Home is where the heart is

Chapter 1

(The slightest TW for SH, nothing graphic)



POV Stella

Angry tears fell from my eyes, how could they do this to me? I ran and ran until I couldn’t feel my legs anymore and laid down on a bus stop bench. It was hard and cold, and I certainly didn’t feel safe, but I couldn’t stand to be in that house anymore, to look them in the eye after they decided to throw me away like I was trash. CPS was gonna pick me up on Monday, but I couldn’t sleep another night there, it hurt too much. They promised, they’d promised they were gonna keep me, adopt me, and it was all just a big fucking lie. 

I ended up napping for a few hours until some dude called the cops because he saw how young I was. They brought me back to the station and called CPS when they found my name in the system. I wasn’t a criminal, but growing up in foster care hadn’t been easy, and I’d been forced to steal food a couple times. It was only in my juvenile file so it wouldn’t follow me when I was older or anything, but it made me easy for them to find. When my case worker arrived and told me I could either go back, or to some group home, I went with the second option. Anything but going back to them.

***

Time dragged on slowly from there, each day worse than the next. I was forced to share a room with some girl with anger issues. To be honest, most kids who were here had problems, and neither of them were very nice to me. I tried to ignore them best I could, but my roommate was always picking fights and getting me in trouble. Plus, there was this creepy guy who had a crush on me, he would stare all the time, sometimes corner me when we were alone, the whole thing just made me uncomfortable. No matter how many times I talked to my social worker, she said there was nothing she could do. No one wanted a teenager, especially not one with ADHD and a history of running away.

***

After a few months, I could feel my composure slipping, I was loosing myself again. I’d had the dream, the family, the home after years of dreaming about it, and I took it all for granted. I was so stupid to think it would ever happen, that someone would actually want to adopt me. The happy person I’d become during the past few years was slowly slipping between my fingers, everything becoming dull and grey again.

***

One day, we were forced to deep clean our rooms, like we did every couple weeks, and I started moving all my stuff out from underneath my bed. It really wasn’t much, most things I’d left behind when I ran away, but I’d grabbed what was important. A duffel bag of clothes and a backpack which I’d used to carry stuff when I left, but was now my school bag, leaving the stuff I’d brought shoved under my bed. I started taking out so I could vacuum under there and had my back turned when I heard my roommate.

“Hey what’s this?” Sheila, my roommate, laughed tauntingly, picking the box up from behind me. 

“Hey, don’t touch that!” I yelled in a panicked tone, quickly standing up and reaching for it, feeling my blood begin to boil.

But she was taller than me, holding it up high, out of my reach, dancing around and laughing. She loved this, loved taunting me, seeing me upset. She thought she had the right to bully me just because she was two years older and had an older boyfriend on the outside.

“Give it back you stupid bitch!” I screamed, tackling her to the floor in a surge of adrenaline. 

My face was red with anger, my throat closing up as the anxiety threatened to strangle me. What if she ruined it? Threw it away? I couldn’t let her, she was already ruining my life, I would not let her take the only thing that mattered to me. 

When I saw the shocked look in her eyes, I realized I’d startled her. This was my chance and I quickly snatched the box out of her grasp and scrambled to the bathroom, locking the door behind me and sliding down the wall to sit. I clutched the box tightly with shaky hands, pressing it to my chest to assure myself it was there. I angrily wiped the tears from my face and tried to steady my breathing. When it didn’t work, I instead opened the box. It was white, well beige and kind of dirty now, and a little smaller than a shoebox. Inside was a small brown teddy bear that I used to always sleep with, but not here. Afraid someone would take it or make fun of me, it was safer tucked away. Then there was the letter. The long, handwritten, folded up paper from my birth mother. 

‘To Stella, I’m sorry I have to write this, it pains me deeply, but I want you to know why. My family has moved around a lot, never staying anywhere long enough for me to make friends, but then I met this boy here, in Rome. We weren’t in love, but he was nice. Your father is a good man, I want you to know that, but neither of us were ready for this. When I found out about you, I was so scared, but I wanted you anyway. I’m only 15 and my mother is very certain of how I should live my life. There is nothing I want more than to raise you, but she won’t allow it. I want you to know that you are perfect, you are not unwanted, but you deserve more. If I defy my mother I will be left alone, still going to school. I have no job, no other family to help me, and I won’t be able to be the mother you deserve. I know it sounds cliche, but I want a better life for you, and all I can do right now is hope and pray to any and every god there is that you get that. This is my only option, so I hope that one day, you will find it in your heart to forgive me, and even if you don’t, I understand.

I hope that whoever you end up with keeps your name, but if they don’t, know that in my heart you will always be Stella Emilia. I wanted you to have a little bit of Italy even though you’re born in the states. Oh and also, I’m sorry about the nose, I hope you like it better than I did growing up.

I love you forever

Emily’

My tears had slowed and my breathing was back to normal by the time I was through it. It usually had that effect, even though the paper was now all wrinkly and some words were unreadable from the years of old tear stains. It was fine cause I knew all the words by heart anyway. It calmed me to know there was at least one person out there who cared for me, who I liked to believe still meant everything she wrote. I carefully folded the letter back up and tucked it into the worn envelope, addressed to ‘Stella, my beloved’.

I wasn’t angry anymore, I used to be, I used to wanna throw the box away and never see it again, but I could never bring myself too, and now I was just grateful I still had it. As I got older, now being 15, I understand. She was just a child, she was just like me, alone and scared. I smiled at some of the things she wrote, almost laughed at the ‘nose’ part. The rest of the words were so proper, so formal, but when she joked It was so clear she was just a teenager, trying to make light of a really sad situation.

