Jonas and his family gave me a second chance, and I'll remember their efforts for the rest of my life, but it just isn't working.
I've been on Manhattan for almost five years now, and I've been in a new foster family more than once per. As much as I'd love for everything to just work out nicely, it's not. I guess I just can't do it. Am I uncurable of my old habits? I was forced into them from necessity, how fair is it that they doom me now?
It doesn't matter anyways. I'm leaving. That's all there is to it. The Abrams tried their best to welcome me in, but I won't make them deal with me anymore. The last thing a nice couple like that need is a 17-year-old problem child. At least they'll be able to move on. Question is: Can I?
I bought a Starflier. I barely had enough from saving and... well, pick-pocketing over the past five years. Yeah, a Starflier. The stupid ship that idiots fly. I'm sorry, but it's true. The thing is a total piece of crap.
And I would know, believe it or not. A few years ago, in that last family, Dad was a former LPI pilot. He had the most realistic flight simulator I've ever seen. I jumped in it more than a few times when he wasn't looking, so I think I can do it. Fly, that is. I need a way off this planet. I'm sick and tired of it. This isn't the life for me.
I'm writing this while the engines fire up. This is it... It's time to take my life into my own hands... again.