Fatal Attraction

Home. This is not home. This is not the home I remember. This is a mad house. The home I remember was a cute, two-story house with lively plants surrounding it. There were two parents and two "lovely" children in that house, plus a dog named Sparky. But that house has been long gone, sold to a family that can put it to much better use than mine ever did.

This place that I live in now is a mad house. This is not way for a person to live. It's a building, shaped like a house but not quite a home. I am the oldest living here, and besides me, there are five others. One of them goes to the same high school as me. I don't talk to her, despite her desperate attempts to talk to me. I avoid her in the halls while she flaps her arms in a desperate attempt to get my attention. She's too naive to realize that I want nothing to do with her.

The four others are mostly in primary school, except for one who's in middle school. There are three boys and one girl, the girl being the youngest at age seven. The boys range from ages nine to thirteen, the thirteen year old joining me and the other girl in high school next year. I like him, only because he wants nothing to do with me as much as I want nothing to do with him.

In this place, I live in the attic. It's out of the way and I don't want anybody coming near me. Most people don't try to, because there are too many stairs and the stairs are in a spiral shape. The only person who makes an attempt with me is the "mother," who I really could give two shits about. She will never be a true mother, not with this many children and none of them biologically her's. I guess that's why she's called a "foster mother."

The foster father, on the other hand, lets me be. He's the only person I respect in this hell, because he understands that most of us hate it here. He understands that the teenagers want nothing to do with the parents, that we want to do our own thing. He especially understand my situation, because I have nobody. It's just me. I'm sure he has a little pity but that's not what I want from anybody. Pitying somebody is weak and if you're weak, then people pounce on you because they know you'll crack at some point.

I walked upstairs to my room and dropped my bag on the ground. I sat on the bed and kicked my converse off my feet. My feet were able to breathe once more and I let out a sigh. School was always rough and it was only Monday, the worst day of the week. Well, Monday and Thursday can both be considered the worst days. Monday starts off the week and Thursday is the day before Friday, and everybody just wants it to be Friday already so they can start a weekend of getting wasted or high. That's pretty much how it goes, in every high school I assume.

I used to be a party girl. Me and my best friend, Samantha, would always sit up in my room or her's and get shit faced. We would have contests to see who would throw up first. We would time each other to see how fast we could down a beer. So, in a sense, I was a party girl. Only in the confines of my home or her's.

But, when my brother over dosed on heroin, I decided to get cleaned. I went cold turkey on drinking, and my weekends would be spent watching Samantha drink. Or, she would respect my decision and watch cheesy movies with me. Those are the days that I missed most.

I looked over at my night stand and picked up a frame. I brushed the dust of off it, and stared at myself and Samantha. I remember where the picture was taken. It was at a lake, and we were wasted beyond belief. That was evident in our goofy grins and the glassy look in our eyes. I smiled softly and brushed my fingers over our faces. From what I remember from that day, it was awesome. That was probably the last time I saw Samantha happy.

Before she died, her parents were fighting a lot. They were in the midst of getting a divorce, but still living together. It took a toll on Samantha, leading her to drink every chance she got. She would come to school smelling of alcohol, and I would have to thrust her head under the ice water of our school's showers to get her sober. It rarely worked but it was a try.

The misconception of her death was that she was raped and murdered. Completely on true. Samantha was no virgin, she made that loud and clear, which is probably why people thought she was raped.

The truth behind her death was that she got really drunk one night and drowned in her pool. I don't know the whole story, how could I when she was dead?, but her parents had again been fighting. This time, they fought in front of her. This had only happened twice, and I had been there for those two times. Sometimes I wish I was there that night as well, but I had a family obligation.

Anyways, they had been fighting in front of her and Samantha had told them to stop, according to her parents. They ignored her pleas and she had fled to her bedroom. Next thing her parents know is that she's not in her bedroom. There were empty vodka and beer bottles on her bed. She had really gone all out. Her parents had checked everywhere for her, and they finally found her. She was at the bottom of their pool, lifeless. They helped her out and attempted to save her but it was too late. She had drowned and nobody heard her or tried to save her.

I was a mess for a few months. My parents tried to help but it was no use. When my parents died, Samantha's death was still fresh and I considered taking my own life when I heard that the last remains of my family, AKA my aunt and uncle, had taken their's. Nobody wanted me, which is how I ended up stuck here, in this foster home with five other kids. This had all happened my sophomore year of high school. I'm a junior now.

All the feelings from my loved one's deaths had been pushed down in my body. I expressed my feelings through writing and drawing, which normally took on a dark aura. Most are death related. When you've been so close to death like myself, it's all you think about. It's not a thought that goes away, ever. It lingers and whispers to you until you've had enough. You have to be able to handle it calmly or you'll never get anything done.

"MAYELLA!" I gasped at the sound of my name and almost shattered the frame, but caught it at the last second. I thanked whoever's up there and walked out of my room and down the stairs. It was my foster mother who had called me. She can be an evil woman if you don't answer her, so I know it's best if I did as told.

"Yes?" I muttered and stood in the kitchen, where she was stationed. She glanced at me and gave me a smile. She's the type of woman that you would never expect to become a foster. She's a successful business woman, with a loving husband who is also successful.

"Get the little ones ready for a snack, please. If you want anything, let me know." She went back to cooking and humming, not looking at me again. She was growing accustomed to me being a shadow and doing whatever was told of me without complaints. I nodded and went to get the children for a snack.

All the while, Tony lingered at the back of my mind and I wondered what he was doing right now.