《Eroding My Heart》 Characters and Preface Raine: FMC, Aged 16 Sunny: Half-Brother of FMC (Raine) 18 Micah: love interest, adoptive brother OTHER IMPORTANT CHARACTERS James Riker : Sunny and Raine¡¯s Biological FatherReading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Laila Mathers: Sunny¡¯s Biological Mom / Raines Foster Mom Charles Mathers : Sunny¡¯s Step Father / Raine¡¯s foster father Beth Trinity : Sunny¡¯s Girlfriend Aaron Erise : Micah¡¯s Bio Father MORE TO BE ADDED This story may contain triggering content such as Please contact me if you feel I have forgotten any triggers relevant to the book or to check if the book contains a specific trigger not mentioned. Your mental health matters. This book will remain here to be revisited or read when your in a better place, or to never be read. But this book is not more important than you. Stay safe and take care of your self. Resources. (USA) 1-800-662-HELP (4357) (SAMHSA) 1-800-656-4673 (rape and sexual assault helpline) 1-800-422-4453 (Child abuse helpline) This story has been cross posted to Inkitt, New Fiction, and Wattpad, all under the username Lillies and Honey. Explicit chapters will be available everywhere but Wattpad due to the guidelines. Chapter 1 Sitting in the office of my social worker, I can¡¯t help but smile at him. Mr. Duval is sick of me. Sick of finding homes for me. Sick of me causing issues. Sick of me being a being a level two foster kid. Although this issue has at least bumped me to a level three. Underage sex is already a huge no, god forbid I get paid for it. My foot taps on the carpet, that despite being colored, still feels clinical. The glass walls on his office leave me as an animal in a cage for all to see. The glass is for his and my safety, but being exposed feels worse than being closed in. I can barely keep my eyes open as I stare straight at his chair. A night spent in jail means a night of no sleep. A morning being picked up from jail by a pissed social worker means no breakfast, which means no coffee, which means I might pass out sitting up. Mr. Duval walks in. I hear the click of the as it slides into place. His pace slow and measured as he walks to his desk. The sound of locked plastic wheels sliding across stiff carpet assaults my ears. As he sits across and stares at me, I study him. He¡¯s a relatively tall man, around six foot two if I had to guess. His skin is tawny and his hair made up of tight black coils. His eyes a piercing hazel, which mostly appear green. A stark contrast to him that makes it almost impossible not to make eye contact. Today his outfit consists of a navy suit, ill-fitting and wrinkled. The brand not shown, likely to hide his lack of wealth, despite wearing a suit as an attempt to show it. His tie today is a bright red, same color as things flavored artificial cherry. It contrasts to the rest of him horribly. ¡°So Raine, any reason you had to resort to the streets instead of calling me? I could have come and picked you up from that home.¡± ¡°So I could just leave the little guys to starve? You may still care for me slightly, but those kids¡¯ social workers were tired. You know that as well as I do. Not to mention his youngest was blood, and why would I want him taken away from his dad, and shoved into an overworked system that would just put him in a house that would bruise and batter him?¡± My voice has a mix of sass and disbelief. Mr. Duval knows why. He knows who he works with. He himself, feels like he is turning into them. Turning into his co-workers who are too tired to protect the kids he''s assigned; too tired to fight for another kid. He doesn¡¯t give me a response. He instead he looks at his papers. ¡°Do you remember your half brother?¡± Shock appears across my face. I haven¡¯t spoke his name in years. I knew Mr. Duval knew about him, but I figured he forgot about him, since he found his bio-dad almost immediately after care came and got us. He¡¯s nothing more than a footnote in my file. Or at least he shouldn¡¯t be anything more than that. I realize I haven¡¯t responded when my shock wears off. ¡°Of course I remember him. I can¡¯t forget my own brother that easily.¡± ¡°Well, his parents meet the level three requirements and have recently become Certified Therapeutic Foster Parents.¡± He pauses, almost like he is waiting for a thank you or round of applause. Of course I give him none, and his face takes on a slight frown. ¡°Your half brother lives with them, and they also have an adoptive kid around your age who has been with them the past 5 years. They are interested in taking you in, and because of your situation, despite the connection, the system is placing you with them.¡± He pauses before continuing. ¡°The other kids at your old placement helped me gather your things, and no¡± he puts his hand up as I start to speak, ¡°I cannot tell you if they will remain in that home or if they are being moved. You know better than that.