"I think the Joker would make a great dad."

"What the fuck," Eithne groaned as she readjusted the phone in her hands. "Janie, he threw Harley Quinn into a vat of acid and tried to leave her there when he thought it didn't work."

"He didn't throw her! She jumped in 'cause, you know, love."

"No, she jumped in 'cause of manipulation and some kind of Stockholm Syndrome."

"Whatever, he'd still be a great dad. Could you imagine trying to suspend the Joker's kid? Like what are you gonna say to his parents? They'd get a bullet in their head! Isn't that hot?"

Ladies and gentleman, may I proudly present to you, the certifiably insane, Janie Holt!

She always had a flair for the dramatic and a fetish for possibly abusive and/or manipulative men. Unfortunately for Eithne, her best friend, that meant she knew exactly what went on in her perverted mind. 

Tucked away in her own room, Janie was fantasizing about being that principal and the Joker deciding to teach her a very thorough lesson inside her office. He would try to be as loud as possible just to humiliate her and may even leave all the blinds open so people could watch. Harley Quinn was probably involved too, somewhere. Janie had a thing for girls in killer heels. 

"Yeah, Jay, it's sooo hot. I'll just hang up right now and-"

"Shut up," Janie squealed, the static whining in Eithne's ear. "You're never any fun!"

"I'm loads of fun, idjit."

"Oh, so you can love an old, fat drunk but I can't-"

Suddenly, the sound of broken glass echoed through the house. Eithne knew the argument between her foster parents, Lulu and Michael, escalated if Janie could hear it. She was, after all, barricaded in her bedroom closet.

"What was that?"

"Um..." Eithne tried to think of a good lie but remembered that Janie didn't really care and was just waiting to talk about herself. "It's Ak's turn to do dishes."

"Again?! Why does he even do those anymore if everything just gets broken? My momma would whip my hide if I did that! One time, I was trying to get all my chores done to go to Ashton's party, and there was this..."

Eithne could've sworn she heard a sharp tear from the other room. It was probably Lulu's dress. She could picture it right now: the flowery pattern ripped in half as Lulu blushed with rage. Michael would be towering over her, fists shaking. Eithne tightened her grip on the phone, pressing it against her ear until it throbbed painfully. On the other side of the line, Janie was chattering away without a care in the world.

"...and nobody told me my ass was hanging out! Ashton didn't mind, the fucking perv, so then we went-"

"Sorry Janie, I gotta go stop that disaster before we rush to a hospital or something. See you tomorrow?"

"Kk! Bye, Nene!"

"Later."

The smile fell off Eithne's face as soon as she ended the call. When another crash resounded through the house, she cowered in her makeshift sanctuary. The closet seemed to be the only safe place, dark and full of things to hide behind. Most importantly, though, she was usually able to call Janie without her hearing the fights. This was an absolute must-have. Listening to the thundering voices of her foster parents caused nightmares nothing short of weird.

Some nights, Eithne relived memories. They blurred together until they no longer made any sense. Driving in a peeling Volvo as she cried in her car seat. Cartwheeling across the marshes of Ireland. The forked tongue of her old principal. A shining smile. Big, black dogs with red eyes. Singing Mariah Carey in the second-grade talent show.

Some nights, it felt like Eithne lost herself and faded into another person. A little old lady fantasizing about eating children. Janie as she stressed out over a history test. A big, happy family with strange tattoos. Michael, struggling to have just one more drink. She'd know that she was dreaming, that this body wasn't really hers, but couldn't do anything to stop it.

Some nights, Eithne drowned in inky black shadows. Nothing existed. It was just her, a sense of dread that forced her to the floor, and a sickening heartbeat. She could feel each ba-thump vibrating through her, filling her veins with poison. For hours, her nerves would stand on edge. Waiting. 

Terrified of what she'd dream now without Janie's incessant chatter, the young teen forced herself to stay awake. She stared into the dark closet until her eyes burned. Only a few silhouettes of boxes and coats could be made out. Her mom's closet used to be just like this, cluttered with things from all her travels. She'd always come home with countless trinkets stuffed in her purse. Then she'd store it in her closet, pat Eithne's head, and joke about it being a cave of treasures. Like pirates.

The memory barely hung by a thread. Eithne could never remember what was actually in the closet or where they came from. Time had taken care of that. It jumbled and blurred until her head hurt. The only thing she could picture exactly right were her mom's hands. Every dip and curve was implanted in her brain. Fat and calloused, those hands swatted at her backside when she misbehaved, braided her hair, wiped her face free of tears. Her left middle finger was shorter than the others, cut off at the knuckle. A white scar stood out against both her ring fingers. Her right palm sported a dimple.

It'd been so long since she felt those hands. Would she forget them too? Would she wake up one morning with...nothing to remember? Would her mom fade into the background, replaced by all the other women who'd taken care of her?

Eithne couldn't even count the number of foster homes she passed through. All she knew was that this was her last chance. If Lulu and Michael decided she was too much, Eithne would go to juvie until she aged out.

