Concrete Angel

To every story, there is a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning decides the middle, the middle decides the end. MY beginning was started from a broken home, and bouncing from foster family to foster family. Not all families were as nice as my adopted family is..
Let's see, there was the Millers, who were in it for the money, and were so strung out on whatever they could get their hands on, 8 year old me ran away in broad daylight, only to be picked up curled on a bench at a bus stop 4 days later by the police. The Millers hadn't even reported me missing.
The Meyers were okay, but the older sons were mean to me and called me fat and ugly all the time. I was only 8, and those names hurt and stuck with me all throughout my life. I stayed in the home until i was 10. The oldest son tried making me do things I didn't understand the meaning of, and when the social worker came, I told her, and was removed immediately. The son had tried sexually molesting me.
The Winchesters were the elderly couple I lived with the last two years before being adopted. They were by far the closest thing I had to family. They were kind, and understanding. They babied and coddled me. They loved me. Mr. Winchester had a heart attack on my 11th birthday.. I had to leave. Mrs. Winchester couldn't care for us both.
Now I live with Julia and Jeremy. The Winchester children. They are okay, not parent material..I've lived with them for 5 years now. Julia works as a lawyer, and Jeremy designs porcelain dolls. Not MY idea of fun, but they love their jobs.
My beginning had a huge impact on the middle of my story. Mr. Winchester once said, "A person's story defines who they are."
Well, shit then, I'm fucked, aren't I?