I stood in front of the mirror and ran a finger over my nose, sure, sometimes I’d wished it was smaller, but I wouldn’t change it for anything knowing it might resemble hers. I hoped the rest of me looked like her too. My hair was dark, nearly black but not quite, and had the slightest wave to it. My eyes were the same, so dark brown you could hardly tell, and my skin had the slightest olive undertone, but I was still far too pale for my liking. Though that one was probably on me as I hardy ever went out in the sun. A few freckles adorned my nose and cheeks, but they were pretty subtle. I used to wonder if she had them too.

***

“Oh my god, did you hear what’s happening in the city?!” Harper yelled as she ran up to my locker, her wavy blonde hair flying behind her. 

Harper had been my only friend since I moved here a couple years ago to live with the people who wanted to adopt me. It was a small suburban community about an hour outside the city of DC, which it technically was a part of. Harper was pretty much the opposite of me, popular, liked to wear colorful eyeshadow. She was bouncy in a fun way, and I was bouncy in an anxiety mixed with ADHD kind of way. She was even a cheerleader, but she wasn’t like the other high school mean girls who liked to bully me. She was nice to everyone, friends with everyone. I never really understood why she wanted to hang out with me, but I’m forever glad she does. 

“No, what’s going on?” I asked, having no idea  what she was talking about as I hadn’t had time to check my phone this morning.

She quickly pulled up hers and found the news article, showing it to me. I skimmed it over, my eyes falling on the headline and pictures of police cars outside a large building.

“There’s some huge hostage situation at a hospital, it’s all over the news, they’ve got the FBI there and everything!” She rambled.

“Geez, who does something like that at a hospital?” I grimaced as I read there are over 50 hostages.

I made a note to look it up later as the bell sounded, interrupting our conversation. I’d always been kind of a nerd when it came to crime stuff. When I lived with Nick and Laura-, the people I was with before going to the group home, Laura would sometimes let me watch crime TV shows with her. I used to love it, cuddled up on the couch with her and Nick complaining about how silly it was but still always end up watching with us. Now the thought of them left a sour taste in my mouth. 

***

I’d never loved school, sure it was a way to escape some of the worse foster homes I’d been in, but I was usually bullied or alone. Bullied for not having actual parents, not knowing what to do at the parent teacher conferences when they didn’t care to show up, getting picked on for wearing the same clothes every day cause I only had two pairs of pants and three shirts.

I liked French, in fact I’d finished the course early and started taking Spanish Too, but pretty much all the other subjects were a bust. I sucked at math, I just never understood it, and it bored me endlessly. My ADHD made it hard to sit still when I was bored so the teacher didn’t seem to like me either. It was just another issue to add to the pile that was my baggage. It was probably also a contributing factor in why I’d never gotten adopted. I had a hard time when I was younger, before I got diagnosed, and most people couldn’t handle a rowdy five year old. Then I got the diagnosis and meds, but once it was managed I was just too old. People wanted a baby or a toddler, so I just bounced around until I ended up with Nick and Laura Smith. 

I quickly pushed the thought of them away, doodling figures over my math notebook, chewing my thumbnail. I was supposed to study but I just couldn’t keep my head straight. To distract myself, I discreetly picket up my phone and propped up a book to hide it, thankfully I sat in the back. I googled ‘hostage situation DC’ and quickly found tons of articles explaining the situation. Apparently, three men had barged in with guns and locked down an entire floor, demanding the release of someone they knew from prison.

When it eventually was time for lunch, Harper had an extra cheerleading practice so she had to run as soon as we’d eaten, leaving me alone for the next 30 minutes. I walked outside to one of the benches and sat down. It was April, but pretty warm for the season. I pulled up my phone again, seeing there had been a press conference release. I clicked on the video and turned my phone to full screen. There were three people, all in FBI vests, surrounded by microphones and reporters. To my surprise, two of them were women, that’s so cool.

The blonde woman spoke mostly, seeming in charge of answering questions, then the camera turned to the other to agents, and a dark hair woman spoke.

‘We still don’t know who these men are or what relation they have to each other, we have released the security footage images of them so if anybody recognizes them, please contact the authorities right away’ She spoke with such authority I was in awe. The older man beside her continued, but I didn’t really care what he said. She was so confident, comfortable in such a chaotic situation. I wanted to be just like that, brave, do good, but I doubt I’d ever get anywhere close with my grades. 

***

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I laid awake staring at the ceiling, my brain running a hundred miles per hour. What the fuck was I gonna do? I couldn’t stay here, I couldn’t stay in this group home, I felt like I was going crazy. There wasn’t a single person I liked or could trust except Harper. I was utterly alone, and since no family wanted some half depressed teenager, I was stuck here for the next three years. Just the thought made my throat close up. It was like a prison, my cell was the two by two meters of the room that held my bed and nightstand, and I was stuck with a girl who hated me for breathing. I was surrounded by kids constantly picking fights and making me take the blame for it. 

I started absentmindedly scratching at my wrists, finding some relief in the physical pain. I had to get out of here, whatever it takes, they can arrest me and send me back all they want, but I will get out. I decided that night I’d find a way, a place I could exist without hating every second of it, even if it turned out to be under a bridge. First, I had to plan though, they ran a tight ship and I couldn’t just walk out the door. 

Soon, I would be out of here, and I couldn’t wait.