I should have been home an hour ago. That was the plan. That’s what he told me to do. I was supposed to drop some shit off, pick up some other stuff, and then get back to the apartment. It was a risky thing, I guess. He kept telling me how risky it was and not to fuck it up. He sat there in a chair, drinking whiskey from a bottle, repeating himself over and over. I could tell something was up because he never got nervous.

Hell, the last couple months had been the closest I had gotten to my father.

Now I was running through alleys and backyards, trying to get to the apartment before the cops did. I had no idea if they were actually going to visit my father, but something told me they were. I had screwed up big time. How? It wasn’t completely clear to me yet.

But something big was going down.

I gritted my teeth, pissed off that I had just been kissing Rose. Of course that’s how it would happen. Just like at that stupid party. I should have kissed her then. But I didn’t want it to be because of that game. I wanted it to be real. And, yeah, I had kissed another girl at the party, but whatever. In some way, I wanted Rose to catch me so I could see if she got jealous. Which she did. That meant she liked me.

Fuck, this was hard. Navigating these waters of liking someone like Rose, all the while trying to help my father with some favors so he would actually look at me like I was a real person. Usually he’d just get strung out on booze and drugs, and eventually, someone would come and take me away. He’d do some time, hit rehab, and by then my new foster family would be ready to boot me out.

This time had been different. From the day I got back with my father, he showed interest in me. Maybe because I was older and I had an actual purpose now.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t been all that bad. First thing was that he didn’t hit me anymore. I was big enough to knock him out if he tried. Second thing was that he bought me stuff. He bought actual food to eat. If I did him favors, he would buy me a bike, give me cash, even talked about buying me my own guitar.

So I ran faster. I ran harder.

I cut through one more backyard.

The sirens wailed and suddenly stopped.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

The lights flashed against the apartment building. It would only be a matter of time before the lights would come on and everyone would want to see what was happening.

I jumped the last chain link fence and ran toward the front of the apartment building.

We lived on the ground floor.

I appeared just as two officers began to approach the building.

“Hey!” I called out.

They looked at me and put their hands to their weapons. “Stop! Don’t move!”

I quickly showed my hands. “I live here. With my father.”

I had no plan. I had no idea what I was doing.

Maybe it was my instinct to distract the officers so my father could make an escape.

“Your father?” one of the officers asked.

“Foster,” the other one said. “Get over here right now.”

I approached slowly.

“We have a warrant and cause,” the first officer said. “Get over here, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” I said. “You should get out of here.”

“Foster, don’t do anything stupid,” the second officer said.

I curled my lip. I hated this shit. I hated when the cops came. I hated when they arrested my father.

“I have a gun,” I said, blurting it out in a shaky voice.

“Get him!” the first officer ordered.

Before I could take a breath, the second officer jumped on me. I slammed to the ground and was face down. The officer’s hands moved fast, finding the gun in a second. He slid it behind him and put his knee to the middle of my back.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Foster?” he yelled. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“You got what you wanted,” I said. “Now go. Take me and go.”

“Not a chance,” the first officer said.

“It’s mine,” a voice said.

I craned my head and saw my father walking from the apartment building. He was stumbling drunk, holding a bottle of whiskey. He threw the bottle back and took his last drink. He slammed the bottle to the ground, letting it shatter.

“It’s my fucking gun,” he called out.

“No,” I yelled.

“Shut up, Foster,” the officer said and dug his knee into my back.

I groaned in pain.

“Come on, Kevin,” the first officer said to my father. “You know why we’re here. Don’t make this harder than it is.”

“You going to shoot me in front of my own kid?”

“No,” the officer said. “You’re going to turn around, put your hands behind your back, and drop to your knees.”

“I’ll do that if you let my kid go,” my father said. “That’s not his gun. I gave it to him to hold.”

“Stop this,” I said. “He’s lying.”

My father stumbled forward even more.

“Get off him,” the officer said to the one with his knee to my back.

He got off me and pulled me to my feet. He put my wrists together behind my back and held them.

“Be good, kid,” my father said. “Be good.”

“No,” I said. “This is wrong. I had the gun.”

The officer pulled at my wrists, sending pain up my arms. “It’s more than that, Foster. Just shut up.”

The first officer arrested my father.

There was a disaster of charges waiting for my father this time. Cops had been tracking him and some friends for a while. Money, guns, drugs. Me being a pawn in it all. But nothing would happen to me. I was considered a kid. A kid who stood there with his hands behind his back, watching his father get tossed into the back of a police car. A kid who had his hands released and was escorted by a police officer into the apartment so I could get my stuff. I was told to pack my bags.

A kid that emerged from the apartment with two bags and all the neighbors outside, staring. Knowing who my father was. Knowing that he was in trouble again. Knowing I was just some poor kid that would get shipped off to a new home.

Which is exactly what happened.

A car pulled up and a woman hurried to get out. I didn’t recognize her, but she knew everything about me. She reassured me that everything was going to be okay. She told me I would be safe.

But that was a lie.

The only time I felt safe… was when I kissed Rose.