My eighteenth birthday was celebrated with my social worker smiling as I signed paperwork and my foster parents slipping me a twenty as they wished me...well in life. My social worker offered to drop me off anywhere of my choosing, but I declined. As far as I was concerned, the sooner I got away from the painted faced gargoyle, the better.I already had a plan set in place. In preparation for the day I aged out of the system, I had dropped out of school halfway through Junior year to work full. He had certain rights, no matter how much of a jerk he was, that would require due process to strip him of. That meant court proceedings and restraining orders, and the murderous shithead finding out their location. But that was a whole different ball of wax, and he would deal with it once he got Sharon safely away from the immediate danger.He got to the storage place, backed Chex into the garage they had decided to rent, and set about the long and drawn out process of draining all the car’s. More

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