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Chapter 4

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Morty frowned as he watched the clock up on the wall in the classroom in which he was serving his detention. Most kids would have been eagerly waiting for their sentence to run out - to be free again... but not Morty. He was dreading the moment that clock was to strike five o'clock, because that meant he'd have to go home, and home wasn't very pleasant.

At least in detention, no one would yell at him or hurt him. He just had to sit here, with a teacher right there. No one could bother him with the teacher up front... and the teacher wasn't allowed to hit him or grab him like his foster parents did. This was the safest place he knew. Maybe no one here gave a damn about him, but at least they didn't actively abuse him either. The second he stepped out of this school, all sorts of awful things could potentially await him. Shawn's friends could be waiting for him... Luke had seemed pretty serious about wanting to carry out that horrible, dreadful thing he'd tried to do. Maybe Shawn would be waiting too - ready to kick the shit out of him or hold him down for his friend to do whatever he wanted.

And then what was even worse was the fact that even if he made it home unharmed, he still wouldn't feel safe. His foster-dad was going to be pissed at him. Morty was supposed to go home and do the dishes immediately after school, so they'd be done when his foster-dad got off work at five... Now Morty was getting out of school at the same time. Even if he could get home fast (which he couldn't - since he had to walk) there was no way he could get the dishes done in time. So not only would his foster-dad be upset about Morty getting detention - again - but he would also be bitter about the dirty dishes. Shawn was probably home right now dirtying up even more...

Morty frowned as he stared up at the clock. Ten more minutes. He wished he could tell the teacher he didn't want to leave. He wished it could be like books and movies where the teachers noticed bruises and nervousness and actually did something about it - where he could tell the man sitting up at the front of the room right now that he was scared to go home, for so many reasons, and that the man would tell him everything would be alright and mean it. As it were, Morty had only ever told one adult that he was scared of home - his previous home, where his foster-mother yelled at him for every little thing, made him shower in the back yard with cold water from a hose, and sometimes hit him. He told a teacher, and he got taken away from her - and sent to an even worse home. Morty could hardly imagine how things could be worse, but he supposed they could be. At least no one in his family sexually abused him... Shawn's friends seemed to want to - and Shawn seemed to know and encourage it - but so far, no one inside the actual home had tried anything like that... and that was a big reason Morty kept his mouth shut about the yelling and physical violence. Things could always get worse. If he got removed from this home, maybe the next one would have two mean foster-brothers - ones like Luke, who would hurt him much worse than Shawn did.

Frowning, Morty stared down at his notebook. He was pretty sure he was supposed to be writing something, but had zoned out when it was explained. So far he only had some doodles on his page, of a space ship and the stars. He always loved the idea of escaping into space. If he was a brilliant scientist, maybe he'd invent some kind of space ship so he could leave this place... Or maybe he'd invent time-travel to go back and prevent his real family from dying.

Morty was only three the day everyone he knew and loved - everyone who knew and loved him - had died. They were on the interstate, traveling home from visiting his grandparents - who were apparently too old to take him in after what happened... because here he was - not with them...

The car had stopped because of a traffic jam due to an accident up ahead, but it seemed not everyone driving on the road that day at seventy miles per hour had expected traffic to be at a stand-still. A huge truck had plowed right into the back of their car. It was a very significant accident, because so many cars were packed in a cramped space and the semi-truck was so large. Morty didn't remember the accident itself, but he had a newspaper clipping about it. Twenty-six different cars were involved and eight people died, including his mom, dad, older sister, and grandpa. Their car had been hit the worst apparently, because four out of its five occupants never made it out alive. The other four deaths were from three different nearby cars.

Morty had been so young and wasn't fully aware of what was going on for a while. He was in the hospital for a week or so, lived with his paternal grandparents for a couple months, and then moved in with people he didn't know. He didn't remember much of it. He just knew he had his grandparents and only his grandparents... and then he didn't even have them.

A part of him was really bitter about them not taking him in long term. He was their grandchild after all - and the only thing they had left of their son, but another part of him accepted that maybe they didn't really like him, and he certainly didn't want to live with people who didn't like him and were only pretending. At least with these awful people he lived with now, his place was quite clear. They did not like him and he damn well knew it.

Morty stared at the clock again. Four more minutes...

He wished he could have a family who really did love him. It didn't even have to be perfect. He didn't need a mom and dad. He didn't need siblings or grandparents or pets. He didn't care if the house was nice or if there were big family holidays like in the movies. He just wanted one person... Just a mom who loved him and would protect him from all harm like any good mom would. Or maybe just a dad, who would teach him how to stand up to bullies and help him with homework and teach him to drive. Or maybe an older sister to joke around with, but who wouldn't ever hurt him just to be mean. Or a grandparent or two who would give him life advice and tell him stories about the old days... Just... anyone. He wasn't asking for much. Just one person... One person on the planet who would give a damn about him - who would see bruises on his face and arms and would ask about them, worry about them, make sure that whatever caused them wouldn't get another chance to...

