Jack sat alone in the basement he was forced to call a bedroom. This was his fifth foster home so far, and probably the worst. His mother had left him in a department store when he was five. It still brought tears to his eyes to think about how little you had to care about your child when you just left him to fend for himself in an inner city department store. The only thing he could remember of that day was walking around calling out for her over and over again and the tears in the cashier's eyes when she realized that he had been abandoned. The first foster home he had been sent to had been pretty nice, but they were in the process of adopting their own child and had little time for him. John and Lily had reminded him constantly that this was only temporary and if he even tried to set foot in the nursery he was shooed out and ignored for hours until he had learned his lesson. It was then when it first crossed his mind that maybe, he just wasn't worthy of anyone's love. He had stayed there for two years until the adoption had been complete. He had been happy to go. He hadn't known that things in his life would only continue to get worse.

He had moved into his second foster home; the parents had been drug addicts. Zach and Miriam were so addicted to coke that they constantly forgot simple everyday tasks like showering and taking him to school. If it wasn't for the fact that they never put the groceries away he would have starved. He learned quickly to horde what food he could find and eat as little as possible in one sitting. He tried to block out the nights when they had gotten so plastered that they found it hilarious to lock him in the closet and let him scream himself hoarse. It was because of them that he was terrified of being alone in the dark. His foster families only humored him with a night light so they wouldn't have to hear him screaming when he woke up from a nightmare. When Zach didn't have the money to pay for the drugs, he sold Jack to the drug dealer for some fun. He was too young to fight them off. The only reason he had been taken out of their care was because he had passed out from hunger in school after they had spent the grocery money on a weekend long high.

Foster home number three had been his first experience in true human cruelty. Here he wasn't just an inconvenience, he wasn't a scapegoat for someone's addiction. He was now someone's punching bag. Jack moved in on his tenth birthday. The family had almost twelve foster kids, most of them cramped three or four to a room. The eldest boys had a field day beating on him. He had tried to fight them off at first and quickly learned that it hurt a lot less when he didn't fight. They would gang up on him four at a time. Two holding him still and two kicking and punching him. If he just stood there they grew bored with him and moved on to some other unlucky kid. He had only stayed there a year when social services determined that the family had too many kids. Jack was the first to go.

His last foster father, Damon had grown accustomed to beating Jack instead of beating his wife, Elizabeth. His foster mother had spent countless hours putting make up on his bruises to hide them from the school authorities. She didn't want to lose her whipping boy. She would work out stories and make him rehearse them well into the middle of the night to make sure that if he was questioned, he knew the appropriate answers. They had kept him well-fed and other than the beatings they had kept their hands to themselves. His foster father had learned quickly that Jack was afraid of the dark and exploited it, threatening to lock him in the cellar if he didn't behave or if he told anyone. He was thirteen when a teacher finally got wise. Damon had thrown a chair at him and he had landed wrong breaking his ankle. He was limping when he came to school and the nurse had demanded to see his foot. She had taken one look at the huge bruise and pushed his pant leg up farther, revealing even more bruises in various stages of healing.

Now he was here. How many fucked up houses were there to stick kids in? Jack knew that no one wanted him. This latest home was the worst. The minute he had set foot in the house the man had looked at him like he was a meal ticket. Jack heard the door at the top of the stairs open and it brought him out of his thoughts. Heavy footfalls that could only belong to Walter brought Jack closer to a nervous breakdown. He kept his eyes on the opposite wall as Walter sat down on the bed with a syringe in hand.

It had hurt the first time one of Walter's customers had raped him. It had been a long time since someone had touched him that way and it had been harder for Jackie to control himself and not fight them. He'd gotten a lucky shot off the last time and busted the guy's nose. His foster father, Walter had been pissed. He'd taken the belt to Jack for over an hour. When his anger still hadn't been assuaged he took to Jack with his fists. Jack's eye was still a deep purplish black color. That had been two days ago. Now he sat on the bed across from his foster father. "Don't worry, Jackie Boy, you'll like this." The man stuck the syringe in Jack's arm and depressed the liquid into the boy's veins. He laughed as the boy's eyes dilated. "How you feeling Jackie Boy?"

Jack didn't feel anything. He had known it would come to this sooner or later. He may be young but wasn't stupid. He was denying Walter his income by fighting with all his customers. Customers didn't pay to fight, they paid to get what they wanted. Jack was confused and tried to stand. His legs fell out from under him. Walter caught him in powerful arms, laughing from his own high, and tossed the boy back on the bed. Jack could only stare at the ceiling as Walter left and a stranger took his place in Jack's line of vision. It was hard to focus on the man's face, Jack knew his identity only because of the bandage on his nose. Jack could feel the man's rough hands ripping at his clothes and Jack let himself pass out. He didn't know what time it was when he woke up. He sat up, his head buzzing from the drugs in his system. His clothes were tossed in a heap on the floor. He knew the drill by now. He'd been here long enough to know that he was supposed to shower and get dressed again. None of the customers wanted sloppy seconds. He stumbled into the bathroom and retched into the toilet. He managed to stand under the water for a while before the room swirled around him. He braced himself on the wall until the world stopped moving and shut the water off. He had barely thrown his jeans back on when Walter came down the stairs, another syringe in hand. "Please..." He couldn't seem to form words, but he knew that if Walter continued to pump drugs into him that he'd die.

"Are you going to be good, Jackie? I need you to be a good little whore. Think you can be good for another customer without this?" Walter knew that soon enough Jack would be begging for a high and when that happened, Jack would willingly take the customers to bed. His profits would double.

Jack opened his mouth and for a moment thought he would vomit again. He closed his mouth and nodded his head instead. He struggled to slip into his shirt and Walter had to help him. Jack felt Walter push him back on the bed and he laid there until the next customer came calling. The small red numbers on the alarm clock indicated that it was nearly midnight when Jack finally came fully around from the affects of the drugs. He tried not to think about what had happened today as he sat up and held his head in his hands. He could feel it already. His body was craving the needle. Jack couldn't live like this. He remembered how desperate Zach and Miriam had been for their next high. He wouldn't live like that. He wouldn't willingly give himself over just to get a fix. He may not have deserved love, but he didn't deserve this either. Jack slipped quietly into the bathroom and grabbed the razor he had been given to shave with. According to Walter it wasn't good for him to have any body hair, it 'offended the customers.' They wanted the real teen dream and Walter provided that. Jack cracked the head of the razor on the sink, breaking the blade from the plastic casing and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. He ran it over his wrists. It stung at first, but he had to do this. He pressed harder, each time letting more blood flow from the wounds he was inflicting. He saw Nellie standing in the doorway. When she didn't move to stop him, Jack knew that this was her way of easing his pain. She wasn't strong enough to stand up to Walter, but she was strong enough to watch him die. He managed one last round on his wrists before he passed out, falling into the bathtub and cracking his head on the porcelain.