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Blackened Butterflies

Summary:
Emme Foster hasn't had the best time growing up. And since the age of nine, it has taken a turn for the better. With a new Foster family every so often, and a passion for horses, Emme learns to hide her past and secret passion from others as to be considered normal. What happens when there are some new kids in town, with some very interesting habits, and while off in Columbus, Ohio; yet another mysterious figure wanders their way in to her life. Now to protect the life she holds so dear, Emme must choose who to tell what, and how to keep her dark past, and bright passion away from her enemies, and even her closest friends.


Notes:
Yet another fan fiction, not too many recognizable characters though... sorry about that.


1. Nightmare

Rating 0/5   Word Count 1343   Review this Chapter

It was dark. They had left me here hours ago. Would they ever be back? I shuddered at the thought. I didn't want them to come home, but I didn't want to be tied to this chair with half a pillowcase hanging out of my mouth either.

I sighed. I knew the room well enough by now. I managed to get the chair closer to the window, trying to turn it around so I could write something with my nose on the frosted glass.

I managed a very sloppy S.O.S backwards from my point of view, hopefully one of the neighbors would see it and try and get me out of here. It's been six years, and I don't know how much more of my parents' torturing I could take. It's like they had both turned into complete strangers.

I heard someone banging on the front door downstairs about two or three hours later. If they were back, they wouldn't be doing this, they would have just walked in like usual. A small spark of hope stirred within me. Someone was going to save me.

The banging stopped and I saw someone with a flashlight outside. They aimed it up at my window. The light flooded in front of my face, I shut my eyes, and they glowed orange on the inside. The light died.

Not a long time later, there was banging on the front door again. It was harder this time, and I could hear yelling outside. I didn't know what was going on. I was terrified again. I heard the front door hit the floor and running on the stairs. I tried to make myself as small as possible, but it was hard to do that because my feet and hands were tied. So I just hung my head and waited, my eyes shut tight.

Light flooded the room. I didn't move. I waited to be slapped when they saw my note on the window. It never came. A hand patted my head, and a voice started talking to me. I looked up.

Two men stood in front of me dressed in police uniforms, both looked half terrified, and half concerned. The man kept talking wile the other untied my hands and feet. They offered me a hand, but I just sat there, they'll be mad when they come home. I was bad, and he didn't like it when I was bad. He would hurt me again. I didn't want to be hurt again.

One of them wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and they carried me out of the house. I saw some of the neighbors watching, horrified. They had never known that I had ever existed. My father didn't want anyone to know about me. He said I was too bad of a person for people to know about.

They sat me in the back of a police car and started talking to another set of officers. They said something about arrest. I shuddered, but they looked at me like they were really sorry. They also said something about me being as far away from my parents as possible.

A car pulled up behind the car that I sat in. I heard the doors slam, and then the officers moved around towards the driver, talking really fast. They sounded angry. Tears started to fall down my face.

My father pushed his way through the officers until he was looking into the car I sat in. His face was evil as he yelled at me. The officers pulled him away and shut the door. One got into the front seat and we drove away. I was eight.

I woke up hyperventilating and choked off my scream.

It's been nine years since that night; the first night that I was finally free of my parents. Free of hurt and torture. Then why would I have dreamt of it all over again?

Lexi, my roommate and foster sister, rolled over and sighed in her sleep. I climbed out of bed. I couldn't go back to sleep now. I walked out of the room, through the dark hallway, down the carpeted stairs, and into the kitchen of the house.

Martha, my foster mom was up. "Emme," She said concerned. "What's wrong sweetheart?"

She closed the book she was reading, and stood up. She was a kind woman. She had long dirty blond hair that curled naturally in large ringlets and stretched down to her mid-back. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of dark blue, and she was small, only about five feet tall, if that. She set her reading glasses on the table and her arms wrapped around me as I silently cried.

She shushed and talked softly to me as I continued to cry. Her hand stroked my long reddish-brown large curls as she slowly rocked with my wracking sobs. When I had managed a break in my tears, she sat me down on the couch.

"Would you like a glass of milk?" She asked quietly.

I nodded as I pulled myself into a tight ball. She disappeared into the kitchen and I heard her get a glass out of the cabinet. She pulled the milk out of the fridge, poured it, and was back not long after.

"Here you go dear." She handed me the glass.

I sipped it slowly, keeping one arm around my legs as I sat in the corner of the couch. Why had it happened? Why did it have to come back? There was no way I was going to be able to uphold the progress I've been making now.

Martha watched me for a long time before she finally decided to ask me what was wrong.

I sighed and my body shook. "I- I had a dream..." I started.

She watched me sympathetically, "And it was a bad one."

I nodded. "It was... about my life. When they were still here." My parents had been locked away for three years, not long enough in my opinion. I had even had them tried for attempted murder. It didn't do much difference, and I didn't like that. Neither did Angie, the agent that worked with me on my case and with all of my foster care.

Martha pulled herself near me and wrapped her arms around me the best she could. "It's okay Emme, they're never coming back to get you. They can't hurt you anymore." It was a good thing she was a therapist.

I nodded, "I know. It- it was just so real." It came out as a whisper.

"Marta?" Tommy, a six year old that Martha had also taken in walked around the corner of the stairway. He was small, his brown hair cut straight across his forehead, and his big brown eyes made him look even less harmful than any other six year old I had ever met. He was dressed in a pair of blue dinosaur pajamas.

"What is it Tommy?" Martha asked him quietly.

He walked over to us and climbed into Martha's lap, "I got scared."

She wrapped one arm around him, "It's alright Tommy. Josh and I won't let anything happen to you."

He smiled up at her, "I know."

I smiled with her. It was so sad that his parents had tried to bury him alive when he was really such a sweet and innocent boy. I hurt to think about it. I turned to Martha, "I think I'm going to go back to bed now. Thanks for everything."

I turned on the stairs when she spoke to me, "You're welcome. And you need your rest, remember, you'll have some new students at school tomorrow to handle. Do you think you're up to it?" Her eyes searched mine, and I smiled.

"Yeah. It'll be nice to have a change of scenery. Or well, faces. Good night."

"Night Emme."