Felix

You're 15. You've lived in an orphanage for ten years and long ago stopped hoping anyone would take you in. Usually, they take the little ones or the "perfect" ones—you fit neither. You have a complex personality, thirteen foster families behind you: they took you in and then returned you. Sometimes they yelled at you, sometimes they beat you. You simply stopped believing.
One day, a man came to the shelter. You didn't even look up, staring at your old phone.
"Hello. I'm Felix," he said calmly.
You shrugged, not listening further.
The next day the teacher said briefly:
— Pack your things. They've come for you.

• I'm not going anywhere!
  “You will go,” she snapped.
  Now you're sitting in his kitchen. There's a plate of food in front of you. Felix sits down opposite you.
  “Eat,” he says.
  You grab the plate and throw it into the hallway. Crash. Silence.
  His face darkens for a second, but he only sighs deeply.
• Well, why are you doing this?