Chapter Text
Alex crossed his arms over his chest as he listened to his newest foster father drone on. He couldn’t even remember what he was talking about, and he wasn’t interested in trying to find out. Something about respect. Maybe he found Alex’s long hair mussy or his deadpan glare crude. Whatever it was, Alex didn’t exactly care all that much about what he had to say.
“Are you even listening to me?” Mr. Posey shouted, voice raising more than it already was. He rubbed his temples, as though Alex was somehow the one giving him a headache despite his inherent yelling. The dull throbbing of his cheek became more apparent as the conversation, scolding, perhaps, dragged on, a bruise sure to form by morning. With a heavy groan, Mr. Posey dragged a hand down his face, “God, I should’ve known.”
Alex could feel his eyebrow twitch as Mr. Posey laughed sourly. It was damn near haunting how similar it was to Mrs. Jackson’s laugh. It was almost uncanny.
Mr. Posey. A funny name, really. He didn’t try to hide his snicker when he heard it for the first time, especially as it was through his social worker’s Minnesota accent.
“After everything I’ve tried to get you to behave-” Mr. Posey shouted, fist clenching and unclenching, “you still act like an entitled brat!” His knuckles obviously stung. He wasn’t very good at hiding pain, or anything he was feeling for that matter. Strained smiles and furrowed brows killed any chance he had at truly masking his emotions.
He was supposedly known for putting troubled foster kids straight, usually taking in what he commonly referred to as ‘new meat.’ It made them sound like toys to be passed around from house to house. Sometimes Alex felt that way.
“You people are all the same,” He spat, “coming into our country and mucking off of good taxpayers like me!”
His social worker, Ms. Kitty, said she had pulled a lot of strings to get him into this house. Alex thought it was stupid, ridiculous, even, that she would go out of her way to send him all the way to New York from Florida just for this short, pudgy man to try and push him around. Mr. Posey tried to appear intimidating, and maybe he would be to a younger Alex who expected a nice home, but he was really just pathetic.
“You wouldn’t know respect if it hit you in the face,” Mr. Posey snarled. To Alex, he looked like a big, stupid, animal. A panda, maybe, but they were much too cute to be compared to the drooling, red faced Mr. Posey that was in front of him right now. Come to think of it, he wasn’t too big, actually. Maybe a jerboa would be better suited.
He seemed to think he was bigger than he really is. He thinks that he’s intimidating and strong. He packs a weak punch and Alex would probably be more intimidated by a mad jerboa. It might be that foster homes are just really bad in Florida, so compared to other foster families in his area he’s the devil. Either way, Alex found it to be utter bullshit.
“There’s a fucking reason you’re in the system, kid. It’s because nobody wants you.”
Alex shifted on his feet. He could practically see the red swarming his vision as Mr. Posey went on. It wasn’t unusual for his foster parents to talk to him like this. They couldn’t really care less about him or how he feels. The most they wanted was money, maybe a good public image, sometimes to fuel their hero-complex, either way, he didn’t matter. Mr. Posey hadn’t been good from the start. Alex didn’t like his half smile or the way he was always dressed up, like he was trying to rub his superiority and self-righteousness into Alex’s face.
Mr. Posey made it clear he wouldn’t take anything from Alex. He sought to be respected by someone he didn’t respect. Alex didn’t try and hide his blatant annoyance, he saw no reason to. If Mr. Posey was willing to ‘punish’ him for something like disrespecting him, he’d be willing to punish Alex for something much smaller as well. “Taking in a whoreson, what was I thinking?”
“You’re lucky he didn’t try and press charges,” Ms. Kitty said, eyes glued on the road ahead. Alex bit back a sarcastic response, ‘Who would he press charges against? The poor orphan boy or his dead parents?’ Instead he kept his lips shut, hoping she’d drop it. Of course, that was privileged thinking. She sighed deeply, knuckles turning white as she pushed, “Alex.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Alex scoffed quietly, hugging his knees closer to his chest instinctively at his own harsh tone and continuing, a bit softer, “what now?”
“Now you go to a group home until you age out of the system,” Alex felt his eyebrow twitch. The seatbelt dug into his waist, a carseat not being the best place to curl up into a ball. Ms. Kitty must’ve noticed his annoyance, because she eyed him and said, rather harshly, “I told you Alex, Mr. Posey was your last shot.”
She had warned him, of course she had, but she warned him, gave him the same precautions, the same pep talk before every new home. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t unordinary. This is unordinary. Going to New York–that was unordinary. But after this home things were just supposed to go back to normal. He was supposed to go back to Florida and be given a new placement. Not be thrown into a group home, for good, no less.
“You threw it away.”
Alex sat up in his seat, turning to Ms. Kitty, who didn’t look back at him, “Are you serious? But you tell me that every time!”
