Dare You to Care

          
The first house hadn't worked out, though Yoshiki'd managed to survive the beatings for a year and a half. Nothing was done, until that last one that had landed him in critical at the hospital for his fourteenth birthday. The foster parents had been put on charges for child abuse and endangerment. They'd never gone to trial.


          
For the second try, once Yoshiki was well enough to leave the hospital, he'd been placed into the care of Mr. and Mrs. Ormand. They were a couple who had other children, natural and foster, and the now-fourteen year old Yoshiki allowed them to take him home.


          
"This is going to be your home for awhile, so we'll show you around, then explain the rules of the house." Mr. Ormand explained, leading Yoshiki into the house. "Meals are regular times, in the kitchen together, and no snacks in between."


          
Mrs. Ormand hung up their coats. "We have four children; one of our own, and three other fosters. You'll meet them in a moment."


          
Yoshiki took in everything they said without a word. Despite their friendliness, something was wrong about this house. It gave him the creeps. Mr. Ormand got Yoshiki a drink while Mrs. Ormand called the children downstairs. A boy, who looked just like the Ormands, entered the kitchen first. What Yoshiki noticed first were his eyes. They were blue, a very cold blue. He looked about sixteen years old, and they introduced him as Syd. One by one, the foster children came into view, and Yoshiki realized why the house creeped him out.


          
All three were twelve to fifteen. All three, wore collars.


          
Turning, Yoshiki tried to bolt, but Mrs. Ormand was already blocking the door while Mr. Ormand explained, "You see, the government gives us a stipend for your ass every month. But it's usually never enough to pay expenses for taking care of your worthless hides, so you work off the rest. No sense us paying out of our pockets, is there?"
"How do you get away with it from the agency!?" Yoshiki cried out at them, looking for another way out.


          
"The children know better than to tell. You will too." Mr. Ormand stepped forward, placing a hand on Yoshiki's shoulder, smiling benignly as he dug his fingers into the tendon there. "Now. Let's get you settled in, shall we?" Guiding the boy in this manner, he firmly led him towards his new room.

~~~


          
Through the next several weeks, Yoshiki learned he wasn't allowed to talk with the other foster children, though they were encouraged to socialize so that, when the social workers came to check on them, they didn't act like total strangers and tip off that anything was amiss. Used to this type of situation, Yoshiki almost felt as if he'd been back home.


          
ntil the Ormands had found Shiki and thrown him away, stating that fourteen year old boys did NOT play with stuffed animals. Almost physically feeling the last shred of caring ripped away from him, Yoshiki had cried for two days, refusing to eat, or socialize.


          
Finally, Syd helped his mother by sitting on Yoshiki's chest, while Mrs. Ormand spoonfed him broth. When he drank it down meekly, Mrs. Ormand approved, allowing Syd to remain and begin the training.


          
Syd left after his mother, returning a few minutes later with several objects. One, a jar of Vaseline, and the other was a sixteen ounce bottle of Pepsi. Seating himself next to Yoshiki on the bed, who scooted away from him wide-eyed, he smiled almost amiably. “It’s not so bad, if you don’t fight it, you know?” He stroked his fingers down Yoshiki’s leg before allowing the younger boy to pull away. “If you’re good, I’ll even use the Vaseline.”


          
“Why are you doing this?” Yoshiki asked, his voice hoarse as he kept an eye on Syd.


          
Pausing, Syd eyed Yoshiki, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t tell me your voice hasn’t changed yet. You’re HOW old? Hmm, don’t say a word with the clients until it’s finished. You won’t earn as much then.” He shrugged negligently at Yoshiki’s question, as it didn’t matter. “I do it because I get some of it. There’s this car I want and they won’t pay for it. So you will.”


          
“You’re selling us for a car?!”


“That’s right. The car’s more use to me than you are.” Syd leaned on his elbow, partaking some advice. “Look. I’ll explain it to you, maybe you’ll get it out of your system. The kids in foster care, they’re there because the government needs to have them go someplace. Since they can’t get rid of you permanently, legally, they pay people like my parents to take you. But really, without that money, nobody’d want you.”


          
Yoshiki’s brows puckered, about to protest, but Syd kept going, interrupting anything the kid would have to say. “Don’t you get it? You’re garbage. Trash. Leftovers that’ve sat around too long and need to be thrown out, but nobody wants to deal with, or even admit exists. You’re only worth the money the government pays for you, and that’s not even enough to put up with you.”


          
Cringing, Yoshiki turned his head, staring at the wall. Not wanting to admit that the words were having the effect Syd wanted them to have. Yes, he was garbage that had been left behind. “Is this what you told the other three? Is that why they’re like that?”


          
“They know their worth. Soon, you will too.” Syd held up the bottle. “Now, take a drink first. It’ll keep you hydrated. Since this is about the average size of the clients, we’ll get you broken in before we let them have you. Then you’ll be used to it and won’t cry so much.”




TBC