But maybe that was way too much to hope for. Maybe the movies were just a dream to everyone. Maybe most families were awful, and Morty was only romanticizing the one he'd lost because he barely even remembered them.

"You kids can go. I won't make you wait 'til five," the teacher up front spoke up, shaking Morty out of his thoughts. "Remember why you were here today and work on not making the same mistake again," he droned out in a very disinterested voice. He wasn't even looking at any of the four students in the room. He was still looking down at a magazine he had opened on his desk. Morty narrowed his eyes. He was pretty sure the magazine was porn.

Shaking his head, Morty stood up and walked to the door, going as slowly as he could without looking totally weird. He really didn't want to go home, and kind of hoped that Mr. James would glance up at him, notice the bruises, and ask him to stay for a minute to get to the bottom of it. That didn't happen. The man continued staring down at his magazine.

Morty frowned and looked down at the floor as he made his way to his locker, opened it, and shoved his notebook inside. He wasn't even going to take any of his books home tonight. There wasn't a point. Why even try with homework? He was late to classes all the time, often got his homework taken by Shawn or his friends even when he did do it. What did it matter?

He shoved the locker door closed and made his way out of the school, walking slowly now, which was a gamble. He didn't know if Luke and his friends might be waiting... But he knew what waited for him at home, so he took the risk and made his walk home longer so he could avoid setting foot into the house for as long as possible.

Morty took alternate routes from usual today, both because he didn't really want to reach his house, and because if Luke or the others were waiting for him somewhere, it would be along his usual route.

As he walked, he spotted a pine cone on the sidewalk and made a little game out of kicking it along with him. He wondered what his sister would be like now if she hadn't died. He wondered if the two of them had been the only survivors if they would have been allowed to live in the same foster-home. It would have been awfully cruel to separate siblings like that, but Morty could see it happening, especially to him.

He kicked the pine cone again as he paced down the sidewalk and breathed out a loud sigh. He supposed he only had to put up with this kind of life for four more years. Then he could move out. Four years seemed like an awfully long time though - especially when even just this one day had lasted an eternity and was about to get longer...

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Morty kicked the little pine cone further down the sidewalk as he contemplated the possibilities that could arise if he did speak up and tell a teacher everything that was going on with him.

Teachers at that school didn't seem to care much about such things. Surely they could see the bruises all over him. Morty had looked at himself in the bathroom mirror as soon as he finally got to school this morning. He had a dark bruise on his cheek and a small trickle of blood under his nose. The freaking principal had seen all of that - right when Morty walked in, the woman had glared down at him and asked if he had an excused tardy note. She hadn't cared that he was bruised and bloodied. She asked no questions other than about him being late - and not even to find out why he was - just to decide if it was excused or not.

Morty kicked out at the pine cone again and walked after it. Were there any teachers in his school who might give a damn about any of this? Would any of them care that his foster-dad was going to scream at him, possibly hit him, and probably lock him in the basement tonight? Would they care that his foster-brother shoved him and threatened him or that his foster-mom often made him stay up all night without sleep as a punishment, standing in the corner of the kitchen, facing the wall for hours, not even allowed to wear more than boxer shorts in the coldest, most drafty part of the house? Would they care that boys from the school - and one who was even technically a man now, no longer a student, had attempted to rape him and beat him up for no reason? Did anyone care about anything?!

Morty caught up with the pine cone and kicked it again. It bounced off a crack in the sidewalk and flew into the road, wobbling for a second before a truck ran over it, crushing it into tiny little bits. Morty stared at it for a moment, frowning, and then shook his head and walked on.

He could see his house now - or rather, his foster-family's house. It never really felt much like his. It was theirs, and he was just living in it, taking up their space, getting in their way, making them all angrier than they already were.

He sneaked toward the front steps, determined to be as quiet as possible. Maybe he could sneak up to his room, hide under the bed or in the closet, catch some sleep, and then sneak back out in the morning before Shawn woke up - before the boy could make extra certain that Morty was late to class yet again.

As soon as he opened the door, however, that plan was dashed. He was greeted with the angry stare of his foster-mother, whose arms were crossed over her chest as she glared down at him. Smoke drifted lazily from a lit cigarette in one of her hands. She kept staring.

"H-hi," Morty tried in a soft voice, hoping he could appeal to some sense of empathy in the woman. How was she so mad when she didn't even know why he was late? If he told her Shawn's friends had attacked him after Shawn left him here without a ride, would she understand? She should have, but he wasn't so sure that was going to be the case.

"Where've you been?" she asked in an emotionless voice.

Morty swallowed and looked down. "Detention," he squeaked.

His foster-mom shook her head as though disappointed. "We're doing you a favor letting you live here. Do you realize that? You're not my kid. I took you in. I'm being generous to you - inviting you into my house. Letting you take up space in my house and be a part of this family... Can't you just be good for once?"

Morty frowned and stared up at her. He was good! He didn't do anything wrong!

