I wear only the tank top I'd been wearing most of the day and a pair of underwear to bed, the sweltering heat of the Chicago summer leaving a constant layer of sweat sticking the thin fabric to my skin. I wasn't quite on top of the covers, rather tangled in them with one leg above the covers, the another beneath them. The bed sheets were just that; sheets, no duvet. So the cotton against my skin actually cooled me down slightly. Though I am unfortunately not in my own bed, or one of my brother's beds to be exact, it's a relief to be in a proper bed that doesn't just feel like sleeping on cardboard placed onto of concrete, like the ones in juvie.

Just as I finally start to drift off, I'm awoken by the sound of the front door opening and closing. I assume it's Lewis, Jen's son that she mentioned earlier, getting home from work or wherever else he'd been and think nothing of it, allowing my self to curl back up in the bed. That is, until I hear the door to my room open and I freeze.

I feel too awkward to say anything and am worried I'll scare him, so stupidly decide to stay silent. If he turned the light on, this would be fine, except he doesn't. I see his silhouette removing his shirt and his pants, leaving him in just boxers and my eyes widen. Before I know it, he's climbing into the bed, but the second he starts to lie down his hand lands on me and I yelp.

"What the fuck?" His voice breaks slightly and he scrambles to turn on the bedside lamp.

"Hi," I awkwardly say.

"Who the hell are you?" He furrows his eyebrows, eyes briefly flickering down to my scantily clad body then are forced back up to my face.

"Emma," I give him a small smile to try and ease some of the tension, "your mom is fostering me."

Realisation covers his face, "oh."

"Yeah," I shrug.

"I didn't realise that was today," he scratches the back of his neck.

"Clearly," I chuckle.

"I'm Lewis, by the way," he tells me softly.

"Nice to meet you," I grin, "oh, um, your mom said I could sleep here, that's uh... why I'm in your bed. But I can go crash on the couch instead." I start to get up from the bed but he puts his hand on my shoulder to stop me, quickly removing it the second he touches me.

"No, it's fine," he assures me, "I can take the couch."

"No, honestly, it's fine-" I shake my head.

"Take the bed," he insists, cutting me off.

I chuckle softly and smile gratefully, and he begins walking towards the door. "Hey, wait," I call out, making him halt and turn back around.

"Since we're both so insistent on each other getting the bed, we could just... share it?" I propose.

Lewis gulps nervously, "uh, are you sure you'd be okay with that?"

"I am if you are," I shrug carelessly.

"Um, alright then," he makes his way back towards the bed and climbs in next to me.

"Well then, night Lewis," I smile cheekily at him, lying back down.

"Good night, Emma," he leans over to turn the lamp out and I feel him shuffling down under the covers before I fall asleep almost immediately after the hectic day it's been.

The next morning, I squint as I wake up, having left the blinds open in an attempt to let the minimal amount of cool air inside, leaving the morning sun free to shine through and onto me. I only remember I have company because of the weight of his arm draped across my waist. This is awkward.

I start to shuffle carefully out of the bed, but freeze, eyes widening when I feel something hard against my lower back. Immediately sliding out from under his arm and rushing straight out the bedroom, I giggle under my breath, spying around the kitchen for the coffee pot. When I see it, I head over to it and grab the bag of coffee grounds, pouring them into the top and starting up the machine.

"Well, looky what we have here," a gravelly voice suddenly says, making me jump and turn around in fright.

"Who are you?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows and biting my lip as I look him up and down, he's kind of hot.

"More importantly," he stands up from the arm chair, spliff hanging from his lips as he walks towards me, "who..." he takes the joint between his first and middle finger, "are you?"

"She..." Jen walks out from the bathroom, rolling her eyes, "is sixteen, Carlos."

"Age of consent," he comments with a shrug.

"Actually, the age of consent in Illinois is seventeen," I correct him. I would know.

"Huh," he rolls back on his heels.

I turn back to the coffee pot, which has now had the time to fill up, and pick it up, "where are your mugs?"

"Cupboard on your right," Jen tells me, "pour me a cup would ya?"

"Sure," I nod, reaching up and opening the cupboard with my free hand, pulling out two mugs. I pour out the two cups and pick them up, handing one to Jen.

"So, who are you?" Carlos asks again.

"Emma. Jen's fostering me," I lean against the counter, taking a sip of my coffee, "who are you?"

"Jen's dealer," he deadpans with a straight face, before smirking slightly as Jen elbows him.

"Shut the fuck up," she hisses.

I snicker, "you do know I just got out of juvie for dealing drugs, right? Chill out, I'm not gonna rat. Do what you gotta do, I'm gonna go get dressed."

"Don't feel you have to," Carlos licks his lips, eyeing me up and down again.

I roll my eyes and bite my lip, smirking at him as I walk back into Lewis's bedroom where he is still asleep. I put my coffee down on the chest of drawers and pull my tank top over my head.

