Page 16 of Dirty Monsters

“Wren,” I supplied.

“Nice meeting you, Wren. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

Butterflies swarmed inside my gut, and I prayed he was right. I could get used to seeing him around. I watched as he walked away without turning around again.

Now that I’d seen him up close, I wanted to know more. There was something untouchable, something unholy about him. Sinful and filled with mystery. He gave off a lack of fucks vibe, which was exactly what I was drawn to.

“Something I can help you with, Miss Carrington?”

I rolled my eyes before turning to leave and walking briskly back to my room. I hoped to get a glimpse of him from my window. I opened the door and ran to the window, but he was no longer in view. He was only a tiny blip against the outline of the Orange House as he walked the connecting paths along the sand.

A couple of minutes later, a knock sounded on my door. “Wren, ready for a group therapy session?”

“Why the fuck not,” I mumbled to myself.

If I seemed cool and calm when I met the new girl, then I was a damn good actor. Like Oscar-level shit. Something about her seemed familiar, and not in a good way.

When I gazed into her chocolate eyes, I felt something stir in me for a minute. Warmth and then wrath. I simply couldn't explain why.

She had long brown hair that matched her eyes. She was skinny, fair-skinned, and petite with a girl next door vibe that didn’t completely match the vibe of the other ladies in the facility. She was unique—special—and even though I didn’t know her, I felt I was right on point with my first impression.

So I gave her my best half-assed smile, a polite boy-next-door nod, and moved on to Miss Fanning.

I continued on with my day at a steady pace, one patient after the next needing this and that. I kept busy, and for the most part, the day ran smoothly.

The problem was, when night fell, and I was alone in my room, the patient I met in reception came back to the forefront of my brain. Why did she give me a weird feeling?

What did she say her name was again?

I was so rattled when she said hi that I switched to autopilot and made it my mission to get out of there quickly.

I lay back on my bed and threw an arm over my eyes. It was at night, when I was alone, that things got tumultuous. Even being a million miles away didn't seem to ebb the anxiety I had of being who I was.

A nobody.

A foster kid.

A troublemaker.

I was trying my damnedest to be a decent human and separate myself from the harsh past I left behind. Yet this past week, and even more so today, I felt my old nerves tingling and veins ready to burst. The darkness was trying to escape, and I was kicking that door shut with the last ounce of self-control I had.

I had never been an addict to any substance, but from what I saw here continually, I knew I was close to having the same symptoms. Irritability, angry outbursts, emotional withdrawal, restlessness, and occasional insomnia.

Usually, I tamped it down with the beach and surfing, but even that wasn't working. Bouncing off the bed, I bent on my floor and started doing push-ups, hoping it would at least helped me sleep.

“Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven…” I counted as I kept track. When I reached one hundred, I turned off the light and slid back into my bed.

“Get off her!” I yelled, frantically scanning my surroundings.

“Come get a piece!” my brother yelled back at me.

I shook my head and stayed still. A part of me was worried about my sister. The other part of me was worried my brother would get in trouble. I was too young to make the decision to stop him or call for help. Plus, I knew whatever happened to him happened to me as well. We were a package, and if I wanted to stay where I was, I had to make sure he didn’t get in trouble.

I guess I was standing as the lookout, which made me just as guilty. I hoped and prayed he gave up and came back to our room.

My brother didn’t understand we were nobodies. He thought he was somebody because of who our parents were, but he let anger fuel his decisions. I was tamer and calmer and apparently too much of a chickenshit to do anything to stop him.

I heard my sister scream, and I closed my eyes, crouching down the wall outside her room, fighting tears. If my brother saw me shed them, he would disown me, and so far in this life, he was all I had. Once our sister came along, we were no longer treated like we belonged, just unfortunate burdens. It was what drove him to be so ugly to her.