Dynasty (Boys of Winter 1)

I can’t help the way my face pulls up into a disgusted sneer. “Ugh,” I groan, watching the show before me. “You’re one to be preaching about respect? Tell me, when was the last time you got off your drunk ass and went to work? Ever heard of helping your wife with the bills? No wonder the cow stays out all night gambling every cent she makes.”

Kurt’s hand flies out, and I pull back, watching almost in slow motion as the momentum from his swing has him spinning around and losing his balance. His head slams into the wall, and he crumbles to the ground, his face sliding down the wall and making his top lip catch against the drywall, pulling up as he falls.

He grumbles in pain on the ground, and I watch in horror. No matter what happens in my life, I know I have to do better than this.

I step over his fallen body and make my way to my room, making sure to close the door behind me and lock it, despite Kurt already being well and truly knocked out.

It’s only two months; I can do it. I’ll keep myself distracted with Ember and Knox. They seem like cool people, and I’m sure once I get to know Ember, I’ll even take a chance on her, maybe spend time with her after school, but until I can trust them, I’m stuck on my own. In the meantime, I have four boys who I’m sure will hold my attention, though right now, it’s impossible to tell what kind of attention that will be.

I drop down onto my bed and instantly empty my backpack, letting the food I’d bought this morning spill out onto my bed. My stomach instantly growls, and as I stare at the crisps and health bars before me, I wonder just how long I can keep living off this stuff. Maybe I can order UberEATS tonight and sneak out the window. I’ll have the guy meet me up at the top of the hill, then eat on my way back and hope that all evidence of my meal is gone before getting back and risking Kurt taking it for himself.

That prick, I don’t doubt that he’d do it. If he found my cash stash, it’d be gone and spent in seconds.

I hate it here. Irene and Kurt are such douches. I’ve never met anyone like them. Usually, the foster parents give at least a little bit of a shit about the kids they take on, but these assholes … nope. Nothing. They’re money-hungry grubs, and the day I can finally get out of here, I’m going to stick it to them.

Out of habit, I leave my boots on. Actually, I rarely take them off, and by this point in my life, I don’t know if it’s a foster kid thing or just a Winter thing. When my boots are on, it’s one less step I need to take before I can escape, just the same as keeping my bike keys shoved down my bra and my brass knuckles always wrapped securely around my fingers. I keep my vices close, never allowing them to get away from me because, in my world, I never know when I’ll need to run.

The afternoon slowly ticks by, and after going over the math work that I failed to do during class, I put my order through with UberEATS and get myself sorted out for the night. By nine o'clock, my whole body is agitated, and the need to fly is pulsing through me.

I hate being holed up in a shitty room. There are blank walls, boring sheets, no pictures to make it feel like home. Just a blank canvas with my old torn bag of things thrown in the corner to remind me that this place is definitely not somewhere I will ever call home.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored in my life. When this feeling pulses through me, this is usually the time when I start craving blood. My body itches with the need to start trouble, to find an outlet for all the anger that courses through my body.

I can’t even remember when this started. All I remember is over the past few years, I’ve become angry. A permanent chip has sat on my shoulder with no signs of leaving. Maybe it’s the life in the foster system, or maybe it’s just the bullshit hand I’ve been dealt that brought it on. Who the hell knows?

After double-checking the door and jamming an old chair under the handle, I finally pull off my boots and lose my ripped jeans. I get dressed into a worn tank, and after not being able to find my pajama shorts, I scoot down in bed and pull the old blankets up to my chest. I must have left my shorts in the bathroom this morning when I ran out of there, intent on avoiding Kurt.