Until All the Stars Are Found

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

My bus ride back to the apartment is long and quiet, giving me plenty of time to plan what to say to Jaxon. I get off the bus just up the road from “home” around seven, well after rush hour traffic. My stomach is screaming for food at this point. And the granola bar wrappers in the bottom of my bag are a tease. Though there likely isn't going to be much to eat waiting for me in the apartment either.

Peering up at the windows of my apartment high above, it looks like no one is home, but you never know with Jaxon. I honestly don't know how he passed the tests to be a foster parent. His ex-girlfriend Leslie had at least been a decent human. But she didn't deserve a man like him, she left within four months of me moving in. That was a rough couple of months.

I grab the rungs of the fire escape and haul myself up to the first level. I figured out pretty quickly when I moved in with Jaxon that it was best to put all my things down and remove any trace of my day before approaching him. Today, I will need a different tactic.

I quickly and quietly scale the stairs to the third-floor window. I wipe my hands off on a towel I've tucked in a small box. The fabric is stained a burnt copper color from the flakes of iron from the rungs. I replace the towel to its nook and turn back to the window. Now my life would have been ten times easier if the landing led right into my bedroom, right? But no, this window leads into the hallway right outside my room. It looks down the hall to the living room and Jaxon's big armchair, where he usually can be found. Ninety percent of the time, he is passed out drunk. I stand at the edge of the window frame and peer down the hall, ready to jump back and run down a flight of stairs if I need to. Jaxon' hates that I come in this way. He has tried to lock the window in the past, but I figured out a way to undo the lock from this side. Great for sneaking in, shitty for home security. He isn't smart enough to nail it shut.

I never know what sort of mood Jaxon will be in when I get home. He has gotten a lot worse lately now that I am eighteen. Nearly every conversation we have is him asking when I will be leaving now that I have aged out of the foster system. My answer has been the same every time. As soon as possible.

I peer down the hall. I can see Jaxon flopped over in his chair. And he is either dosing or passed the f**k out. His feet are splayed out in front of him, and he loosely holds a can of beer. He is keeled over to the side, so I can't see his face. I grip the frame and slowly raise it a few inches. I crouch below the window and strain to hear any noise coming from the apartment. Aside from the muffled voices from the television, all is quiet. I can't hear him snoring. Keeping my eyes on his legs and any sign of movement, I lift the frame the rest of the way open, thankful yet again for the weekly oiling of the frame to hide any squeaks. I quickly toss my bag into my room in case he is awake, climb through, and shut it behind me. I spin back to the hallway, take the two strides into my room, and close the door with a soft click.

I press my ear flat against the door and listen for thirty or so beats. I sigh, hearing nothing, and sink to the squeaky mattress of my bed. My room is small. I am pretty sure on the floor plan, it was a large closet for the master bedroom across the hall. But when I was placed here, Jaxon had already furnished it for me. So kind of him. I have the bed, a standing lamp as there are no overheads, and a dresser. There is no window. That was the biggest hint to me that it was a closet. That and the fact that I can't lock the room from the inside, but he can from the outside. The room itself is roughly eight feet by six feet. I barely have space to open the bottom drawer of the dresser. But I don't have that many clothes anyway.

I empty the drawers of the dresser, laying the few clothing items I have out on the bed. It was enough to have had a few outfits at one point but little enough to fit in a single bag. By now, most of the clothes don't fit anymore or were so worn out I don't see any point in taking them with me. My go-to clothes at this point are the green cargo pants I wear ninety percent of the time, and a few black shirts; black is easier to layer and doesn't show wear and tear as quickly. I will wear something until it is see-through. Socks, bras, and underwear all make their way into the bag too. I lift the false bottom I installed in the of the drawer and pull out my sentimental items. This consists of a necklace my mother used to wear, but I never have for fear Jaxon would pawn it, one of my father's ties, and a single photo screen printed on a piece of sheet metal a few inches wide. I lay them between my clothes for padding and turn to my bed.

I lift the mattress and pull out the bag of food and garbage I stashed underneath. I shove the trash in the bag and sort through the food. I probably won't be able to take it with me. But I need something for dinner tonight, and breakfast. Maybe Sarkus can use some of it? Tossing a stale granola bar in the garbage pocket. Lastly, I pull my pillow from its thin case when inside the case, you can't see the slit and the flat side stuffed with credits. I split a pair of socks and shove most of the money in my socks, putting some in my backpack to have handy.

