I don't really remember my parents. I'd been in foster care for as long as I can remember, bouncing between different families and institutions. Some of the families were nice, but they were so busy all the time with their own lives and other kids, that they didn't ever seem to be able to spend time talking to me about things that really mattered. Things like rumours my friends had told me about growing up, and how the world was.
That's probably why I latched onto Abi so quickly. She was great. Although she was my age, she seemed so much more experienced in the world and life in general. She also had time just to sit and chill, not ask questions about what I was doing, but still able to answer me fully and openly if ever there was something I didn't understand. At the time, I worshipped her. I thought she knew everything, or at least was clever enough to work it out for herself. And looking back, she seemed to enjoy the adulation, doing nothing to suggest she was anything less than I imagined.
I suppose, considering the childhood I'd had, I was quite naive for my age. By the time Abi and I were 18, I'd never been with a boy. Or a girl. But unlike the other children, Abi didn't judge me for that. Sometimes I'd wonder if I was annoying to her, what with always coming to her room and hanging out with her all day, every day. But every morning when I entered, she'd greet me with a big smile and a warm cuddle, and my fears would vanish. She had my heart in her hands and she never gave it anything less than her full attention. I adored her and she loved being adored.
One night, after watching a box-set of DVDs she'd stolen from the supermarket, she asked if I wanted a drink. At first, I thought she meant orange juice. But then she produced a small bottle of vodka.
"Oh my God!" I gasped, "What is that?" Even though I could read the label clearly enough, I couldn't quite believe we had alcohol, and that I was being offered some.
"Just try a little bit," Abi smiled and poured a glass, handing it to me.
I sniffed at the liquid and my head involuntarily jolted back, away from the glass. I looked up at Abi, who was standing, pouring a glass for herself, before returning to join me on her bed.
"Cheers!" She said, delicately to me, touching her glass to mine with equal tenderness, before downing her portion in one swallow.
"Cheers," I replied meekly, and took a tiny sip, "Ugh, it's disgusting!"
Abi laughed kindly at me, not so that I was embarrassed, just so I found it funny too.
"Give it here if you don't like it." Abi suggested, and I did. She downed that in one, too.
"How can you drink that stuff?" I asked, incredulously, "It's horrible!"
"It's not about what it tastes like," Abi answered, with her wise voice on, "it's about how it makes you feel."
"It makes me feel sick." I grimaced and Abi laughed, which made me laugh too.
