This is a story i never intended to post. It was something i really wrote for my own self entertainment.

I just figured i would post it in case anyone wanted to read a sister story! Hope you enjoy,thanks for reading!

Chapter One:

There are very few things that I remember from when I was a little girl. Sadly, the most prominent of my memories can be regarded as pointless. I remember Elvis Presley singing in my house every night. I remember a ratty old blanket that was stained with dirt and limp with stank that kept me as warm as it could at night. I mostly, though, remember one night in particular. It was the fearful night that I was laying on the floor in a small one window bedroom, quietly singing along to "Mystery Train", when the music died. It was the night that Elvis Presley stopped singing and police knocked down my front door and dragged my parents away from there dope and wrestled them into the back of a flashing squad car. It was the beginning of the end and when your only six your outlook on life becomes a harsh reality.

"Look, Presley I'm tired of constantly placing you so don't screw it up. Got it?" Mr. Lucas asked placing a firm hand on my shoulder like a silent threat.

"Your faith in me has never been stronger." I mumbled pressing my finger to the button maxing out the volume on my Discman. I shifted anxiously from foot to foot wishing we could just get this all over with. Skip the introduction and jump right to the part where the lady asks how much her foster parent check is worth. Of course this lady was suppose to be different, she was suppose to have took four other boys in and made them saints, showed them what a real parent is like. Don't B.S the bullshitter- I don't fall for it.

The door opened, making me jump. A tall gangly boy with messy dish-water hair leaned against the door frame carelessly. "Hello there son." said Mr. Lucas holding out a hand for an introduction. The boy ignored him and left us at the door, I stepped into the house with a satisfied smirk. He let his hand drop awkwardly to his side. I turned down the volume and rested my headphones on my neck.

"Ma the kids here." I heard the boy yell into the kitchen while he took a seat on the couch. He muted the volume on the TV but stared at it intently.

A women who was roughly my height but had me by about seventy-five pounds walked into the room with a smile tugging at her lips. She knocked her sons feet off the table as she came through holding out her arms.

"Hi there, I'm Evelyn, its so nice to meet you." She beamed shaking first mine and then Mr. Lucas's hand. She ushered us into the family room where the two adults both started making small talk and I pulled my headphones back up, absentmindedly watching whatever the boy had on TV.

I could instantly notice things that were different at this house than the others. Like a "family" room, or the many picture's littering the walls, and the way the house felt so relaxed and lived-in. It was comfortably messy and the stained carpet and torn furniture seemed to only compliment the room. It didn't even make me uncomfortable when the boy and Evelyn kept giving me curious glances as my eyes swept the room. The only thing that made me slightly unsure was the normalcy of the room. There were no pictures of cats on the walls, traces of pot lingering the table, or moldy furniture. I was waiting for something to scream out at me, some sort of sign, that this was just another house, another "home", another "family", another dead end.

I felt a hand on my knee and looked up to find Mr. Lucas mouthing some sort of awkward goodbye to me. I muted my music and gave him a quick nod before turning my attention back to the TV. With a final exchange of words Mr. Lucas left leaving me in the vicinity of the "too normal" home with the "too normal" lady.

"Well, Presley, would you like to see your bedroom." Evelyn's asked softly as she shut and locked the front door. "I'm sure Jack will carry your bags up for you." She gave the boy a pointed look and he obediently got up and made his way over to my three small bags, "…and now if you will follow me." She turned and headed up the stairs after Jack. I quickly followed after her.

I tried to remember which steps creaked, a necessary habit I had acquired, but by the time we reached the second floor I realized that they all did.

"Now, I don't know how much Mr. Lucas told you…but I have three other boys." She looked at me expectantly but I kept my face in a well practiced careless emotion. "This here's Bobby's room, he's not home much…Angel's," She pointed to the first door at the start of the hallway and then to the one across from it. "Here's Jack's room and then the bathroom and…your's". She smiled as Jack opened my door and sat my duffel bags onto the bed.

The bedroom was small but it looked like a decent amount of work had gone into it. The walls were painted an eggplant purple with faded blue carpet that filled the room along with the mismatched décor. A baby blue dresser stood next to a mirrored closet that reflected an old off-white desk and chair. The bed, wearing old quilts and an iron headboard was shoved in the corner under a single window. The window revealed a black shingled roof, shabby back yard, and a yellow moon. I took off my headphones and threw my Discman on the bed as a shrieking silence filled the room. Jack gave his mother a small nudge.

I turned to find Evelyn smiling at me wearily. "Oh yes, well, I suppose I should leave you to adjust. But before I go I just want to say that…" She prodded Jack out of the room and continued. "This isn't like your other houses, nothing you do will make me hit you. Your safe here, no matter what." She gave a meaningful smile and squeezed my hand before pulling the door shut.