Behind me there is a shuffling around in the bed but it stops suddenly, making me smirk.

"Morning," I bend down, pulling my bra out of my bag and putting my arms through the straps. I turn around while clipping it up at the back.

"Uh, thanks for letting me sleep with you last night," Lewis pushes himself to sit up.

I stifle a laugh at him as I pull on my shorts from yesterday, then grab a clean t-shirt from my bag

His eyes widen, "u-uh shit, no. That's not what I meant. It wasn't meant to come out like that!"

I pull on a pair of socks, followed by my shoes and chuckle, walking over to the door, "it was a pleasure sleeping with you, Lewis." Before he can say anything else, I've grabbed my coffee and left the room, shutting the door behind me. "You're cool if I go out, right?" I check with Jen, then down the remaining coffee in my mug and dump it in the sink.

"Yeah," she nods, "as long as don't skip out of town on me."

"Just going to try and track down some of my family, we all got split up as always," I assure her with a nod, pulling my hair into a messy ponytail as a head out from the front door with a nod goodbye to both Jen and Carlos, receiving a "see ya, jailbait," from the latter.

I walk the five blocks between Lip and Ian's group home and my foster home, hoping to catch them leaving. I assume Ian is still working at the Kash and Grab, so he should get let out for work. When I get to the group home, it seems that I unfortunately missed him, I guess his shifts start earlier in the day than they used to. Lip's not there either. It's weird how many little things have changed while I've been gone. I didn't think I'd notice much difference it was only a year or so, but it's like I've come back as an outsider, out of the loop. I guess that's my fault though, for not taking visitors after thanksgiving.

Things got bad for me after that phone call. I didn't leave bed for days. At first, the guards got mad, tried to make me get up. I got thrown in solitary for a week after three days of refusing to do anything but sleep and occasionally go to the toilet (only when completely necessary). But solitary just made it easier to do that. When my behaviour didn't change after solitary they started to see that I wasn't doing it out of disrespect and disobedience, but simply because I could not find the will to do anything at all.

They laid off a bit and my low period went on for another two weeks or so and I was eventually forced to speak to a counsellor. I wasn't assigned a counsellor because of the 'circumstances of my trial', like I told my siblings, I just didn't want them to know about what happened while I was in juvie. It's the same reason I didn't tell them the truth about them not being able to visit. I don't want them to worry. I'm fine. The counsellor was somewhat helpful, I finally got to talk about what happened to me without fear of judgement, but I only got a few sessions. Once it was clear I had 'finally perked up' as one of the guards put it, the sessions stopped.

Let me tell you, sixteen years in the Gallagher house will require far more than four sessions of counselling, I can promise you that. Even if Gallaghers do not do therapy. It's not the juvie's fault though that I got barely any sessions, it's just funding is tight, it was a blessing that I got any counselling at all.

I stroll back out of the group home, past the scattering of guys around my age and a bit older. I decide to head back to the Gallagher house, since I know the boys can handle themselves. At least they've got each other but Fiona could probably do with a hug right about now; having had everyone yanked from under her. I'm fine, I can handle a few days in a foster home, its a big improvement from Juvie. First thing we need to do is track down Debbie and Carl. There's a reason they drop us off in order of age, so the older kids don't know where their siblings are to then just tell their parents. It's meant to protect the kids, but in situations like ours, when we have a loving parent, she just happens to be our sister, it really fucks us over.

When I get home, I walk straight in, seeing as the door is almost never locked.

"Fi?" I call out, glancing around the living room, "you here?"

Silence is the only response I get, confirming that no one is home. I walk through into the kitchen, taking note of the little changes. For example, there are less of Debbie and Carl's toys scattered around, I guess now they've grown up a bit and don't play with them as much. I glance at the fridge seeing a drawing of stick men in blue crayon and the rough spelling of each of our names. It must be Liam's, he's really getting the hang of writing. I notice Frank's stick figure is lying on the ground, passed out presumably. A lump forms in my throat when I see that my stick figure is drawn on at the side like an afterthought. The drawing and handwriting is a lot clear, suggesting that Fiona or one of my other siblings added me on to remind Liam of my existence.

I blink quickly, in a failed attempt to stop any tears from escaping; it instead just seems just egg them on. Rapidly wiping my eyes, I head upstairs into the boys room. One of the tasks Fiona will have at home is making sure the house is fit and safe for kids. The amount of varying weapons we have, particularly Carl and I, as much as he likes to think I don't know about them, is probably gonna be quite alarming to a social worker. I retrieve my switchblade from its hiding spot, surprised that it's still there and not been nicked by Carl. Then, I check all of his hiding spots, along with the couple that Ian, Lip and I have around the house have for weed and empty them out into a random grocery bag that's hanging on the back of the door. By the end I've gathered up everything I can find that would get us in trouble with social services, including nunchucks, about ten grams of weed, some rolled spliffs, a bong, and a few of Debbie's dolls that have been weaponised by Carl.

