When he’d given me a hug in greeting, it had been just a little too tight.  When he’d pulled back and looked me in the eye, I knew.

I gently lifted the phone from the receiver with a heavy heart.  I’d already disabled the sound so he wouldn’t hear me dial from in the hallway.  The knob on the door turned, and I quickly set the phone to the side.

“What are you doing, Justin?” I asked calmly as he opened the door.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he said with a smile.  He stepped in and closed the door behind him.

I clutched the bear tighter.  “I’m fine.  I think you should leave.”

“Don’t be like that,” he begged softly as he sat on the edge of the bed.  “I see you got the bear I sent,” he nodded toward the bear I clutched.  I’d hoped it would remind him of my age.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twenty-one.  Why are you asking?” He smiled and reached a hand to smooth over my hair.

“Because I’m twelve, and you shouldn’t be touching me.  Not even my hair.”

He sighed and dropped his hand, his eyes growing puzzled.  Then he nodded slowly.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.  Good night, Gabby.”  He leaned forward with the intent of kissing me.  I dodged out of the way, bumping the table that held the phone.

“Don’t,” I warned.  “Justin, I like your mom, but with you here, I can’t stay.”

The door to my room opened, and Justin’s mom looked from me to her son. Her face was white with shock, and she loosely held a phone in her hand.  Justin looked at her phone then the phone on the table by my bed.

“What are you doing in here?”

He scowled.  “Nothing.”

His mom’s eyes shifted to me.

“It’s time I leave,” I said softly.  She nodded and dialed the phone.

The dream shifted.

My foster dad leaned over my chair, his arm brushing against my breast as he served me mashed potatoes.  I met the eyes of my foster mom at the end of the table.  Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away.  After dinner, I rushed to the phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.

The dream shifted.

Alixe and I had gotten on well for three months before services called asking if she could take on another teen.  She assured them I was an angel and that she would have no trouble adding another.  When she hung up, she told me that Brandon would be joining our happy home.  I tried not to show my disappointment.  I asked his age.  Fourteen, same as me.  Maybe that would make a difference.

We worked together to make the single bed in the third room.  She told me to let her know if there was any trouble.  Brandon came to the door an hour later. He stood with his head down trying to hide his face.  His swollen eye and nose told his story better than his slumped shoulders and dirty clothes.

Alixe coaxed him in and spoke with the officer dropping him off.  The boy’s abuse was clear.  Still, when he risked a look up and met my eyes, I saw a change in him.  A small one.  He glanced back down quickly, but the slump in his shoulders was gone.

The next morning, I woke with him standing beside my bed staring at me.  “Why do I feel like this?” he whispered to me, close to tears.  His hands shook.  I wanted to cry, too.  I wished I knew why the men around me acted as they did…why they couldn’t just leave me alone.

“If you ignore me, it will help,” I whispered back.  He nodded but didn’t move.

Finally, he sighed, wiped at his tears, and winced when he touched the swollen skin. Then he left.

I sat with Alixe at the breakfast table after he’d eaten and left the room.  “He needs help,” I said softly.  She nodded, looking sad.  “I don’t think me being here will help him.  He needs you more than I do.  Please.  Call services.  Let them know we talked, and I need a new home so you can focus on Brandon.”

The dreams shifted.

I sat at the dinner table across from an older man, warily keeping an eye on him as he ate with gusto.  It was my third night in his house and so far everything had gone great.  I didn’t let myself get too hopeful, though.  My faith in men hadn’t held up well after my experiences with foster care and school.

He forked in the last bite of spaghetti and meat sauce—more sauce than meat—from his plate and sat back with a sigh.  He frowned at my plate.  “I know it’s not much,” he said.

I shook my head.  “Sam, it’s fine.  I’m just not that hungry.”  I eyed the huge mound of noodles on my plate.

He glanced at my plate, too, and grinned.  “I’ll remember to cut the serving back next time,” he promised.  I agreed and rose to put the rest into a container and wash my dishes.  He stood and waited for his turn at the sink.  He kept a respectful distance between us.

When I was about to leave the room with my school bag, he called my name.  I glanced back at him.  He looked a little lost as he met my gaze.  “You’ll tell me if you need something, right?  Lunch money or a ride to the mall?”

I nodded wondering what he really meant with this unusual line of questioning. He must have sensed my confusion because he sighed and gave a self-depreciating smile.  “Cubs are easy.  Feed them, give them your time, and they are happy.  You don’t need much food, and you prefer to be alone.  I don’t know how to raise a human.  A human girl is even more,” he waved his hand at me, “confusing.”

A tiny smile crept onto my face seeing him so flustered.  Living with a werewolf already beat living with any foster family, except maybe the last one.  My smile faded, and I felt a tad lonely for Barb.

“If I need anything, I’ll let you know.”  I turned and left the kitchen.

The dreams stopped.  Darkness claimed me for a moment before her voice floated in.

“Every moment you live offers you a chance to learn.  Your experiences and your reactions to them make you who you are.  Who are you, daughter? And what have you learned?

The dreams started again.  I didn’t struggle against them, wanting to know more about what I faced.

My stepfather, Richard, looked pale as Blake suggested I take the children outside to play.  At just over a year, my brother couldn’t really play outside yet, and the baby shouldn’t be in the sun.  I knew that from my mom.  My eyes watered thinking of her.  We’d just had her funeral a few days ago.

Regardless, Richard told me to take them both outside.  One of Blake’s friends followed us out.  Either Blake or one of his associates had been with us since Mom died.  I didn’t really like any of them.  Mostly because Mom hadn’t.  Aden fussed, and I gently set him against my shoulder, rocking him side to side.

“Shut that kid up,” the man with us growled.

I frowned at him but started whispering to the baby, trying anyway.

“Bring the older one back,” Blake called from inside.

The man strode over and for a moment, I thought he would grab me.  Then he reached down and plucked Liam up by his tiny little arm.  Liam screamed and just dangled there not understanding.

“Stop!” I yelled, trying to reach for Liam while still holding Aden.  The man held him away and went inside.  I raced after him, holding Aden tight.

Richard sat at the table crying, his face in his hands, not even looking at his son.

“Set him down,” Blake ordered. His eyes remained on me.  I thought he meant Aden, and I clutched him tighter.  But his friend set Liam down.  “That’s not how you carry a child,” Blake said to the man.  His voice held little censor.  He squatted before Liam, who sat in a sobbing heap on the floor.

“You do love your brothers, don’t you, Michelle.”  He patted Liam on the head and stood again.  “I’ll be helping your father for a while, until he’s on his feet again.”