¡± He then goes on to explain what being level three will mean for me, and what being level three will mean if I am unable to stay with this placement, it means back to a group home. He sighs at my lack of reactions to his words. I don¡¯t know why he expects me to be jumping for joy. My brother hated me because of our dad, and I hate him for hating me. Besides just because they took in my brother doesn¡¯t mean he is having a good life, or that I will have one. ???????. ???????.????? ?. ???????. ????*???. ? *???? I¡¯m in the agencies car. It¡¯s nice. I don¡¯t know much about cars but I know this one is electric. The leather sticks to my thighs so I keep shifting, unpeeling my skin painfully from the seats. Mr. Duval drives with me and my my trash bag of things in the back. Yes, trash bag. Where would I get a suitcase from? Why would a family buy a suitcase for me to move, when I¡¯m only moving because I¡¯m no longer their responsibility. We turn into a nice neighborhood. So nice I don¡¯t think even the nicest of my past placements could have afforded to live here. Around us there are white picket fences and houses with two to three visible floors. Large backyards likely holding pools, and gardens that are so green they are causing droughts in the other neighborhoods. We pull up in front of a blue three story home. It has a doublewide garage, and a white wood front porch with a hanging bench. The lawn is perfectly mowed and the shrubs are perfectly trimmed. I can see a tree with a treehouse peeking from there backyard. The whole thing makes me feel out of place. Everything so meticulously designed to scream normal when I am not. The garage is open, another sign this neighborhood is not one for me. There is complete relaxation, without fear of being broken into or robbed. The tools and workbench, all expensive, just sitting out for anyone to take. Not to mention the two nice cars in the garage. It all screams the bank account numbers of which I will never see.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. We park on the curb and Mr. Duval is careful to follow the carefully placed footpath as not to trample their grass. I simply do not care to have the same pleasantries. Because of my subtle act of defiance however I end up at the front door first. I stand awkwardly, unsure of myself. The doorbell has a camera and two buttons. I assume one enables a microphone but I see no way to distinguish. Mr. Duval gives me a look as he comes from behind me, and then knocks on the door. I hear some shouts and a muffled sentence before I hear running and the door opens. In front of me stands who I assume is Laila Mathers, Sunny¡¯s biological mom. Just behind her is Charles Mathers, Sunny¡¯s stepdad. I eye them up carefully. Laila has all the feature¡¯s Sunny has that made it clear he wasn¡¯t my mothers. They share bright blond hair and clear blue eyes. They both have flat thin eyebrows and thick eyelashes. But she also is quite thin. Not the kind of thin that makes someone worry, but the kind where you can see if they flexed their muscles, you would see every single one in full definition. There is a wide smile on her face, which the smile lines show, is a consistent expression of hers. Mr. Mathers stands behind her. He is surprisingly shorter than I was imagining. He is still taller than his wife, but not by more than half a foot, which is saying something, as she seems to be my height, which is roughly 5¡ä3. He has a slight stubble which I imagine feels like Velcro. His hair is neatly cut, in the exact way you expect a male math teachers to be. Slightly to the side, completely flat. The same cut middle school boys also have. He wears a green and white stripped polo that hugs his dad bad around his waist. His glasses are thick black rectangles which blend into his black hair at the temples. ¡°Hello Mr. Duval. Hello Raine. We are so glad to have you here.¡± The cheer in Mrs. Mathers voice sounds genuine, which makes me feel bad for hating how it sounds. She steps aside with her husband to motion for us to enter. Mr. Mathers¡¯ eyes widen at the trash bag I carry over my should and moves to grab it. I instinctually shy away and try to get it away from his reach before realizing myself and gently handing it to him. I know my reaction was big enough for all the adults to have seen it, but they don¡¯t comment on it. Instead Mr. Mathers offers to take the bag to my room and walks off with Mr. Duval. Mrs. Mathers walks me over to the living room. It looks straight out of a home design magazine with matching furniture sets, and a color scheme that lacks any personality, all shades of beige, white and gray, the stone fireplace being the only real character in the room. The only thing not belonging in an interior design magazine are the two boys on the couch. Although they don¡¯t quite look like boys. Though I haven¡¯t seen my brother in seven and a half years, it is clear to me which one of them is Sunny. His hair is still golden as ever, although now he appears to be hitting the gym and snorting protein powder. He wears dark wash jeans and a casual dark red tee-shirt. He also wears black socks and slippers, which feels redundant of being inside your own home but I say nothing. Next to him is someone who seems familiar but I can¡¯t place where from. At least that is until I hear his name as Mrs. Mathers gets both boys attention. ???????? ?? ??? ©¤©¤©¤ ??