• The tips of my pale fingers traced the golden lining on the marble counter top that was decorated with speckles of red juice. I brought a finger up to my lip and lightly stuck my tongue on my skin, savouring the flavour that the liquid brought me. My eyes closed as I breathed in sharply, delighted to have the taste again.

    "Avery!" A woman with a high pitched voice yelled, the white wooden door bouncing off the wall, causing every reflex in my body to turn and face her. Her face was pale white as she looked at the mess I'd made. I slowly turned, looking at the puddle of red liquid, a faint smirk growing over my lips. The woman rushed over to my side, quickly aiding to the tipped over, half empty bottle. "Have you any idea what this cost me?! A bottle of red wine?" She screeched, holding the bottle by its bare throat.

    A cheeky grin crossed my face as the knuckles of my right hand came up and curved on my jawline. "What, a mere fifteen dollars?"

    The woman, whom I was supposed to refer to as "Mom", though she wasn't my mother, she was a foster parent of mine; one of many. They didn't like me much, the agency. Many of my foster parents would come back days later to complain about my habits, problems, the fact I had brown hair, anything really. They just didn't want to accept the fact I was different than the little soccer player boy they adopted or the teenage Bratz doll. I just had my kinks and if they weren't willing to put up with it; so be it.

    I crossed my arms and watched her chocolate brown eyes burn with a dancing gold lining, as if they were on fire. They easily widened as she stood straight, extending her right arm, which she was holding the bottle in between three of her fingers. Her expression was easily readable; one that showed pure anger and disgust. It was one I'd seen many times before, especially when I did something bad. "Are you just trying to get sent back to the foster care?" She exclaimed, wielding the half empty bottle around in empty air.

    My eyes draped heavily to the grey carpet, which was now becoming saturated with drops of the liquid. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound was inaudible, as the carpet protected the unrecognizable dread that would come if she saw the liquid staining a fabric. My own placid like eyes followed up from the carpet at a slanted angle slowly to meet her infuriated face. I could hear her taking deep breaths, one at a time. I shrugged. That obviously wasn't the answer that she was expecting. It took her a minute to collect her voice, though it did sound raspy as she spoke. "Just go to your room and I'll call the facility."

    I know that should have affected me, but truth is, it didn't. After moving from home to home on a small schedule, I didn't mind. The people at the facility didn't fancy me, and that's alright, because I didn't want them to. Only three years until I would be eligible to take care of myself out in the cruel, cruel world. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I knew more about the outside world than they'd like to imagine.

    My room wasn't all that decorated, as I didn't see myself staying there for too long. The bed was a flat, modern sleigh bed style, dressed with a plaid blue cover blanket and a white sheet. My pillow was just a dainty white with matching blue stripes going horizontally. The walls were white with a few pop posters on the wall, such as Justin Bieber posters, possibly from them expecting me to be a sweet child. Everything else was basically oak wood dressers and tables, and then one full body mirror in the right corner. I didn't really have anything of importance in here, except for my clothes. I sat down on the bed, crossing my ankles in front of each other. My eyes shortly gazed out the window, watching the winds blow leaves and debris along the streets of Ethan Avenue.

    Creeeek.

    "Not now Austen," I muttered under my breath, hoping he'd get the message through his thick skull.

    Creeek.

    Austen was my, um, ghost. I didn't like to call him that, but that's how I can describe him to other people. Truth is, I believe Austen to be the residue of my past life. He's a bit of a trouble maker, Austen. He's always breaking things and causing mayhem in my life. I swear, wherever he is, he's always chuckling at my misery that he's causing. Sometimes, mostly when I least want him to, he takes over my body, or even someone elses and makes us do his dirty deeds, though he hasn't done anything too terrible yet. I'm not even sure if his name is Austen, but I wasn't about to rip out an ouija board to find out. It probably wouldn't matter anyway, he's already haunting me.

    I ran a stained red finger through my dark brown hair, my nose scrunching up at the scent. It wasn't such a good scent now that it was stained with guilt. That woman wasn't exactly the richest, and of course I felt a bit of pain ruining her stuff. She wasn't able to have her own kids, and I was just the side of a child that nobody wanted to see. I laid back on my bed and instantly felt a pain in my stomach. I rolled my eyes and tightly squeezed the loose skin on my stomach. Why was my stomach hurting so much lately?

    Smash.

    I slowly opened my eyes and turned my head to see a snow globe had shattered all over the floor near my end table. "Damn you, Austen." I groaned, hitting my head back on the mattress , completely missing my pillow. I listened closely though, and I could hear footsteps rushing to my room, followed by the door swinging open fast and the door handle digging deep into the wall of my temporary bedroom, obviously leaving a hole in the wall. My eyes slowly moved to the doorway, not bothering to turn my head. I knew who was there, and she was only angrier than ever.

    "Avery! I leave you alone for four god-damned minutes and you destroy a snowglobe, soaking the floorboards."

    "It wasn't me."

    "Oh? And who was it? Your little 'ghost' friend?" She put air quotes around the word ghost.

    I shrugged, my shoulders sliding up the blanket on my bed underneath of me. "Not a ghost."

    "What am I supposed to do with you?!"

    I sat up on my bed and looked at her, propping myself up with my left hand. Sometimes I wished Austen would do something in front of her, but he knew better than to get himself caught by someone other than me. "I thought you were sending me back to the facility," I breathed, my expression being obviously lackadaisical.

    She shook her head violently from side to side, her expression softening. She walked closer to me, resting her hand on the dresser as she looked at me. Her dusty blonde hair settled on her shoulders in a messy position. "I couldn't do that to you, you're just a child, Avery." I looked down at her hands. Her long, plain designed nails were stained with the same red dye that my fingers were stained with. Why did she bother cleaning it up? I could have done it, though, Austen would probably have made it more of a hell for me than it needed to be. "I mean, I'm probably not the best foster mother you were expecting, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't break everything around the house, alright?"

    "I can't control it."

    "Well, it'd be nice if you tried." She crossed her arms across her chest, and her face showed that she was pained by my response. It was so true though, I couldn't control what Austen did. He like, had a mind of his own. Though, he did. I didn't believe he was completely dead. She looked like she was about to say something else, and she probably was, but I quickly cut her off by speaking.

    "We'll see about that."

    She gave a troubled scoff under her breath as she turned on her heel to walk out without saying a word.

    Smash. Dink dink dink.

    Both of our heads whipped around to look at my bedroom window, where there was now a big hole in the window. I turned back to the woman, whose face was almost as pale as a ghost's. Her eyes danced from the window sill to the end of my bed, looking for a stone of some sort. Damn it, Austen, I thought to myself. Her fingers curled so much her knuckles turned whiter than they usually were, and she was a normally tan woman. Just wait until Mitch, my foster father, heard about this. He already hated my soul more than Janet did.

    "What was that?" She breathed, barely being able to form the words to her own ears.

    "Austen." I replied smoothly.

    Her eyes darted to mine and narrowed. "That's the last draw. I take back what I said. I'm definitely calling the facility. Pack your things."