I grew up in a small orphanage with many other children. The women who took care of us were very nice, even though the children there weren't always. I understand now that it was all about survival, so I can never hold a grudge towards them. With such little money flowing into the orphanage at the time, everyone was always lacking in clothes that fit or toys that worked. The environment kind of forced them to take matters in their own hands, so many ended up stealing or hurting the weaker ones in order to gain their possessions. Nobody told the adults anymore, and the few who dared were mercilessly thrashed and alienated by their peers. My best friend and me were just another pair of common targets. We weren't strong enough to fight them, even though we kicked and fought, we always ended up bleeding and beaten, staring up at our attackers through bruised eyes as they walked away with the spoils.

At thirteen, the last thing I was expecting was expecting was to find a new guardian. Maybe there would have been a chance at nine or ten, that's usually the limit. Parents like younger children. Thirteen? Why would they want to deal with a child on the brink of entering the rebellious, tongue-piercing, angst-having, sneaking-out-of-the-house-to-go-to-a-party stage. That's what a lot of them think. The truth was, the biggest issues at that time for me was trying to get Jake to stop cutting up my shirts, and learning how to play the Monopoly game Meredith had brought in for us. When I first met Joe, I didn't really know what to say. When the warmly grinning man with a shock of black hair and thick mustache bent down and held his hand out to shake mine, I couldn't move. Instead, I looked at the hand. It was tanned and calloused at the fingertips, muscles tight beneath the stretch of scar ridden skin. He looked like he'd been badly cut a few times. When I looked up, I couldn't help find that amiable grin of his contagious. I grinned widely back, both of us deaf to the happily chattering caretaker singing praises about me (she did about anyone any potential guardian took interest in) beside him.

After Joe adopted me, I couldn't stop smiling for years it felt. My world changed so completely in such a short time. I had a new parent, a new home, a new life! Joe showed me he worked in a butcher store, and the place he actually lived was in an upstairs loft in the same building. He cleared out one of the rooms he'd been used to accommodate his pack rat lifestyle and fixed me up with all necessities. It felt so strange to have a room for myself. It felt strange to actually be this happy, really. What I learned from Joe was that his son had died at childbirth, and his wife had only more recently died. They had been going to adopt a child before she suffered a car accident and was lost to him only hours after she had been taken into the hospital. It had taken him some years to recover, but he'd gone through with the adoption, and now he told me he didn't regret it. He was a really nice guy, kind of intimidating at first glance but always wearing a good hearted grin. I helped him along in the shop; cleaning up, taking orders, assisting him the best I could. As the years went by, I learned from him and the shop became ours. I graduated to more complex tasks, taking on more responsibility for the shop until I could run it single handedly. Joe was proud, and I was happy.

I don't think there was anything different about that day. I jogged downstairs, putting on my uniform as I went and humming the song that had been playing on my alarm radio. Joe hadn't been feeling great lately and I'd been urging him to go to the doctor all week. When I'd finally bothered him enough, he sighed and agreed. That morning he'd woken up before the sunrise, as was his way, and reluctantly taken a trip down the doctors office, leaving the shop to me. There was a nice flow of customers that day, most of which I recognized as long time patrons and friends. The orders came in and out, I smiled and chatted with them as I worked. But as the day went on, I couldn't rid myself of the strange sensation of being watched though and occasionally my gaze would nervously flick to the store's window where I felt the stare was coming from. Most of the time I saw nothing past the blur of crowds and cars, but when it cleared, I always saw someone there. A teen, three or four years past my sixteen, leaning against a pole and watching me coldly. I knew him as one of the guys who was running with a local gang here. He was thin and tall. He didn't look as strong as he did dangerous, but he did pack a quick intensity in all his movements so even when he standing still he reminded you of a mousetrap ready to go off. The moment he caught eyes with me, a mean smirk quirked the corner of his lips. I felt my stomach drop in fear. Quickly, I wrenched my gaze away and stared down at the counter for a few seconds as I tried to cool the pace of my heart. I felt foolish. What did I think he would do? The rest of the day I worked without looking out the window for him again, but that feeling...That feeling of being watched never left me.

Joe had come by just as I was serving the last customers of the day. He looked drained and wearily murmured something about heading off to bed early as he past by me. I didn't want to bother him with what had happened at the doctors so I smiled and reassured him I'd close up the shop that night. The counter was wiped down, the meats stored away properly and everything washed. I just needed to take out the trash before heading upstairs myself. The backdoor of the butchery led into a narrow alleyway where the trash cans were kept. I slipped outside into the night and casually made my way down the three concrete steps before standing in front of them, ready to lift the handle of the lid to drop the black bag inside when I heard a laugh. Before I could turn my head to the noise, something shoved me hard into the wall from behind. I felt a cold steel press against me neck, biting into my skin as I tried to push away. The jolt of pain was slight, more of a warning cut I had brought on myself when I made to move. I could feel my breathing speed up as I felt my own blood warmly trickled down the collar of my shirt. The gravel crunched from different directions behind me. There were more people. When I tried to turn my head to look at them I met a cruelly smirking face instead. "You..?" I whispered. His smirk broadened into a grin and that's all I remember before I felt my world fall away into darkness.

I don't like remembering that night. I had to relive it many times in the hospitals and police stations, with friends and strangers. I want to say I got over it completely, but sometimes people ask me why I pull away from any strangers touch, or why I try to keep myself covered up so much and I know it's because of that boy. The one who they refused to try as an adult and got to walk free.

It had to be that same year when Joe started spending less and less time in the shop and more time in the hospital. He was sick, and he wasn't getting any better. By November, he was hooked to every sort of beeping machine that could still fit in the room and the doctors were frank about his condition. He wasn't getting any better and the best thing would be to just have him wait it out. It was really heart breaking to see the man I had come to trust as my father die in such pain. Joe really did try to hide it behind a smile even until his last breath.

Now, it's only been three years since then. I own the butchery and the loft above it, and I've found good (and slightly crazy) friends who watch out for me and even some members of my biological family. One day this blonde haired man just strolled into my shop, grinning like the devil the moment he saw me. I waved him along with the knife I was holding but suddenly stopped when I realized how familiar he looked. He looked like a slightly older version of me. His eyes were a bit darker and mischievous and he stood a little taller, but there was a striking resemblance. That guy turned out to be my half brother. My mother had been having an affair with his, or our, father before she had given me to the orphanage. My half brother, Raw, accepted me into his family with open arms and gave me three more siblings to love to the ends of the world. Life is really great now. I finally feel complete and I couldn't ask for anything else.

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