¡î?? ©¤©¤©¤ ???????? ?? ??? Mr. Duval walks me up to a house of strangers. After my dad died I was supposed to stay with my aunt and uncle. I wanted to go with my brother but he said I couldn¡¯t which made me sad. My aunt and uncle didn¡¯t like me very much. The liked flour though. Or that¡¯s what they called it. I think they liked me worse after eating flour. Mr. Duval says this is a nice house. He says the people here aren¡¯t like my aunt and uncle. He says I can call him if they are. I don¡¯t know if I believe him, but I don¡¯t have many choices. He knocks on the door and a little boy answers. Well not little. He is bigger than me, but he¡¯s not a grown up so that makes him little. He shuts the door and soon a woman stands in front of it. She has on really long sleeves and pants. She doesn¡¯t have shoes on. Screaming comes from behind the door, but it sounds more like kids playing than kids hurting so I don¡¯t say anything. Mr. Duval and the lady walk away, leaving me behind. The boy from before approaches me. ¡°Follow me. I¡¯ll show you the beds.¡± I give a small nod and follow. We walk past all kinds of things on the floor. Toys scattered along with papers. I think I also see a shot giver. Shots scare me. They hurt. Once we get to the beds the boy asks me how long I have been in care. I tell him I just got put in. He sighs deeply. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you everything you need to know. 1. These parents get paid. They can afford to feed you, so if they don¡¯t, it¡¯s because they are bad. 2. Half of the parents are on drugs. Don¡¯t try to get removed just because of drugs. If they feed and clothe you, and as long as they don¡¯t hit you, you can put up with some smoking. 3. That worker will get tired. They all do. Don¡¯t demand to much or they will get tired before you can get somewhere good. 4. Do not tell them about being sad. It won¡¯t end well. They won¡¯t help your sadness. They will call you crazy and you won¡¯t be able to live in homes anymore He doesn¡¯t explain where you live if you don¡¯t have a home, but I don¡¯t ask. 5. Don¡¯t aggravate them. Better to do all the chores and be a maid, than to be a punching bag. 6. Let go of your hopes. Your now a leaf in the wind. You¡¯ll be lucky to survive. Almost no one actually becomes more when it¡¯s all over. Even though he is my age he seems very upset. He seems angry. I¡¯m surprised he is even talking to me. Nonetheless I try to continue talking. I reiterate his rules and show I understand. I ask him a million questions about himself. He gives short answers but he still gives them to me, so I count it as a win. A billion questions later I realize I haven¡¯t asked the most important one. ¡°What¡¯s your name? Mines Raine.¡± ¡°Micah.¡± ???????? ?? ??? ©¤©¤©¤ ??¡î?? ©¤©¤©¤ ???????? ?? ??? Chapter 2 "Micah, Sunny! Your sister is here. Please say hello." Mrs. Mathers voice has a clear indication that she is not asking, despite the cheery tone. Sunny almost immediately jumps up and rushes to me. I step back and put my arms in front of me. My face scrunches as I inhale very deeply. Slowly I relax my face and look at Sunny and then the ground. His face has a smile that doesn''t reach his eyes. He looks disappointed but is trying not to show it. I regain my composure and look up at him with a carefully placed smile on my face. His eyes search mine; I''m unsure what he is looking for. Micah looks up to me. I can see the moment he remembers who I am. His eyes widen the slightest amount. It''s so miniscule only those who learn others body language out of a need for survival would pick it up. "Hi." His voice is deeper than when we last spoke, although I guess that is what 5 years and puberty does to a boy. I give a small head nod, unable to find my voice. His messy hair looks exactly like I remember, although slightly less greasy. Probably a result of regular showers. He still wears dark band tee-shirts, although they now fit his body better. And his body is better. The slight definition of his arms even when relaxed, the skin smooth, despite scarring. His thick black lashes that would make all the girls envious of him. His deep brown eyes which almost appear black, the kind you could get lost looking into. The kind you want to get lost looking into. My mind scrambles, looking for words to say. While time has been kind to him it seems, I know the same cannot be said for me. My brown hair is thin and frail, my clothes hang off of my body, bruises cover me from an array of people I do and do not know. My lips peel, because ChapStick is a luxury I cannot afford when lipstick will do more for me. I know I am far thinner than most men''s tastes. I am far thinner than my own taste, but feeding me was second to feeding the other kids in the house. So sure my ass hurts every time I sit, and I have bruise from guys grabbing my hip bones because there is no padding, but I suppose it''s worth it. "I suppose Mr. Duncan and Dad should be done now. Sunny can