“And this time it was true,” She replied flatly. It was infuriating. His life had been torn up so many different times and she was only adding to the rips. He was already falling apart at the seams, the last thing he needed was a new tear. The last thing he needed was this kind of change. How could she be so calm about this?
“Excuse me for not trusting your word anymore,” He muttered. Alex knew it was a low blow. And he knew it would hurt her. That’s why he said it. She always claimed to value his trust and respect so much but then she turns around and gives him this type of bullshit. He can’t stand it.
Though he knows it isn’t her fault. She’s trying her hardest. But that’s difficult to believe when it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
“Alexander. Don’t start,” Kitty cooly scolded. He had half a mind to spit another rude quip, but thought better of it. She turned down the road that officially left Boston, hopefully to never return, “There’s nobody else around willing to foster you. Not with your reputation.”
Alex’s nose scrunched up, “Of what? Being abused?” He knows damn well that he probably should shut up at this point. Picking a fight with Ms. Kitty will do more harm than good, but he can’t help himself. His inability to ‘just shut the fuck up’ has gotten him in trouble more times than he can count. But he hates it when she talks to him like this. He hates when she uses his full name. It makes her feel less like someone he can talk to and more like just another adult throwing him around like garbage.
“Of being a troublemaker.”
“Right. My bad. I forget that defending myself makes me a problem child.”
Kitty exhaled through her nose, clearly trying to not yell at him, “You broke his nose.”
“I’m sorry for not letting myself be hit by a grown man,” He didn’t need to tell her everything. He didn’t need to tell her exactly why he lost his cool. She doesn’t need to know exactly what makes him the most vulnerable. Unfortunately for him, she already seems to know.
Kitty glanced over at him, waiting for him to continue. It wasn’t the first time Alex hit a foster parent, but it also wasn’t the first time he’s been abused by a foster parent either. The week old bruises that haunted his arms made it clear this wasn’t a new thing. If Alex had wanted to punch Mr. Posey for abusing him he would have done it much sooner.
Shrinking under her gaze he muttered, “...He called my mother a whore.” How she always managed to pick him apart and get him to admit anything, he’ll never know.
Ms. Kitty sighed again, barely able to keep her composure, “You can’t just blow up at every little thing, Alex,” She said through gritted teeth.
“So what, you’re defending him now?”
“No. But-”
Alex sneered, cutting her sentence short, “But nothing! He was rude and abrasive anyways. I don’t even fucking care anymore.”
“Language, Alexander,” Ms. Kitty scolded, though it held no heat.
“Maybe if you were more willing to actually speak to your foster parents it would be easier,” She suggested, her voice gentle and level, like she was trying to communicate with a fussy toddler. It was infuriating and demeaning. Condescending, even. “There are many more foster families that don’t know ASL. It would open your choices substantially-”
“No.”
Alex slumped in his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest, like he was protecting something. He may as well have been. Kitty didn’t speak for a long time after that, which he was grateful for. He’s heard her spiel about this time and time again and he was sick of it. At this point, she’s probably given him this talk more often than she has the ‘talk less’ talk.
You could cut the tension with a knife. The small car didn’t put much space between them, however much he wished it did. This drive was going to be hell. Only 16 hours to go. When Ms. Kitty opened her mouth again Alex could already guess exactly what she was going to say.
“You’re a sweet kid, Alexander. Please don’t let this define you,” Kitty said softly. Alex braced himself for what he knew was coming. “You have so much potential.
“If you would only learn to hold your tongue.”
There it is. The ‘talk less’ that for some reason always comes right after the ‘talk more.’ He wanted to punch her. How can she say something so blatantly contradictory and think it’s reasonable? Sometimes, Alex thinks even she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
And of course that’s the only advice she can give him. It’s the only advice anyone can ever give him. He didn’t even get in trouble because of something he said this time. In fact, he didn’t speak a single word to Mr. Posey since arriving in his care exactly three months earlier. If anything he should be learning to hold his fists.
His mouth has nothing to do with this. It’s just that it’s the only real definable trait about him. ‘That loud-mouthed orphan kid’ or ‘The bastard that doesn’t shut up’. Not to mention the fact that she, not even minutes prior, was talking about him speaking with his foster parents. Why is it that she always lectures him about talking more and simultaneously not talking? Nothing he does seems to please her–or anyone for that matter.
Alex swallowed the lump in his throat. “Right,” He said bitterly. He didn’t leave any room for argument or further conversation.
It’s hard to believe all his problems could be solved just by learning to shut up, and he doesn’t want to change his entire world view just to please people. With everything else around him constantly changing Alex needed to find comfort in his own self. If he as a person could remain consistent that could be enough. On top of everything else the last thing he needs is to be forced to change his own mind because pompous assholes don’t like it.
“Remember Alex, you are the one thing in life you can control.”