I press my ear to the door. The show sounds louder. Which means Jaxon is probably up now. I pull the form up on my watch and take a deep breath. He needs to sign it. I tell myself. But if he refuses to, I have Shaelin's signature, I remind myself. “Hey Jaxon,” I say, coming into his domain. My room is neat, clean, mainly due to the lack of things, the living room is trashed. Bottles and cans are everywhere. I look at the bits of metal, wondering if it would be worth staying to clean them up a bit, I might be able to sell some of them for scraps get a few more dollars for Sarkus.

“What do you want, Ada?” Jaxon says, crushing the can in his hand. There is still some liquid in it, and it sloshes across his lap and onto the already stained carpet. “s**t. Ada, get me another.” He slurs. I do. I hold my breath in the kitchen. The smell of rotten food is overpowering. I can't clean it. He thinks I would be too loud, and I honestly wouldn't know where to start. I pull open the fridge. Like usual, it is crammed full of cans of alcohol, but I managed to squeeze a few containers of food in the back, though none of which I can grab now.

I bring him back the can and stand off to the side as he opens the drink with a crack and a hiss and takes several large gulps.

“So, you know how my birthday was a few weeks ago,” I say. It's a statement. We know it occurred (see above all the conversations about me leaving.)

“Yeah, when did Shaelin say I could kick you out?” Jaxon asks, turning back to the game on the TV. I start to answer, but he screams at the bots fighting on the screen. “Fuckin' A' they made him last week! Why did you think you could beat him? His tech is brand new!”

I wait until the round is over. “So kicking me out isn't quite the wording I would use, but,” I tap a few buttons and send him the doc for him to sign, “If you sign this doc, I am released from your care. You claim no rights to my welfare. It would all be over.”

He picks up his tablet from a side table and scans the doc. He blinks a few times, trying to focus on the small print. “So, where’d ‘you get this?” He scans it, “Really? The Galactic Garrison, you think you are good enough for them? They really want you?” He tosses the tablet to the couch on the other side of the room.

I shrug. “I guess so,” I leave out the part about me already passing the tests or the fact that he knows I enlisted and have been training for two years now. “Sign the doc, and even if they kick me out, I won't be your problem anymore. I will be on my own.” I cross my arms, waiting.

He scans me up and down. “No. No, I won't sign it.” He turns the tv back up.

I feel a little burst of anger in my chest. “What gonna get all sentimental now on me?” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No. Because I think it's a waste of time. They won't even let you out of New Seattle, let alone off the world. There is no way they'd let you in.”

“Well, that's your opinion. I'd like to get theirs.”

“What's the catch?”

“There is no catch. If you'd read the damn doc-” I say, pointing at the tablet.

“Don't you swear at me, b***h!” Jaxon says, launching the half-full can at my head. I duck away, and it sprays my back with cold alcohol. “I said I'm not signing it. Find another way to get out of my house. But I want you gone by the end of the week.”

“Sign the doc, and I'll be gone in like twenty-four hours,” I repeat.

“I’m not f*****g signing the doc. Get the f**k out of my face. Get out.”

I retreat down the hall and slam the door. I slide down the door to the floor and rub my eyes. I knew that would happen. I wipe off my watch, now soaked in alcohol, and tap out a message to Shaelin.

ADA: I tried to get him to sign. He threw a beer can at my head. Told me it was a waste of time because I won't be good enough to get in. Said he wants me gone by the end of the week. I guess it is a good thing. I will be gone tomorrow.

I hit send and lay back, waiting for her to respond.

SHAELIN: Did he hit you with the can? Let me know if you need any support, I can have someone come around. I am sorry Ada, I will send a message to the Galactic Garrison and let them know you were unable to get his signature.

SHAELIN: Still waiting on hearing from Melody.

I scroll over to the doc from Sergeant Lima. It lists some benefits and flaws or being in the military. Near the top in bold letters underneath health insurance, and career is Tablet for each draftee. I glance at my duffel where I know a pile of money sits, though maybe not enough for a decent tablet. I need to sell a few more items. I check under and around my bed, making sure nothing else is left in my room. I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out into the hall. I don't worry about sneaking out. I walk right out the door. When Jaxon calls me, I keep walking, knowing he will follow for a minute, screaming. He will get fined for breaking quiet hours and for probably not releasing me from his custody for no other reason than he is an ass. I grin and speed up. Serves him f*****g right. Good luck with that, buddy.