dared to dream of, I had more privacy then I ever got at the home sharing a room with three other girls, most of them no older then eight or nine. The bathroom had been decorated in a rubber ducky theme which brought a smile to my face. The bright yellow colors seemed to bounce off their marine blue backgrounds. The room that was mine was black, the walls white and the floor empty. “You have complete creative freedom over your room. I will never tell you what to do with it. This is your space.” Nichole had promised, when she took me out shopping.
We drove around the moderately sized town, stopping at home depot for red and black paint and supplies, Sleepy’s for my mattress and box spring; the clerk had gotten rather frustrated when I refused to take the frame that came with the bed, Linens and Things to pick up crimson red sheets, a black comforter, black curtains, and a black dresser, desk, book shelf, and T.V stand. The final stop was Wal-mart to get toiletries such as shampoo, soap, hair products, cosmetics and so on. Through this process it was mostly Nichole who had done the shopping, I had stood there feeling guilty for her spending money on me.
When we returned home, home, that was the firs time I had though of a residence in such a loving manner. Frankie was seated on the floor in the upstairs room, with boxes surrounding him that contained, a new computer, a small T.V, Stereo, and a small box that contained a new cell phone. I strongly refused the generosity, pleading with them that they were being to kind and I did not need nor expect anything from that at all. But they were both persistent and argued that I deserved everything that I had been given and they enjoyed doing this for me, when Frankie went in for the kill saying that it would hurt and insult them if I did not except their gifts, I had no choice but to graciously accept.
I, Nichole, and Frankie all worked feverishly on my room till we were all exhausted, I spent the night, sleeping in my unfinished room. Then next day we put the finishing touches and I had a room. The walls were a deep red with a black ceiling and a black border around the top that held the lyrics to ‘Heaven Help Us’ written in calligraphy. The long satin black curtains hung over the three windows, the electronics were all set up and working. Candles littered the surfaces, letting off the aroma of pumpkin and spice. They had instructed me to go online and order clothes and whatever else I needed, I had learned not to argue with there generosity, I would only loose in the end, it became a waste of breath. Nichole drove me to school Monday morning and promised they would come to officially adopt me Tuesday morning.
Everything went as planned, when I arrived at school on Monday I settle my debts with the drugs dealers so they wouldn’t come looking for me. I took my walk back to the home slowly, looking around me, creating a memory that I had hoped I would never need to tap into. I packed the few belongs that I had and spent the rest of the night informing Will of the good news and saying my good-byes. Leaving him had been one of the hardest things I had done. He had always been so kind, even when I was at my worst.
In the morning I was legally Nichole and Frankie’s, they were great parents. Both worked nine to five jobs in the city which brought them home at six thirty most nights. Take-out was and still is Nichole’s specialty. She had attempted to cook my first few nights there; Frankie and I were both relieved when she came to her senses and called in a pizza. I had quite using drugs, cold turkey. This called for an excruciatingly painful three day crash; I had to sweat all the foreign substance out. Frankie took off from work to stay with me. by Friday I had lost fifteen pounds off my already small frame and had cried to him about the first time I was raped and why I started using in the first place and why I had never gone to school much.

When Nichole came home Frankie and I had been perched on the plushy couch in the family room, watching old horror movie in black and white, and eating popcorn. I can still remember the brilliancy that lit up her face when she saw us, when she saw that I was well and happy.
That brings us to now, three years later. I’m seventeen, still tiny, still have long straight auburn red hair that hangs over my shoulders, and I still hate school but more for the hour in which it occurs then the people that greet me there. I dragged my body to the shower and turned on the water, just as I did every morning, but the blaring noise that the water made as it pulsed through the shower head startles me. since when does the shower sound like a freakin fog horn? It was as if I was seeing and hearing everything for the first time and it was so much sharper, clearer. I felt completely out of control in my own flesh and I hated it. I wasn’t expecting to be able to see the light being refracted in the mirror to form my reflection.
As I stumble with hurry through my morning routine it got worse, almost unbearable. I thought about asking to stay home but Frankie was stressed enough this morning thanks to Carl and there was no need to apply more. Plus if I got sick I could always just skip out during lunch…old habits die hard.
As I walk out of the house only to be greeted by aggressively chilled air, even for December these temperatures are ab-normal. I darted to my Jet Black Plymouth convertible. It was old and beat up but I loved that car to death. Not to great on gas either, Frankie always pleads with me, offering to buy me a car for my eighteenth birthday. But me being the independent and overly stubborn person that I am refuse every time the topic comes up in conversation. The crimson red interior is a bone freezes temperature from the night before. I exhale sharply, making a odd sound with my lips, and watching the puffy white cloud that emanates from my breathing. Damn it, I’m late as usual; there isn’t going to be a single parking spot left by the time I get there. “Come on baby, please start…” I whisper into the dashboard as I turn the key in the ignition and to my surprise it rumbles to life underneath me. there isn’t any heat in Bella, yes I name my car, so I reached into the back and grabbed a small folded up thermal blanket to lay over my lap.
My hair seemed to set alto perfectly around my body, as I ran my short, skinny fingers over my scalp resetting it. My big round, average brown eyes darted around searching spot. I’m a senior, and should have a spot reserved but when you’re late the juniors will pull in with-out a second thought.
As I pull into a spot far from the grounds, turn Bella off, and extract the metal from the ignition; I feel this agonizing pain in my right temple. It’s enough o make me hurl over and scream in agony. I’m clenching my eyes as tightly as my body will allow, gripping the steering wheel until my fist when numb. The throbbing wasn’t stopping; it never let up for even a moment. What could cause this trauma? Another surge blasted through my cranium like a lethal electric pulse and I begged ‘God’ for mercy. I’m not by any means religious but I’m trying anything I can to make this stop. It dulled now, making it bearable to open my eyes; but it never ceased. As I extract my hand, now white and numb with strain, the steering wheel held the impression of my clenched fist! I’m gapping at how a small girl like me could possibly have that kind of affect on a metal object.
There is no way I can go to school in this condition; it happens again with the same magnitude if not worse I am liable to pass out. I pray that I can make it the ten minute drive home without having another, Episode. I’m driving slower then I ever have and obeying all traffic laws. I’m pulling into the drive way and I get this sense that another wave of destruction is about to engulf my brain. I’m rushing now, to park the car and scurry in the front door. I can feel it closing in now, like I have a bulls eye target. That feeling that someone is watching you and satisfied with your panic lingers inside me as I race up the stairs to my room. I make it in the door just as it attacks; it feels as if I’m dyeing. Like my body is shutting down, system by system, but forcing me to feel ever cell deteriorate. It felt like my lungs were burning down to nothing inside me, and the blood in my veins and heart was slowly stopping and turning to cold hard granite. I am barely able to make it to the bed before the convulsions start, much worse then I ever experienced when crashing. It feels like there is a gremlin running rapid and holding all my internal organs in his fists, vigorously thrashing them about until they fail. My vision is narrowing to a vanish point, everything growing a deep endless black with the numbing pain. And then I was gone.