Graceful Disaster

"Backpack… check."

"Snacks… check."

"Enough money… check."

"Tickets… check."

You all must be thinking I am going to watch some movies or something, what with the list. So, sorry to bust your bubbles. I am just running away from my ninth foster family, a young couple. The man of the house is very abusive.

"Grace, you have to do this fast. He may wake up at any moment!" said Lydia, standing at the doorstep with dried blood on her forehead and messy hair.

"Yeah, Lydia. Almost done."

Lydia is a sweet lady in her mid-thirties. Her husband Mason, who is almost nine years older than her, is an abusive dog. He beat her mercilessly, even before I was adopted. As if beating her was not enough, he also adopted me to do the same.

The son of a bitch!

It has been around two months since they adopted me. It was fine at first, with a little slap or smack here and there. It was nothing new to me; at the age of seven I understood that nobody but blood relations matter, which I don't have.

But those little smacks turned into hard punches, then kicks, and then much more. But today he crossed the line. He broke a wine glass and tried to cut me with it!

When Lydia protested, he pushed her away and kicked her several times. She was already weak. She was hit on the forehead, and it started to bleed.

Then he turned to me. I quickly ran up the stairs to hide in my room, but I wasn't fast enough, and he got hold of my long hair. It would be the death of me, I am telling you... my long hair, I mean.

Then he pushed me against the wall and again tried to cut me with that piece of broken glass. He was really drunk and I am guessing he is planning to admit to hospital today. I was giving him a real hard time, though. I took self-defense classes in every school I was admitted to. I tried to kick him where the sun doesn't shine, but before I got the chance, Lydia smashed him on the head with a vase. He was knocked cold right there.

So here I am now, at the doorstep of my ninth foster family, ready to leave forever. I am going to miss Lydia. She is a very sweet lady.

"Go away, Grace, dear. Don't wait any longer."

"Take care, Lydia. I am sorry."

"It's okay, dear. Don't worry about me. Just be safe. Ah, wait here for a moment!"

She ran to her bedroom. After a moment, she was back with a file that had my adoption documents, some more money, and a cheap smartphone.

"Destroy the papers on your way, dear. Now please go, before he wakes up. Don't worry about me, I will handle everything. Just give me a call after you reach your first orphanage. Now go."

I didn't know what to say. I stared at her for a good two minutes, then hugged her tight.

"I will miss you," I whispered.

Then I turned around, never turning back.

---

It was nothing new for me. I am a little girl who was forced to grow up before I hit fourteen by the cruel world. I don't know who my parents are.

I was brought up by my Nay Nay until I was five. Then one day I woke up at the side of the road without Nay Nay beside me, crying. I had a little backpack with me. Inside it was a photo of my Nay Nay, and a small letter that said, "Never give up, little one." There was a small name tag where my name was written in unstable handwriting, like a child's handwriting.

I was sent to my first orphanage after some kind-hearted lady saw me crying while sitting by the road, and called the police. When they found nothing about my family they put me there. Peace House was the name of the orphanage.

After a year of staying at the orphanage a kind older couple adopted me. They brought me to another city. They were so kind, and I loved them so much. They taught me a lot of things: manners, behavior, how to behave in front of people, as if they knew that it would help me in future. They got me admitted to school. I have been a bright student since I was a child.

But one day I was left all alone again, with a backpack full of all the things from my first backpack, and a picture of my dear foster grandma and grandpa. They had died in a car accident...

Then I went back to another orphanage, then to another foster family, and another new city. They were also very kind. This couple were not able to have kids, so they thought of adopting. I was a good girl with good grades and a good report card. I was seven years old when they adopted me.

But when I was nine, they conceived and were blessed with a baby boy. I was so happy. But they were afraid that they wouldn't be able to give him enough love in my presence, and I ended up in a new orphanage…

---

Life keeps going, just like that. At the age of twelve, after changing orphanages and foster families twice, I met my first abusive family. They were so bad, and I still hate them. One day they beat me to almost to death, and I was hospitalized. The neighbors called the police, and I was sent to another orphanage.

That was the day I understood that people can be really sick mentally, and beat a child to death. I used to have nightmares and anxiety attacks after that, but I kept going. Every time any wrong thoughts came to mind I opened the letter and read it. All these situations and the letter made me strong.

---

I kept going, kept fighting. I met two more foster families who were abusive, but I wasn't that weak anymore. I knew how to deal with it, and I knew the police were not all good, there were bad police also. I knew how to deal with it without involving the police.

I packed my bags, stole some money and took my adoption documents, and was ready to run away from them.

I know it's way too much for a teenage girl, but I can't just give up and let this cruel world swallow me whole. Running away was not my idea. My second abusive foster family also had an angel like Lydia. He taught me to run, and he helped me to run.

Since then I have mastered running. Every time I run away, I end up in a new orphanage.

But one day, the worst possible thing happened. A man adopted me, from my third abusive foster family. He was a pimp, and was planning to molest me before selling me. He brought me to a new city, where he held more girls to do the same to them.

They were some girls from some rich families, who had been kidnapped. They were as scared as me. We saw the worst that day, as he and his friends were going to molest us. They drugged an older group of girls right in front of us, then did horrible things to them that I will never forget. We were forced to watch it all. I was just thirteen then. Those scenes would scar all of us for the rest of our lives.

Then I did the unthinkable.

Robin was the pimp's name. When he approached the girl beside me, who was holding my hand really tight, I picked up a wine bottle and hit him hard on the head with it. He collapsed and laid there bleeding. I don't know if he was alive or not, I didn't have time. I picked up my backpack, and looked at those rich girls who were with me. There were six of us. I told them it was their only chance. I didn't need to explain more; we ran far away from there.

When we were at a safe distance, I left them on their own after I was sure that they would figure their way out, and I took a bus for another new city. Once there, I found a new orphanage.

That night I had another anxiety attack, and there was nobody to hold me tight. I lost consciousness from lack of breath. I also had nightmares the following nights. The authorities of the orphanage were really pissed at me…

---

Two months later, Mason and Lydia adopted me.

"Miss, We have reached your stop. You have to get down now."

"Thank you."

I got down from the bus. I hailed a cab, and gave the driver the address of the orphanage.

I reached my destination soon, stepped out of the cab, and paid the driver.

I looked ahead of me. The sign of the orphanage, Peace House, was shining proudly. I took a deep breath, and whispered to myself, "Is this a new start?"