Crescent Wolves - G. Bailey Page 0,3

almost slip on the rainwater staining the floor, and I feel the air behind me move as another one of my foster father’s uncoordinated swings narrowly misses me. My heartbeat is so loud it’s all I can think of, all I can worry about. Scrambling to keep my balance, I throw the door open and bolt through, barely remembering to lock it behind me before Mark arrives, his slurred yelling muffled as he pounds on the door.

Racing down the stairs, I begin to frantically gather up my things. There isn’t much to collect—a half a dozen articles of clothing, a couple of books, my cell phone—and before I know what I’m doing, I’m dumping out the contents of my school backpack, papers and pencils showering onto the carpet. I cram the backpack full of my stuff and look around. My mind is already made up; I’m not staying here a minute longer. It doesn’t matter where I go, as long as it’s away from here. Because if Mark can cross that line once, then he sure as hell can do it again, and I might not be so quick next time.

Being hurt at this place isn’t worth the roof over my head.

Shouldering my backpack, I turn to the other set of stairs, the ones leading out to the garage, and head for the door. I feel a pang of regret that I won’t get to say goodbye to Tonya--she was always nice to me—but there’s no looking back now. After taking one last look around the basement to make sure I’m not forgetting anything, I shove the door open and leave the house through the garage. I am half-expecting Mark to be waiting for me, but he seems to have given up and stumbled back to his booze. Thank god for small favors, I think.

It’s not until I’m outside again that I realize it’s still pouring. At least I didn’t forget my umbrella this time; the last thing I need right now is all of my clothes getting soaked from the rain. Not sure where I’m heading, I pick a direction and make my way down the street, feeling cold again as the downpour continues.

I start to calm down as I walk, my heart rate slowly returning to normal, and it occurs to me that I don’t have a plan, or anywhere to go. The child services offices won’t be open until tomorrow morning, and they might not even care that I ran away. I’m eighteen now; it’s not like I’m their responsibility anymore. I take stock of my few school friends, who are really more like acquaintances, and it’s immediately clear that my options are limited as far as places to stay.

At the very least, you can find somewhere to wait until this storm passes, I tell myself, and keep moving. The clouds still seem thick overhead, and that doesn’t seem like it’s going to be anytime soon. Still, all I need right now is a place to rest and figure out what to do next.

As I walk, I think back to that feeling I had when Mark took a swing at me. There was the fear, yes, and the realization that I needed to leave, but there was also something else--something I couldn’t put my finger on. Have I ever felt something like that before? It was almost like there was something inside me, trying to get out. Maybe it was just the adrenaline, I reason. But I’ve felt adrenaline before, and this wasn’t it. I can’t fight the feeling that it has something to do with the growing sense of unease and foreignness I’ve been feeling increasingly lately. It hasn’t just been the new foster family, or the fact that I’m an adult now. There’s something more to it, but I can’t figure out what.

I lose myself in thought for a while, the events of the past hour feeling more and more absurd as I walk. The rain continues, and before I know it, I’ve left Mark and Tonya’s neighborhood and am entering an industrial area of the city. It only takes one look around to tell me this isn’t the place for a girl, especially a girl alone. I can feel the passerby giving me strange looks as I continue down the street, wondering all the while if I should turn around.

Yeah, I ask myself bitterly, and go where? It’s not like I can return to the house, and at this point I have no idea