I relax in the dusty, old, red chair tucked away in the corner of the orphanage. I have my purple journal and a pen. I want to write, but I have no idea what to write about because my mind is empty right now. Gazing down at my wrist and playing with the charm bracelet she gave me before she died, an idea hits me. I should write about him. When I start to think of him, all the memories come swirling into my brain and I feel a rush of emotions. I remember the scars on my back and on my arms. I think about the countless amount of night when Madison and I had to hide in the closet, afraid to be found. I think back to my mom’s funeral, looking at her grave, praying for her to come back. Then, I write so fast that my hand cramps up.
When I’m done writing, I tear out the page of my note book like I’m ripping off a band aid of a wound that’s fully healed. I walk over to the scorching hot fireplace and stare into the flames. I throw the piece of paper into the fire and watch the smoke start to rise. Finally, I feel a heavy weight on my shoulders lift up with the smoke and suddenly, I’m free. I concentrate on the flames for a few more minutes when I hear the old door creak open.
“Hi Amanda,” someone said in a cold rough voice. I turn around and notice a tall guy with sandy blonde hair fidgeting with his jacket zipper. As soon as I turned around I knew it was him and my heart dropped into my stomach, but my mind grew strong.