Just the thought made her shiver. She'd been a couple times, of course, but those were just temporary placements. Permanently living there day in and day out for three years? She couldn't imagine it. That's why she put up with the fights and begged her neighbors not to report anything. Surviving was what got her up in the mornings. So when her alarm rang, Eithne pulled herself out of the closet and got ready.

Clothes flew through the air. A shoe landed on top of her dresser. Her bra strap snapped, leaving a red welt on her chin. Even Eithne's hair was untamable. Her rushed bun tangled it together in what made a really good impression of a bird's nest.

A manic bird.

On drugs.

And the nest was still under construction.

"Eithne," a gruff voice called from the hall.

Her heart skipped a beat. She froze with her pants still around her ankles. Were they coming in? Had the fighting really stopped or was she just being dragged into it? There weren't any sharp objects in the room. Just a hurricane of clothes and school supplies. Michael. Did he like looking at teenage girls? Eithne didn't know. He didn't seem to because despite the fights, Lulu and Michael constantly hung all over each other but maybe that was just an act. Maybe she misjudged him. Maybe he really did like teenage girls and here she was half-naked and vulnerable and too stuck to cover herself up. Maybe she should move. Maybe Lulu knew that-

"Eithne!"

It wasn't until the silence hung uncomfortably in the air that Eithne finally relaxed. She finished up achingly slow. Tied her shoes twice. Changed her shirt. Nitpicked at her bun. When she could no longer hide behind getting ready, Eithne forced her racing heart to get a grip and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

"Mornin' love," Lulu called from the stove. "Where are the kids?"

The foster parent turned around with a funny little curtsy and slid a bowl of oatmeal on the table, grinning beneath her blue bangs and glittery eyeshadow. She looked good, like she was still riding the high from a punk rock concert. Had Eithne imagined the fight? Was it just another weird dream?

She dipped a finger in the bowl, taste testing for the nasty bananas Lulu liked, and cut it on a jagged crack. No, Lulu really did fight with Michael last night. Her foster mom was just good at hiding the signs.

"Eithne, did you hear me?"

"Huh?"

"The kids. Where are the kids?"

Right. For some unfathomable reason, Lulu and Michael took her in when they already had three other fosters.

The youngest of the foster kids was Nina, a mute little thing. Her mom was allowed supervised visits every week, and this was the only time Eithne ever saw her smile. At school, Nina was isolated from the other students. She went to special ASL classes and was bullied by the kids in her grade. More often than not, the wimp was seen waddling around with red-rimmed eyes and a quivering lip.

Ak did nothing but cause trouble, sometimes because he was watching out for Nina and sometimes just for his own amusement. His sticky fingers never failed to stash something in his room, and Eithne quickly learned to hide her things. It was a sort of game they played. Ak would steal something of hers, she'd try to prove he did it, Lulu would inevitably find it just laying around, and Eithne would try to hide it better. She knew he went easy on her though. Michael once told her that Ak robbed an entire Dick's Sporting Goods.

Ezekial was a fucking creep. Plain and simple. Eithne could always feel his eyes on her, waiting and watching. He fueled nightmares of giant, bloodshot eyes and rolling tongues licking her skin. She avoided him at all costs.

"I dunno," Eithne shrugged as she took a big bite of her breakfast.

Lies. She waited for Lulu to call her bluff, to realize Ak left with Nina hours ago and that Ezekial hovered nearby. She knew in the way her tongue dried up like cotton and her fingers itched to hide a knife in her sleeve.

Lulu thumped a spoon on the bowl, making Eithne jump. It was easy for her to get distracted and lost in her thoughts. They often ran a mile a minute.

"Well, Michael will find them. He keeps his nose out like a hound sometimes. You don't worry any bit and get your ass on heading out now."

Eithne bit back a laugh as Lulu ruffled her hair and left to do laundry. Worry? The other fosters didn't mean anything to her. Temporary. Replaceable. Insignificant. These were the things that came to mind whenever Eithne thought about them. They all had their own bullshit to deal with. There was no point in making her burden heavier for a bunch of strangers.

Michael came into the kitchen then, herding her out the door as he drank some much-needed coffee. With a gentle but heavy hand, he pushed her off the porch and waved. 

"Go on," he grumbled and kept a careful eye out as she headed down the street.

Suddenly, Eithne's stomach sank. She couldn't believe she thought such horrible things about him this morning. She wished she was nicer, that she'd said goodbye. She wanted to race back there right now and apologize to him and Lulu for everything.

Everything? What everything?

The thought came so naturally, Eithne didn't know the answer. How could her mind blank on something that felt so important? Wanting to get rid of the unusual feeling, she broke out into a run. Eithne let her feet fly across the pavement, faster and faster until the world passed by in a dizzying blur.

Rustic brick buildings. Large, green parks. Sidewalk murals. Handprints left in the concrete. Perfectly manicured trees. The salty, sweet smell of the high tide. Seagulls and mallards. People hurrying from one place to the next. Car horns that never failed to make her jump.

The sights, sounds, and smells of Stamford faded. All she could see were streaks of colors. All she could feel were her feet hitting the concrete and her school bag thumping against her back.

At that moment, it felt like she'd never stop running.