That Which Destroys Me Read Online Free PDF

staring at her fucking initials on the forms.
    “Shit! What in the hell was that? Who in the hell is she?” I ask the paperwork on my desk.
    No, it doesn’t answer.
    “Shit!”
    What the fuck is today? Thursday. Okay. Yeah—I totally have this shit. All I have to do is wait one day. Totally got this shit.
     

Chapter 6
    Who The Hell Does He Think He Is?

     
    I was SO ready for that interview. I walked in that bitch, head high, shoulders squared. Ready! Until I saw him again for the first time since I was thirteen years old. I’m almost certain I was able to pull off my nonchalant attitude. Well, until he told me to close my… What did he call it? Pretty fucking mouth?
    Yeah, after that, I knew I had to get the fuck out of there. All that ‘ mine, you are mine’ bullshit didn’t surprise me at all. It’s classic Wesley Jacobs. C-l-a-s-s-i-c. Wesley. Jacobs. He hasn’t changed at all in the last fourteen years.
    So no. I was fully prepared for that little dirty, sexual innuendo-riddled speech.
    Well… I guess it’s time for me to explain why I was so adamantly set against doing my internship with Jacobs Publishing. I’m not sure if I’ll ever tell Trina, but you… You probably should know this tidbit to fully grasp what the hell is going on, as well as fully understand my reaction to all this.
    I was probably nearing the fourth foster home when I landed in a new home. They lived in a small town in northwest Louisiana. I was excited when I first met the family. They had the whole Brady Bunch thing going on with a daughter of their own as well as two other foster boys. The house was clean. It was a little small and old, but it seemed nice.
    I settled in quickly, but never could really seem to fit in. I tried to adapt my personality as best as I could, but it was impossible. My shy and quiet cards didn’t work. My abrasive stand-up-for-yourself cards also didn’t work. When I combined the two decks, shuffled and tried playing those, shit just got even worse.
    The friendship I initially hoped would form between Jessica, their daughter, and I never even had a chance. She told me within the first twelve hours not to speak to her. That we were not sisters and she planned for my ass to be gone before the week ended.
    The boys were older than me, but Sam, the oldest, seemed to take me under his wing. If he and his friends were going to a baseball game, he always let me tag along. If they went out to the lake to fish or to just hang out around the bonfire at night, he’d also let me come.
    I zeroed in on Sam’s friend, Wesley Jacobs, the first time I laid eyes on him. He was beautiful. I didn’t care that I was only twelve. In my mind, I was close enough to thirteen; so him being seventeen was easily brushed aside in my preteen fixated mind. I truly believed I was in love with him and that if I could change myself enough, in time, he would notice me and love me as much as I loved him.
    As a product of the foster care system, you immediately conform—you become a chameleon. Your survival depends on your ability to become whatever or whoever others expect you to be, and by foster home number four, I’d honestly thought I’d mastered this skill.
    I was sorely mistaken.
    I turned thirteen in May. By the time mid-summer came, I was at the pool almost every day. The sun had tanned my skin to the perfect golden tone and puberty was making itself known by causing my boy straight hips to fill out and my breasts grow into a decent B cup. Before going swimming every day, I would French braid my hair and spray a mixture of peroxide and water to help the sun create natural looking highlights.
    By the time the Fourth of July weekend rolled around, I had completely transformed myself from the pale skinned, dull, dark and stringy haired girl with nothing but a gaunt, boy figure into the beginnings of an attractive young woman.
    Armed with a mini skirt I’d cut off to mid-thigh (it was originally long enough to reach my ankles)