Once I'm done I stroll down the stairs and dump the bag on the table, then head back up to get cleaning. It seems like Fiona has covered the downstairs, it's just our rooms that need cleaning. It only takes me a couple hours and by the time I still have loads on energy and want something to do. With no sign of Fiona still, I grab a scrap bit of paper and scribble out a message to leave her.

Rounded up the 'secret' contraband and tidied upstairs for ya.
Everything will be alright, Fi.
See you soon,
-Em x

I grab the bag and a beer from the fridge and head out. I think for a second about where to stash the shit and the first place that comes to mind is Jonas's. I still haven't seen him since I got out of juvie. I head over to his house, slightly concerned about the fact I have a bag with enough weed to get done for intent to distribute.

When I arrive I knock on the door, grinning in anticipation. Though, it quickly falls to a frown when a man I don't recognise opens the door.

"Uh," I furrow my eyebrows, "sorry I must have the wrong house, I'm looking for Jonas?"

"You've got the right house," he stares me down, and offers no more information.

"Oh... great," I awkwardly nod, rolling back on my heels.

"So are you gonna come in?" He rolls his eyes in annoyance.

I feel regress back to a place of fear at the intimidating man, I quickly nod and rush inside.

"He's probably in his room," he tells me as he closes the door and walks back into the living room.

"Thanks," I say quietly and dart up the stairs.

I walk past Jenny and and Miles's room and furrow my eyebrows, quickly rushing in, when I see the bruise on her cheek, "Jenny."

She looks up from her book, slamming it shut with alarmed eyes, but relaxing when she's sees me, "Emma?"

"What happened to your face, Jen," I gently place a hand on her shoulder, perching beside her on the bed.

"You're out of juvie?" She brushes past my question, forcing a smile.

"Jenny," I sternly narrow my eyes at her.

"Does Jonas know? Have you seen him yet?" She keeps up the avoidance, not able to make eye contact. This isn't the same Jenny from before I went to Juvie.

"Who's that guy downstairs?" I try a new tactic.

She gulps, "Tony, mom's boyfriend, he's been living here the last few months."

"Did he give you that bruise?" I clench my fists.

"Emma, please don't do anything," Jenny begs, eyes fearful, "it will just make things worse, he'll hurt you."

"Where's Jonas, Kade, when this is happening?" I gesture to her face, voice raising a little.

She grabs my arm and hushes me, "quiet, he'll hear you. He likes us quiet."

"It's your house!" I exclaim, but quieten down at her request, not wanting her scared.

"Emma?" I hear a voice behind me, and turn back to the door.

"Joe," my heart breaks when I see him. He's grown a bit since I last saw him, shoulders have broadened, his muscles more defined, and there's a dark stubble adorning his face. But what my attention is most focused on is the array of cuts and bruises littering his face, his left eye is swollen and his lip is busted up. I quickly jump to my feet and throw my arms around him. He winces as I hug him but feebly puts his arms around me. I feel him wince at first but eventually breath out in relief in my arms. "W-what happened?" I ask.

He pulls away and closes the door so the three of us have a sliver of privacy. "He hits me. Just me. And I take it, for the kids. But then he laid his hands on Jen," his jaw clenches as he thinks about it, "so I started yelling at him, I tried to punch him, so he beat me up."

I gently hold his face in my hands, scanning over the wounds. I can't seem to find a single bit of flesh on his face that isn't damaged, whether it be a bruise, a cut, swelling or a graze.

"Where's Kade?" I hesitantly ask. Kade is like the Fiona of this house, surely he wouldn't have left the kids with this monster.

"When Tony found out he had a boyfriend he beat him within an inch of his life," Jonas explains, eyes welling while he tries to keep up a tough facade.

"He moved in with his boyfriend after," Jenny pitches in, frowning, "it wasn't safe for him to be here."

"It's not safe for any of you to be here," I gravely respond. "Come here," I gesture to Jenny who is still sat on her bed, she does as I say and walks over. I embrace the two of them in a hug, "we're gonna sort this out, okay? We'll get you guys safe."

Jenny nods, while Joe doesn't seem convinced.

"Hey, can we go to your room?" I ask my best friend.

He nods and opens the door.

I give Jenny another hug and kiss on the forehead, "I'm here for you." She gives me a small grateful smile before sitting back down on her bed with her book. I follow Jonas into his room and close the door behind us.

"Are you okay?" I ask him softly.

He opens his mouth, presumably to give me some false response, but closes it again, realising there's not point lying to me.

I step up to him and take his hands in mine, looking into his eyes and waiting patiently for him to speak up.

His bottom lip quivers and he suddenly breaks down into tears, "I hate him, I hate this, I'm so fuckin' scared, Em."

I wrap my arms around him, rubbing his back and allowing him to let it all out. He must have been keeping this all in for weeks, if not months, "it's okay, Joe, I got you."