It's Not Going To Be So Bad This Time.(1/1)
A/N: I wanted to make a collection of these about Jack but I don't know if I'll continue. However, this is supposed to be my take on what happens when Jack goes into the Mercer's. I don't know if I'm exactly happy with how it came out but I've had this in my mind for awhile.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or Four Brothers.
Reviews: Please.
(1/1)
Jack's seen the devil already. He's gripped the mop of hair he's using as a crown and told him not to cry in the same breath. He's whispered his name. Intermingled it with the stench of whiskey and cigarette smoke.
He always told himself when he got to a new house "it's not going to be so bad this time," he had proved himself a liar over and over again but it seemed somehow mandatory to get past those first days. Arriving at the Mercer household he knew that he wouldn't be able to hide anymore. He hadn't come up with an alternative yet. He figured if it got too bad then he would just have to be extremely hard to handle. That way he would move onto the next. And next. For so long he had been able to hide under comforters, in closets, under beds. It didn't always work but a lot of the time it did and he knew that somehow it had always come in handy. He was awkward in his newly attributed body. He didn't know how to correctly twist his arms. He knocked things over for the first week. He always felt wrong. Wronger then before. Suddenly he had gone from being cute and cuddly to taller-than-everyone-else. The weight that had always made him just right made him too-thin in his new form. Malnourished, they called it.
It just didn't seem right that the only form of defense would be taken away from him.
His voice had been unnaturally twisted until it turned into what it was. This. This...Barry White impersonation.
The woman had already acquired the white hair donned by many older people. Had already perfected the kind face that he had seen so many times before. He wondered what would be waiting for him behind the door. That front porch. There was always something else waiting for him. The abusive boyfriend. The beer can filled coffee table.
He flinched when she tried to pat him on the shoulder. Pulled away and began writhing in the arms of the deliverer. "Sorry," she lowered her voice as if he couldn't hear, "ms. Mercer. He's been through some traumatic experiences. All abuse that you could think of," she further lowered her voice and leaned forward somewhat.
He only called them the deliverers. It was always the same way. That same conversation. "How are you? I'm (insert various name here). I'm the person that's going to make everything all better," or something around there. The first time he was six and six was still young enough to believe everything anyone told him.
However, he had learned quick and by six years and eight months old he had begun to call them the deliverers. With their fake promises, and manilla files in tote. Just another nameless face.
The woman kneeling in front of him –who had perfected the kind face and white hair– smiled, rolling her head into the side. She chuckled, "Well don't worry there little man. I'm not going to touch you if you don't want me to. In fact we don't have to do anything you don't want to," any other child's mind may have ventured over to not going to school, not going to bed, not eating his vegetables...stuff of that sort. He interpreted it as I'm not going to hurt you.
Jack tried swallowing the lump rising in his throat.
"Now what's your name?"
"Jack," she smiled, wide, as if this was somehow tangible. As if he had just pained her the prettiest picture in the world and just as if she were wrapping her eyes around it.
"Jack," she repeated,"I'm Evelyn,"
"you ready to come in?"
His eyes ventured to the three kids hovering by the porch steps. She looked back at what he had suddenly found so interesting, "Oh those are my kids. That's Bobby. Angel. And that there's Jerry," he hadn't really paid attention to whom was being pointed to.
He nodded absently although this was the first sign that she was a liar. Obviously older white women do not have obviously around-his-age African-American kids. It just didn't work that way. He nodded anyway though because she didn't seem to be that bad. So what if she was a liar. As long as she didn't touch him they would be find. Yeah. "It's not going to be so bad," he muttered to himself. For the final and last time, "it's not going to be so bad,"