I could feel her words filling the air, making it hard to breath. I fell into my bed trying to make sense of them. How could she guarantee something so promising. Doesn't she know that every hello ends with a goodbye?

I pulled out my record player and records and put Elvis on the track. "Suspicion" played like an after thought as I filled the empty drawers with clothes and the few personal items I had acquired throughout my many homes. I taped my tattered Elvis poster to the wall and wrote the lyrics of "Evil" on the mirror in eyeliner. The room was actually starting to feel like my room. Something I wasn't sure I was comfortable with.

As long as it took me to set up I still wasn't tired when I looked at the clock and it read 11:21. Wishing I had more things to put away I occupied myself by digging into my bag and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. I grabbed my jacket and left my window open while I climbed out onto the roof. It was October so the Detroit air was crisp and abnormally clean feeling. I tugged my jacket around me tighter and lit my smoke. I watched the moon as it slowly got higher in the sky. The deep soothing sound of Elvis sang to me, and between that and the tobacco, it was pulling me into a deeper kind of calm.

My smoke had burnt to a stub before I heard a window snap open. I quickly extinguished it with my thumb. Wincing as I hurried to hide my pack and then clumsily letting it slip to the edge of the roof. "God Damnit." I mumbled. You can't do anything right.

"Whoa," I heard the boy say as one long leg crept out the window "that kind of language is just not tolerated in this house." He warned as he somehow managed to fit all six foot of him through the window. He walked over to me with a joking smirk on his face that quickly burnt out when he saw my lack of amusement.

I leaned my head up against the side of the house and focused all my attention to the stars. They were the only thing you could ever really count on. No matter how many homes I went to or how many hands touched me I knew that stars would always be the same. Even if I cant see them they are still there. Even if there in different patterns they are still all there. Consistency.

He slid down next to me and leaned his head against the siding taking a deep breath and letting out smoke. I eyed his cigarette enviously. "Oh so that's what the cursing was about." He nodded to the pack sitting at the edge of the roof. "You know those things will kill you."

I rolled my eyes. I waited for the 'your too young to smoke' lecture to come, but it didn't.

"I started smoking when I was just a kid too." He quipped pointedly.

I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn't a kid but decided against it and let him continue. When he didn't we just sat there. The silence was comfortable. Only the sound of his burning cigarette and the wind through the trees made noise. Although the stars held my attention for a time, I couldn't help but keep glancing at his cig. My throat was starting to get thick and I knew I was either going to have to get my pack or steal the one from his hand.

He apparently could since my mounting anxiousness because he recklessly stumbled to the end of the roof and coolly tossed the pack to me. "Elvis, huh?" He asked taking his seat back next to me.

I shrugged, not knowing how to respond. His cool and careless attitude made me weary to open my mouth and reveal the clumsy and "un-cool" person I am.

"You know I never thought I'd say this but shrugging isn't an answer; use words'. He smirked and I could hear some sense of déjà vu in his voice.

I lit my cigarette expertly. "Yeah…I like his music." I said taking a long, much needed, drag.

"Did your parents like him? Is that why your name is Presley?"

"I don't know too much about my parents, as you could've probably figured out." I said shortly letting the smoke pour out of my mouth as I spoke.

He snickered "Aww…c'mon kid-"

"I'm not a kid." I mumbled sounding very much like a kid.

He smirked again and I decided I really didn't mind him all that much. I mean he was bothering the hell out of me but at least he was making some sort of twisted effort. Most people just left me to fend for my own or beat me senseless so I suppose I should be more appreciative. There was something about him that made me comfortable. Something that gave me reassurance.

We sat there again in the comfortable silence as he lit up another cig and I smoked mine to a stub. I flicked it towards the end of the roof and it landed in the gutter.

We both watched it smoke and burn out in a leaf.

"That's a bad move Elvis." he stated shaking his head "Guess who cleans out those gutters?"

I stayed quiet waiting for him to continue, when he didn't, I ate the bait. "Who?"

"Bobby and even though you don't know him he'll have your ass and mine for smoking." He stood up and picked the cig out of the gutter. "Here's the trick…stick them in your back pocket until you can throw them out somewhere but make sure you don't let them go through the wash otherwise Ma will find." In case I didn't understand he stuck the cig stubs in his back pocket.

"Thanks." I mumbled listening as my record skipped to an end.

"12:30" Jack yawned looking at his watch. "I guess we should pry be going to bed." He said as more of a statement than a suggestion.

I decided not to argue with this brother quite yet and threw the cigs on my bed before climbing through the window. I laid on my bed and listened as Jack's heavy footsteps made their way to his window.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Th-Thanks."

I could hear the smile in his voice as his words floated through my window. "Anytime, Elvis…anytime."