A form.

Just a simple form. Easy enough.

I can write my name. I can write numbers. Why is this so hard?

I place a finger under each word, sounding out the letters in my head.

Name:

Easy enough.

Beatrice Donna Graves

I write it on, aware how much of a scrawl my handwriting is.

DOB:

I look in confusion, the pen shaking in my hand. This is embarrassing.

"Date of birth." I become aware of a policeman watching over my shoulder.

"O-oh. Thanks." I mumble.

24/4/2002 (Ok ok this'll be one of the only times I put an author's note, I would just like to say the year is 2018, pre-covid. Covid will also not make an appearance in this story because why would I. Bee is 16 at this point in the story.)

I struggle my way through the rest of the form before handing it in.

"Okay, Miss Graves, there will likely be a lengthy court case, we will need you to get as much information as you can. What was the owner of this company called?"

I hesitate. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" he raises an eyebrow. "What's the company name?"

I think, closing my eyes. I must of heard it somewhere before.

"Look, I'll let you think on it for a while. There's a few things from here. Have you any family you could move in with?"

"My aunt and uncle. But they're having another baby and already don't have enough space."

"Okay. Any grandparents?"

I never met my father and my grandparents on my mother's side are dead. I think of Mrs Caddel. I eliminate the thought immediately; she is barely able to take care of herself.

"No."

He sighs in exasperation. "Nobody at all? Look, I'm sure I could find a foster or care home for now..." he begins typing something on his computer. I stare at my lap.

Teenage prostitute to foster kid.

He scrolls for a while.

"Look, there's a care home you can stay with for a temporary basis until we can get you into a foster home. You've got all your stuff, I see." he points at my suitcase. "Let's get you a cup of tea and I'll send an email over."

I just nod and hug my knees.

As the evening rolls in, I'm taken back to a care home. I remain silent until I get there.

I'm stood against a woman. She's tall and looks soft, and she gives me a smile. It's the fake kind of smile sympathetic adults give.

"Hello, Beatrice!" she greets me warmly. "We've had to take you in on a short notice, but, oh well. I'm Lisa, I'm the caretaker."

"Hi." I mumble, not meeting her eye.

"Shall I get you to your room? I know it's a school night. Which school do you go to, so I can drive you?"

I hesitate. "I-I, uh, don't go to school."

She stares at me. "Have you ever been to school?!"

I shake my head, messing with the sleeves of my jumper. I'm aware of a small child watching.

"Goodness! Well, that'll be the first job tomorrow."

She leads me upstairs, and puts me in my room.

I look through my pyjamas. None of them are particularly child friendly.

I sigh, deciding to sacrifice one of my cami tops that I got for £3 in Primark and a pair of underwear as pyjamas.

Finally. Sleep.