show you around the house and to your room," she says, but the end of her statement seems to trail into a question for Sunny. He gives her a nod with a tight smile on his face and walks past me, motioning for me to follow him. First he shows me to the kitchen, which is filled with green painted wood, and laminated dark brown counters, which appear to be a different kind of wood. The dining room is combined with the kitchen, with no wall between them. Four chair and a bench surround a tall table, set with a cloth, table runner, and matching placemats. I follow sunny again and we go up the stairs. He opens the door just past the landing a crack and I am met with an office. It smells strongly of the leather, the same thing all the seats appear to be made of. Shelves line the walls from the floor to the ceiling. They are all filled with books, not a single piece of shelf decor. There appear to be photos on the desk but they are facing away from where I stand so I do not see what they contain. "This is Dad''s office. He doesn''t mind if we need him while he is in here, but we need to knock because he has clients in here sometimes." Before I get a chance to ask what he does, we are moving again leaving me no choice but to follow or get left behind. We approach another door, which is entirely glass. It reeks of wealth. We walk in and I see exercise equipment all around the room. Floor to celling mirrors are on every wall, making dizzying reflections of reflections. Weights line the wall to the left of the door, yoga mats and stretching equipment to the right. They have a treadmill and squat rack, a weight bench, and machines I have never even heard of. I feel like orphan Annie in the mansion for the first time. Next is a bathroom, which is fully coordinated. A bathmat that looks like sand, a tastefully tacky seashell shower curtain, and towels with words like "ocean" and "waves" on them. Subtle beach decor is present throughout the bathroom, yet another show of the copious amounts of money they have. I mean who cares to buy a starfish toothbrush holder unless it is on sale. It''s all so pointless and wasteful. The last room we approach, we do not enter. "This is Mom and Dad''s room. I wouldn''t suggest walking in there without knocking unless you want to be scarred for life. Even if you think they aren''t home." Sunny adds the last sentence after a second but seems to shudder at a thought or memory related to it. We go up the final set of stairs and I only see two doors. It shocks me at first because I didn''t think they boys seemed like they would share a room with each other in a house this large, and then my assumption is proven correct when Sunny points out a string hanging down from the celling. "That leads to the attic where Micah''s room is. We offered him the one down here so he didn''t have to climb the ladder all the time but he wanted to be up there. It''s fully furnished although it does get cold. Anyways please don''t go up there without his permission. My parents worked hard for that to feel like his space, and though he won''t yell at you for entering, it will make him extremely uncomfortable." I give him a nod. I understand this more than he knows. To have a room that solely belongs to you, a space no one enters without your knowledge, that place is a safe haven.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. He walks over to the door on the left and opens the door. Inside I see something that almost makes perfect sense for him. It still has the mess I remember from us being kids. Clothes strown about the room, study materials anywhere but a solid surface, such as his bed or the floor, and a bed so messy I wonder how he sleeps on it. I look on the walls and see photos. All of different people. I see a younger him, with who looks to be a younger Micah. They star in many photos. There are also many of a girl. She is a bit shorter than him, her hair in long and blond. It''s always perfectly curled and shiny without being greasy. I see her and him at football games, in cheer and football uniforms. I see them getting ice cream. I see them at parks with other people their age. All I wonder is who took all these photos, and who has the desire to take all these damn photos. "Well this is my room. It''s a mess obviously. Feel free to come in any time. I tend to have my headphones on so I might not hear you knock." I give a small nod before he turns and stares at me staring at his room. His gaze burning into me forces me to look back. "I mean in Raine. Anytime." His voice holds a seriousness I never remember hearing from him. I give another nod but offer no words of my own. We back out of his room, into the hall, and towards the final door. He gestures towards it with his hand and I move towards the handle. I push the door open to a giant room. The room was shaped similar to an L, with the corner cut off by walls having a door leading to what I assume is a closet. The walls were various shades of blue, one a darker than navy, one a pale blue-ish gray, and then other walls plain white with no warm undertone. The side of the room