I'm counting down the seconds until I can leave this hellhole and go back to Blair's. It's the only place I can ever seem to feel some type of solitude.

I guess that's what happens when your mom's a drunk and wastes every single bit of income on another bottle. I've pretty much had to fend for myself since I was eight; stealing from people so I could eat, or conning my way into a few dollars for school supplies and clothes.

It's a lonely life. Always trying to fit in when I'm years ahead of my time.

I didn't have friends growing up. Not a single one. People have always thought I was weird. Until I met Blair.

Blair was and still is- a glimmer of sunshine in my world of endless darkness. It didn't take long at all to form a bond with her and her family.

Blair has an unusual family. With five siblings and two moms, they are the epitome of weird. Kind of reminds me of that tv family on The Fosters - meaning that it's pretty much the exact same. At least in theory. Blair and her siblings are all adopted foster kids, except Jasper who is Brenda's only real son.

Maybe that's why I like the show so much... because it reminds me of them. The only real major difference is that Jasper doesn't have a dad. Instead, Jasper was conceived in-vitro. A test tube baby.

Brenda and Janet walked into a clinic and picked a donor, then made a baby in a test tube. All Jasper knows is his father's donor number. Donor number 62735. Which is all Brenda and Janet know too. It's simpler that way.

They are the kind of family who have a lot of stories to tell. The kind you can sit and listen to for hours at a time. I always find myself wishing I'm the person in those stories- living that life- instead of my own miserable life. I always seem to wish that I was the lonely foster kid, taken in by the Jacobs and then adopted.

I've never told them though. I've never told them anything personal about my family. In fact, Blair has never even been to my house. I'm too afraid mom will be drunk and I don't want her to see that. I'm afraid she won't be my friend anymore if she knows.

The only thing I've even come close to admitting was to Jasper. I told him that my home life wasn't good. And only because I have the world's worst crush on him and one day he asked.

He's so perfect though; tall, brown hair and blue eyes, long angular face and chiseled chin. His lips are full and I've often stared at him while daydreaming about how they would feel against mine. His soft brown hair is moppy and falls into his eyes. His arms are muscled with those long veins that pop out when he flexes. Totally drool-worthy if you know what I mean.

Don't even get me started on those freckles. I've always been a sucker for freckles.

I've been crushing hard on Jasper for seven years now, since the moment I first laid eyes on him. Unfortunately for me, I was more like a sister to him. I don't think he's ever even looked at me as a girl honestly. I've always just been Malia, his sister's weird friend who is always over and occasionally talks to him on the rides over.

I glance at the clock above my desk, willing it to go faster. Mom hasn't come in yet, and I want to be gone before she does. I don't know if I can clean up vomit and vodka off the floor again. I also don't know if I can meet the eyes of another man who hungrily looks at me like I'm dinner.

Over the years I've had to fight off her conquests, but even more so now that I'm older and look more like an adult. Being groped by a drunken man isn't exactly on my bucket list. Nor is hearing my mom laugh as he suggests we have a threesome. I swear sometimes she forgets I'm her daughter.

I hear Jasper revving his engine in my driveway and I jump up instantly, thankful he made it to pick me up before mom got in. I definitely cut it close this time. A little too close.

Jasper always picks me up, because Blair doesn't have a car yet, but I never once let him inside my house. I'd always timed it where he came when mom wasn't home, just in case he decided to come to the door for once.

I run out, locking the door behind me and slinging my bag over my shoulder. I'm thankful I'm gonna spend the night because I just don't think I can deal with mom today.

Yesterday had been hell. The man she brought home got angry when she passed out on him, and I just happened to be close enough to bear the brunt of his frustrations. I'd spent an hour today covering the bruises on my face. There was no way I could explain to Blair where they came from. Much less explain it to her moms.

Jasper didn't so much as even glance at me before peeling off down the road. I pull down the visor, flipping open the mirror to study my face. Thankfully, I'd covered the bruises pretty well. I'd been pretty nervous all day, considering the outdoor light was different than the indoor light.

Just five more minutes to solitude. Five more minutes until you can blissfully relax and listen to the stories that always calm you down. The stories of the life you wish you could have.

"You okay Malia?" Jasper asks, taking his eyes off the road to glance at me.

"Yeah." I say, forcing a smile.

Jasper reaches over and pats my knee, pulling away quickly and focusing on driving again.

"B's excited you're coming. She hasn't shut up about it all week. I think my moms are ready to choke her." Jasper laughs, so lightheartedly I am envious of him.

My laughs are always forced. I'm anything but happy. If only I could be as happy as Jasper is right now in this moment.

"Yeah. Blair is something else." I say, trying to oblige in his offer of conversation. Honestly, I didn't want to talk.

"Well at least she has you to even her out. You're a good friend to her Malia. I'm glad you're coming. She's had it pretty tough lately- meeting her birth parents and all. I don't know how much she told you about them, but it was pretty bad."

Nothing. She told me nothing. I didn't even know she met them.

"So I hear." I say, hoping he will explain a little further.

Jasper gives me a sad smile instead of speaking about it further. When we pull into his driveway, he walks around the car and grabs my bag for me, and I follow him inside.

Home. How I wish this was my actual home.