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 where I am. I could end up wandering in circles for the rest of the night. I can see that the sun is dipping low on the horizon. Soon it will be nighttime, and the last thing I want to be doing when the sun sets is walking around this part of the city. Eyeing the buildings as I go, feeling increasingly self-conscious under the scrutiny of the strangers around me. Eventually a dilapidated warehouse around the corner from a run-down apartment complex catches my eye. On the door is a sign reading, “CAUTION - CONDEMNED”, but the padlock keeping it shut has been broken. I’m probably not the first squatter to turn up here. All I can do is hope it’s empty as I try the door. It groans open stiffly and a flurry of rust flakes showers down on me.
It seems like some kind of abandoned storage facility, with debris and evidence of more vagabonds scattered around the floor. There’s no electricity, so I use my phone flashlight to look around as I make my way to the back corner. It occurs to me that if the place is condemned, the roof might fall on me at any minute… but I’m past thinking about that now. Hell, maybe that would even be a blessing, I think dryly. When I reach the corner, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the dirty, boarded-up window on the far wall. Blonde hair--wet, dirty, and tangled. Dark eyes--so dark they could almost be black. I look like I’ve aged ten years in the past few hours. If this is what one evening on the streets does to me, how am I supposed to survive after tonight?
Whatever, I tell myself. We’ll worry about that later. For now, just try to get some sleep.
There’s a flat piece of cardboard on the floor in the back of the room, and I decide it will do as a makeshift bed. Using my backpack as a pillow, I curl up on the hard concrete and listen to the rain fall outside. As I do, I find myself thinking about my parents once again, but I’m not sure why they keep coming to my mind tonight. Why did they leave me in the hospital all those years ago? What made them leave me to a life of bouncing from foster home to foster home, listening to drunk old men yell and having to run away to get away from it all? And what’s going to happen to me now?
At some point the sound of the rain lulls me into an uneasy sleep, and for a few blissful hours, I forget all about where I am or how I got here. Eventually, though, the sound of voices breaks the fitful sleep, and I begin to drift awake. For a moment I’m disoriented, missing the pullout couch, but then everything comes flooding back to me and I jerk awake.
There are two men standing over me.
Scrambling to get back into a sitting position, I stare up at them in shock. They’re dressed in baggy clothes, their shoes ragged, and in a heartbeat I realize why this place was empty.
“What do we have here?” the first one asks, staring down at me with bloodshot eyes.
My mind is racing—I should have locked the door, or barred it, or... something. Shit. Another mistake in a long string of mistakes. “I-I’m sorry,” I stammer, still trying to get a handle on the situation. “I didn’t realize this place was occupied.”
“Damn right, it’s occupied,” replies the second man, peering down at me. “What the hell is a little girl like you doing here?”
“I…” I fumble for a response. “I just needed somewhere to get out of the rain.” Still disoriented and foggy from sleep, I sit up straighter. “I’m sorry. I’ll