made smaller by the closet had a loft, made of the same dark wood planks the floor was. It had a bed on top of it and a larger, queen sized bed underneath it. next to the bed, under the ladder to the loft was a soft chair, though it seemed to only be accessible by climbing over the bed. across from the loft area was a couch and chair, both pointing at a very large TV resting on a console table. Beside the TV in their living room, this may be the biggest TV I have ever seen. Under the seating was a plush carpet a color similar to the dark navy wall. Along the same wall was large, empty, white, wooden bookcases, that extended to the corner where the wall with the door meets the wall they lined. And finally a desk. The desk had a laptop and books on in, and behind it, was a wall of mirror. It extended from to corner to about half a foot short of where the door is. Despite the room being full of furniture, it felt impersonal. I felt like I was looking at a show room display of furniture, furniture that matched someone to a T. However it did not match me. I turn to look at Sunny who has the largest grin I have ever seen. I quickly put a matching one on my face, scared to disappoint him. Clearly he is enthusiastic about this room, although I have no clue why. I will admit, the colors of the room are pretty, but other than that, it''s just any other room. "I hope you like it. I tried to remember about when James would drop us off at Rooms To Go. Your favorite rooms always had lofted beds. And you seemed to enjoy when we were at the library. You always convinced him to take us," a dark look washes over both of us as he mentions our father. He clearly remembers these events differently than I do, but I won''t bother to correct his images of our past. "Mom and Dad figured you could slowly build a collection of books, or store whatever you already have, since none of us had any idea what you would like to read." The dark look on his face has disappeared as he rambles on about the room and decor choices. I just smile along waiting for him to tire of talking. "When is lunch?" I ask. Other than hi, this may be the first thing I have said to him since we have reunited. "Oh lunch will be in about two hours. You can hang out here, explore the laptop, or come chill with me or something. Just whatever you want to do." I give him a small nod. We both stand there in awkward silence before he has a small look of realization, that I''m waiting for him to leave. He walks out the door mumbling a small apology and closes it behind him. I count to thirty before locking the door as silently as I can. I walk over to the lower bed and lay down. I want to turn on some music on my phone, but am too tired to go across the room to where Mr. Duvall dropped of my bag. So I just lay in bed, but soon my eyes grow heavy. ???????? ?? ??? ©¤©¤©¤ ??¡î?? ©¤©¤©¤ ???????? ?? ??? Everything comes with a price. That''s what daddy says every time I ask for something. The first time I was old enough to pay, Sunny turned 7. Daddy said his cake costed him lots of money and he needed to feel better to he could earn the money to pay for its. I didn''t know how I was gonna make him feel better but I wanted Sunny to haves cake for his birthday. I know today that asking to go to the library will costs stuff. But Daddy is having a bad day. Today mom died a long time ago, and that means Daddy will get mad, and then Daddy will hurt Sunny. So I asked Daddy to take me and Sunny to the library before he could be mad so Sunny and him wouldn''t be hurting. He said yes so we went to the library. Daddy dropped us off six hours ago. That''s how old I am. The book lady says our Daddy needs to get us soon cause the building is closing. Sunny jumps in and tells her he''s already here. He drags me out to the parking lot. He looks mad. I only brought him here so Daddy and Sunny wouldn''t be mad and hurt. It''s another two hours before Daddy picks us up. Me and Sunny get into the car silently. He speeds home. He smells like gross soda. I once tried his gross soda. It''s yucky. Once we are inside Daddy tells Sunny to go to bed. I go to follow him but he says no. He tells me I have to pay for the library. I don''t want to but he says it''s only fair. We go to his and Mommy''s room. I wonder if Mommy would still let me pay in her room if she was here. Daddy says it''s impolite to pay in front of people, so I don''t think she would like it. Daddy makes me cold. I don''t like being cold. He puts a ball in my mouth. It feels kind of like one of my bouncy balls. Daddy gets cold to. I lay on Mommy''s old bed. It hurts a lot to pay. Daddy says it feels nice to him, but it hurts a lot. Sometimes it hurts so bad it gives me ouchies. When I am done paying, Daddy tells me to go take a bath. I feels funny when I try to walk, but I do it anyways. Last time I didn''t leave after paying, he said I had to pay again. After my bath I go to mine and Sunny''s room. I want to cuddle but he pushes me away. I don''t know why Sunny is mad at me. Sleeping feels extra lonely tonight. ???????? ?? ??? ©¤©¤©¤ ??¡î?? ©¤©¤©¤ ???????? ?? ???