"We give you a place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear, enroll you in school - which all costs money, by the way... Our money.. and this is how you repay us? By getting in trouble more days than not, staying after school instead of coming home and helping around the house like you're supposed to? Is it too much to ask that you do some dishes and laundry and mow the lawn every week? Is that too much for you?" she growled.

"N-no," Morty stammered. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to be late... and I'll still do the dishes... I-I'll do them right now." He moved to walk around her, but she reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"I shouldn't have to ask you." She stared down at him. "This is your responsibility, and when Victor gets home, he's going to be so disappointed. He's already had a long day, having to stay late... This is the last thing he'll want to come home to."

"I'll get them done before he gets home... J-just let me..." Morty felt tears in his eyes. He knew his foster-mom wasn't going to let him do the chore now. He knew from experience that once he made her mad, there was nothing he was going to be able to do to fix it. He hadn't done his job perfectly as she had asked, and it was too late. She was going to make sure it didn't get done now. It wasn't enough that she was probably going to punish him for this, but she wanted to make sure her husband would too.

"You know the punishment, Mortimer," she spoke in a cold, emotionless tone. "Strip. Go stand in the corner."

Morty felt his lower lip trembling as he stared up at her. It was already cold in here... and now he was probably going to be punished twice. Standing in the corner practically naked was punishment enough. It was cold, uncomfortable, embarrassing... and this time it probably wasn't even going to be his only punishment.

"Don't make me have to undress you myself," the woman threatened when Morty made no move to do as she asked. "If you take your punishment without arguing, you can keep your underwear on."

Morty felt tears spilling over as he had no choice but to do as she asked. He remembered the first time he hadn't taken her seriously - shortly after he moved here. She'd asked him to undress and stand in the corner, and he just couldn't believe she really meant it. Even though she'd said he could keep on his underwear if he cooperated, he still thought it was a ridiculous punishment. He honestly thought she was joking because what she'd asked him to do just sounded so crazy... So he laughed when she asked him to undress, and laughed harder when she threatened to do it herself and told him he would be completely naked in that event. He truthfully didn't know she seriously meant it until he was on the ground and she was wrestling his clothes off him, and even after he was fully undressed, he didn't willingly stand in the corner until she hit him pretty hard on the backs of his legs with the wooden handle of a heavy mop.

He knew now that she meant it, and the only thing worse than standing in the corner, cold and humiliated dressed only in underwear, would be to do so completely naked and probably covered in several new bruises. Shawn would probably make fun of him either way, and Morty would be embarrassed either way, but at least he'd be spared a small amount of dignity if he just did what she told him to without fighting her on it.

With shaking hands, Morty stepped out of his pants and shrugged his shirt over his head.

"Socks too," his foster mother demanded. "You know this already, Mortimer."

Morty swallowed and pealed his socks off with his toes, leaving them on the floor as he stared up at his foster-mom. She was frowning down at him.

"What happened here?" She pouted as he grabbed Morty by his arm and yanked him rather roughly so that he faced her more. He looked down to see what she was looking at - very dark bruises forming over his ribs.

Morty swallowed and looked back up at her. Did she really want an answer? Would answering get him into more trouble with Shawn?

"Mortimer," she spoke in a stern voice. "What the fuck is all that? You getting into fights at school?"

"N-no..." Morty answered before thinking better of it. Maybe he should have just claimed it was a fight - implied that he was just as at fault as the person who made the bruises, implied that it was a fair fight. It might at least keep Shawn from being angry with him too.

"What happened then?" She scowled, looking not at all like a concerned mother, but more like someone whose possession had been damaged.

Morty swallowed. Maybe he should just be vague - not name names, but tell the truth... maybe not the whole truth though. She didn't need to know that Luke had been three seconds away from violently raping him.

"Hm?" she asked again, raising her eyebrows and looking like she was inches away from slapping him herself.

"I, um... I was walking to school and some guys t-tried to... m-mug me?" Morty spoke with uncertainty in his slightly shaking voice.

"Walking? Wasn't Shawn supposed to drive you?" She glared down at him.

Morty stared back. So much for keeping Shawn on his good side...

"And there's bruises all over your face," she growled as he reached out with a quick, rough hand and gripped his chin, forcing him to look up at her. "What do you think people are going to think of me if they see you looking like this?"

"I-" Morty hesitated.

"You could get Victor and me in a lot of trouble showing up at school looking like we're beating you," she went on.

Morty frowned. She and Victor did beat him sometimes... just usually not on his face. They knew better than to leave marks where they'd be seen.

"Go stand in the corner. I'm going to talk to your brother." She let go of his face and swatted him lightly against the cheek before shoving him toward the corner.

Morty gulped and did as he was told, wrapping his arms around himself and walking over to the space he'd spent hours of his life already. Staring into the corner, right under an air vent that pumped cold-ish air into the room even when it wasn't summer, even when it was already cold, Morty sniffed back tears. He hadn't even done anything wrong. He couldn't win with these people.

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