There was yelling. There was screaming. The sound of banging and the abuse of walls. It terrified her. It made her cringe. It caused her to close her eyes and drown out the noise. Nothing was real. Everything was from her head. Right? No. Everything was real. She was hearing real events. The screaming and the pungent smell of blood that filled her nose was real. It wasn't just a nightmare. It was real. She was no boy under the stairs. She didn't have any powers. She didn't have anything to help her run away from this. Nothing of aid that could get her to someplace safe. Nothing that she knew of.
She could've broken out of the window of the tiny room into the rain, but it didn't work like that. She would be found and returned to this hellhole. It would be worse to be found and returned like a lost item - except people treated their material possessions better than she was treated on a daily basis. She heard a shriek and the sound of a siren wailing. The girl curled up into a ball in the corner, shaking. What would happen now? Would she be taken away and put in another home? She was worried, shaking. Fearstriken. They would probably deem her mentally unstable. Unable to function properly. Maybe she would be put into a psych ward.
As the door to the tiny room burst open, she saw an officer walk in, he led her out of the small house, where she would be taken care by many people. People that she would probably never see again. She was confused, and she didn't understand a word from the static transmissions of the walkie-talkie. They took her to a hospital where they checked her bruises and cuts. The doctor wrapped bandages and applied ointments. They used terms she didn't understand, and she felt utterly confused. She was just a small bug in this huge world, trying to find her place in it. Not sure if there even was a place for her. Many asked her about things that she couldn't answer.
"What's your name?" they asked her.
The girl would only stare at the person blankly and wonder what her name was. It would take a few seconds before she could reply to the simple question that most normal people knew. She would take a few seconds of thinking. Sometimes it came easily to her, other times it took quite a while to remember her name.
Some seemed surprised, others looked at her like she was an outcast. Others looked at her with plain sympathy. She hated it so much. She didn't need them to be sorry. She didn't need sympathy. She knew she was weak. She didn't wish to be reminded of it over and over. There was literally no point in that.
The girl traced the beads on her necklace. She didn't know where the necklace came from, but it brought back memories of strawberries and the bright blue sky. A cheerful, happy place that made her joyful by thinking of it. It was her 'place'. A place where she drifted off to whenever she felt alone because she was oddly comforted by the worn leather. She couldn't remember her mother or her father. She had lost her memory of anything that happened before being put into foster care and being 'taken in' by him. She couldn't really remember anything that happened more than a few days ago. She had her cognitive skills, but lacked the ability to recall how exactly she got taken in by the man. How life was really like for her. Where she really came from.