Page 1 of UnWholly Angels
Chapter One
Riley - Age 15
Fourteen years ago…
Stepping out of the social worker’s car, I looked at what would be my new home…well, at least until a family decided they wanted me. I’d likely end up aging out of the system, which was probably better than being forced to live with a family that wanted nothing more than a check and to try to replace my parents. It was either that, or I’d be dropped on the street when I turned eighteen, forced to fend for myself with the small amount of life skills I had picked up over time. It was like flipping a damn coin, except neither side had a winner; just a lesser of two evils.
A gentle hand rested on my shoulder and squeezed, trying to give support that I only wanted from my mother. She had a soft soul, and my father worked hard, even on the days he was face-first in a bottle by the end of the night. They didn’t deserve to be gunned down for simply getting groceries, using what little change they had to make my favorite meal and a small cake for my birthday. Shrugging her hand off my shoulder, I slowly made my way to the trunk, already popped open to grab my skates, stick, and gym bag.
“This was the only place that had space, sweetie. I'm sorry.” The social worker seemed genuinely sorry, but I didn’t care. Shrugging my shoulders, I picked up my bag, already imagining the smell of mildew and shit as I looked upon the old, rustic building.
Following her up the porch and inside, I took in the sight of my new home. The walls were a disgusting shade of yellow, which might have been white at one point. Clearly a victim of never being washed. The dust found a home in my nose and eyes, causing me to sneeze, and I already wanted out.
I wasn't really paying attention and ended up crashing into an older lady who looked like she had seen better days. With crooked teeth and wrinkled skin, she harbored a voice that sounded like she’d been a smoker for years. She looked like a washed-up prison warden; maybe that was what she was known as. I tried to ignore the grating sound of her voice, looking at the bag clenched between my sweaty palms. A cannon-like laughter belted freely, and my gaze snapped up toward the bodies inside the rec-room, searching for the sound.
A scrawny girl, probably close to my age, sat chatting with a few seemingly older kids. A sly grin was plastered across her face as she knocked the pawn from its rightful spot on the chessboard. She was pretty with auburn hair cascading down her shoulders, and I could see a dimple forming on her left cheek.The group seemed comfortable with each other at first glance. Were they friends? Making friends had always been difficult for me, but maybe this time would be different. Maybe something good could come out of this shitty situation.
My eyes scanned the rest of the kids in the group, taking in their looks and body language. They seemed relaxed, almost like they didn’t care about being in a group home.
Would it ever be that easy for me?
The voices in my head spoke up, telling me that I should get used to this. This would be my home for a long time; most families didn’t come looking for an angry, silent teenager who watched his parents get killed. They wanted babies and little kids—kids who would probably forget what happened to them and grow up to be ‘normal.’ That would never be me. I wasn’t going to change myself just to get out of this place.
As I looked around the group one more time, I noticed one kid seemed…different. While everyone else was sitting on the floor around a coffee table, this kid was almost lounging in a recliner off to the side. It seemed like he was watching everyone from a throne. He was giving off the vibes that he was the king, and these kids were his humble servants.
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the girl with the pretty smile. She was watching someone else take their turn, and I couldn’t stop the small smile that spread across my lips. There was something about her… She seemed so happy in such a shitty place.
Maybe she could teach me how to be happy here, too.
The sudden sound of a throat clearing made me rip my gaze away from the girl. I searched the room once more, looking for the source, and I locked eyes with the false king from across the room. He was staring hard at me, like he was trying to warn me to back off.
From what, though?
A weird feeling settled in my stomach, almost like fear. The last thing I needed was a target on my back, so maybe it would just be better to keep to myself for now.
“Are you ready to go see your room?” The gravelly voice broke through my haze, breaking the uncomfortable staring contest I’d unfortunately gotten myself into. Turning back to the social worker, I nodded slowly, lifting my bag onto my shoulder and following her and the warden out of the room. I was definitely calling her that from now on. As I climbed the stairs, I winced when each step creaked beneath my sneakers as we neared what would be my bedroom.
The warden opened the door, and my stomach dropped. Six twin-sized beds lined the walls, almost like a military bunk room would look, with a small trunk at the foot of each bed. There was barely any room between the beds, and knowing that five other boys would be sleeping in the same space made my lungs feel tight.
She pointed to the last bed in the room. “That bed in the corner is yours. Everyone gets a trunk. Make sure you keep it locked at all times. I’m not responsible for anything that goes missing.” She glared at the social worker, who offered a small smile and pulled a flimsy combination lock out of her bag. I huffed, knowing that anyone could easily break that if they wanted to, but there wouldn’t be much for them to steal.
Walking to the bed, I dropped my bag onto the mattress and cringed. It was so old and rigid; my bag alone made the whole thing groan with the weight. I knew it would be impossible to sleep; each spring would be digging into my back through the too-thin sheets. Being a light sleeper already, this would definitely be a problem, especially on nights when someone from the other team would slam me into the boards too hard. If you added in the way that asshole downstairs stared me down, I was going to have to be mindful and sleep with one eye open.
As I started to put my clothes into the trunk, the warden continued running through the house rules. “Dinner is at six every night, and I don’t hold leftovers, so you’d better make sure you’re there. I’ll give you a pass tonight since it’s your first night here. Get your stuff unpacked, and when you’re ready, come downstairs and I’ll introduce you.”
My eyes snapped up, looking in horror at the two women. The social worker looked just as shocked as I felt.
“Excuse me, ma'am? On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, I have hockey practice until eight. And that doesn't count games.” I tried to sound tough, but inside I was panicking. Was I really going to have to choose between eating and playing hockey? Could she really do that?
The warden huffed and rolled her eyes. “Get me a paper copy of your schedule, and I'll do my best to set dinner aside for you. But I can’t make any promises, the other kids tend to be greedy.” Turning to the social worker, she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you need me to finish signing papers or something, so we get paid for him, too?”
The social worker’s jaw dropped, and she turned to me. “Riley, do you need anything else before I go?” she asked pointedly. I glared at the warden and shrugged, knowing it wouldn’t be worth it to say anything. She sighed and turned back to the warden. “Fine. But I’ll be checking in frequently to make sure he’s okay,” she snapped.
Yeah, right. She wouldn’t be back.
Her clicking heels faded as the women left, and I used the small amount of alone time I had to let reality sink in. Reaching into the bottom of my bag, I took out the frame holding a picture of my parents. Running my finger over my mother’s face, I choked down a sob. My heart hurt so badly, but I knew I was going to have to stay strong to survive. My parents weren’tperfect, but life with them was better than anything I would face here.
Letting the tears fall freely onto the picture, I gripped the frame tightly before stuffing it into the bottom of the trunk and locking it up. My hand slipped into my jacket pocket, and I grabbed hold of the Rubik's Cube I always kept there. It was such a small, cheap present, and I’d completed it a million times, but it still held my attention just as much as it did the day I received it. It was the last gift my parents ever gave me. At the time, I thought it was so stupid and hated it. But now…I’d give anything to show them I could finish it one more time.
