Problems of a Distraught Cub - Intro p.3
#3 of Problems of a Distraught Cub
I simply sat there thinking. With the drugs it was hard to concentrate and think, but I was. That's all I ever do anymore, is think. About what I can't really say. Maybe about how the hell I'm going to get out of this place. Maybe about what I had done so wrong to lose my home, and any other home that I had too. About how I've never been adopted for more than a couple weeks before getting dumped back here in this shithole again. Maybe they are a bit my fault though
I've been adopted three times before. The first time when I was nine, and I was adopted by this cheetah couple. The wife was a bitch of course and the husband was a total asshole. It didn't last long and I was back here two weeks later. The reason was that the husband beat me and I ran away. Go figure, right? Just like an adult to beat the little defenseless kid for spilling a little orange juice on the carpet. I hated them and I was glad to be gone. The world is fucked up.
The second was this single old woman who wanted to treat me as more of a pet or slave than an actual fellow fur. I was gone and run away a week later. I was picked up by the authorities and dumped here again unfortunately. I was ten and a half I think when that one happened.
The last one was right after that and I had just turned eleven. It was this young couple. Hard to tell the breed but they were some sort of mutt I think. They had me for five days. I remember it the most because I was in their home for such a short time and taken back to this place so quickly over the stupidest reason imaginable. They didn't know it at the time they adopted me, but they found out somehow that I was into other guys. Probably because I would just check out the girl mutt's boyfriend. They seemed to have ignored the fact of my previous adoption failures and that I was marked as the bad kid, but it didn't matter with that I guess. I was taken back so quickly, and I haven't been adopted since.
I was put alone in my room, which is basically a jail cell put into more public pleasing words. I was alone to think and be lonely. I didn't know how long I was lying there, and I didn't really care. I probably got half an hour of sleep each night, and all I know is that the drugs wore off very slowly. By Thursday they were finally gone fully. The nausea was gone by Wednesday night. I still hadn't eaten by Thursday and it was four days now without food. I just wasn't hungry.
I was reminded it was Thursday when the same two asshole guards that were douchey enough to throw me in this crappy cell in the first place came in through the door and dragged me to the stupid monkey doctor's office, cuffed me to the chair to stop me from lashing out and left me alone until the doctor arrived, which is odd because he's always here when they bring me. The chains and cuffs weren't really needed, due to that I never lashed out when I was alone with the doctor. All but the other day... the other day was hazy, because of the drug's effects.
The thing is... the reason I lash out and act mean and tough and I'm in solitary like it's going out style like I'm the worst kid in this place is because I'm actually terrified
of this place and a lot of other stuff too. It seems cliché, but it's true, I'm scared of things and that's why I don't really talk to people about much of anything. I act tough so that way others can't see how much of a baby I really am and that even though I've done so much 'bad' stuff, I'm still just a little kit terrified of a lot of things.
I remember what I did just like it was yesterday's news....