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(A/N Hello again Fanfiction! This is my second fanfiction, and Im going to try harder to be better at it than last time. Review. Tell me whatcha think, should I continue, should there be music, should I include Lissa, et. Etc. Oh, and bonus if you recognize me! ;))
I hate foster care. Like, really hate it. I just got kicked out of my fifteenth foster home in three months, exactly. Three months since the beatings stopped. Three months since the judge declared that my father, Jeb Batchelder, was guilty of physical, verbal, emotional, and sexual abuse. Given forty years in prison. Ok, so If you haven't gathered by now, my name is Maximum Ride. I was abused since my mother died when I was five, its been exactly three months since Jeb was declared guilty, and I have just been kicked out of my fifteenth foster home. Fun. Anyway, I dumped my backpack that held all of my belongings onto the floor. Just then, my social worker stuck his head into the room. "Max, we have a new foster offer for you." He said cheerily. I gave a cold laugh that I swear made him shudder. "Dean, I literally just got back from the last one. Isnt sixteen places enough? You could just turn me out on the streets to die." I said darkly. He shook his head. "Nope. I wont give up on you. And something tells me that if I turned you out on the street youd most likely survive. And get arrested in the next five months for beating a guy so bad in a fist fight that you kill him." He responded lightly. My heart had froze when he said beating, but quickly snapped back, "Touché."
"Come on, they just arrived." "Oh lovely." I groaned, but picked up my backpack and followed him, making sure to slide my pocket knife into my hoodie pocket. In case your wondering, no, I did not trust Dean. I have major issues with trust, and with people touching me. In any way, shape, or form. Since I have been touched in all those different kinds of ways and It only ended in pain. Same goes for trust. Trust and you get hurt. Its that simple.
I sat stiffly in my agents office. My social worker stalked inside, slamming the door. "Ok, what did you do this time?" he demanded. If your wondering whats going on, hi, my names Fang, (Call me Nick and die) Walker. It is the three month anniversary of the day my dad went to prison for neglecting me, and I just got kicked out of my fifteenth foster home. My mom died a couple of months after I was born. My father blamed me and kept me locked in my room or a closet, and only gave me enough food to survive. Then he remarried and had the perfect son, Sloan. Then he literally forgot about me. I had to take food from the kitchen to eat, steal his credit card to buy anything I needed, and I had to stay in the attic because he gave Sloan my room. Four months ago, some real estate guy found me and reported it. A month later my dad was guilty and I was in foster care. I just shook my head. "Nothing? They don't kick you out for nothing. So what did you do? Get in a fight? Steal from them? Never come out of your room and just scare them with your dark aura?" That last one wasn't a joke. Family 12 had been a group of bright, happy people, and frankly I just creeped them out. I shook my head again and tapped my wrist, which was hiding under my black leather jacket. "Oh." He sat down. "We have got to get you help for that." He muttered. I glared at him, and he flinched. I just muttered, "I'll tell." His eyes got big, and instantly he was begging me not to. You see, I had figured out that he was cheating on his wife, so I was using it as blackmail so that he would leave my cutting alone. Yes, I cut. Typical neglected emo. "Ok, ok I wont tell." He said, sagging in defeat. I kept my usual emotionless mask up. "Listen, we've got another offer for you. This family is also fostering another child, whom they are also picking up today. Theres an adopted child and a biological child staying with them, as well as three houseguests, who are there until their parents return from a business trip." I tensed. I was claustrophobic, and had a major problem with anyone trying to "help" me. I had done things on my own for four years, and been locked in tiny spaces with only short reprieve my entire life. So a house, with 7 or eight other people in it, is basically my living nightmare. "They just arrived. Come and meet them."
(A/N Yeah, Im cutting out all descriptions cause it's a waste of time. So, Max has the dirty blonde hair, brown eyes. Fang is Fang. They are both 14. Same height, same weight, same everything except for being mutants k? Mmmkay.)