Page 5 of The First Cut

Melissa might’ve survived the crash, but she was still dying. And all the people who could’ve taken Millie in after she’s gone are dead. Now, I’m all that stands between Millie and foster care. And I couldn’t help but think that foster care would be the better option. She’d never have a normal life with me.

I’d terrify her. And that thought didn’t make me smile like it did when I scared other people.

Grabbing my pack of cigarettes, I leave my room and head out the back way, and around the back of the building. Stopping, I pull out a smoke and place it between my lips. I light it and inhale deeply, letting the nicotine fill my lungs.

“I thought you quit?”

I look over and see Midas sitting on one of the benches.

“I did. What are you doing out here?”

“Enjoying the peace and quiet.”

I walk over and sit beside him. I offer him a cigarette, but he shakes his head.

“Took me too long to quit. If I start up again, I’ll never stop. What’s got you lighting up again?”

“Bad day, that’s all.” I inhale, watching the tip burn brightly before blowing out a couple of smoke rings. “You grew up in foster care, right?”

Midas tenses beside me. “Yeah, why?”

“I know someone whose kid might end up in the system, and I was wondering what it was like.”

“That’s rough. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I’m sure there might be some decent foster homes out there, but I sure as shit didn’t see any of them. You know I can’t have kids, right? Well, that’s because I got sick, and the foster family I was with at the time wouldn’t take me to the hospital. I ended up getting an infection that made me sterile.”

“Jesus.”

“Could have been worse. I’ve always been pretty big, so most of them left me alone, but the smaller kids were easy targets.”

Something in his tone sounds off but before I can ask he continues.

“Broken bones and stiches were an everyday thing. We got starved as punishment and made to cook and clean all day. Butthe girls had it worse. They had to deal with our foster brothers and dads–the sick fucks. I remember one girl telling our foster mom that her husband had been sneaking into her room at night, and the bitch told her if she didn’t dress like a slut, he wouldn’t bother her.”

“The fuck?”

“Don’t worry, I fucked that asshole up so bad that he never went near her again.”

“Wish I’d been there.” I would have done more than just fuck him up. I’d have cut out his bowel and spoon fed him the contents.

“No, you really don’t,” he snaps before sighing. “Like I said, there’s some good ones out there. Just a crapshoot which one you end up with.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes. I try to imagine what it’d be like living with a teenager, one who’s basically a stranger to me. But then I think of some skeevy man putting his hands on her, trying to take something that’s only hers to give, and my blood starts to boil.

“If I were your friend, I’d be doing whatever it takes to keep that kid out of the system, especially if the kid isn’t a baby. Everyone wants to adopt a baby, but no one wants a teenager. They stay until they age out and end up in shitty jobs and, if they’re lucky, a shitty apartment too. I was lucky. I found Ravens right away, started prospecting, and never looked back. But most of my foster siblings are either dead or are damn close.”

I curse. It doesn’t matter if there are a thousand good foster homes out there—not if there’s even a chance Millie will end up in a bad one.

“You okay? You seem a little off, and that’s saying something when it comes to you.”

I flip him off. “I just have something I’m working through.”

“Does this have anything to do with you disappearing all the time and missing church?”

I look at him. “You stalking me, Midas?”

“Please, I have better things to do than follow your crazy ass around all day,” he scoffs.

“Better things to do, like Legs?”