Wow, you guys are really nice! Keep reviewing and following (if you want!)
Anyway, my beta reader Kinzey (thatwritermadeofpotatoes) is still helping me out and Is being very patient and helpful with me!
Trigger warnings: bullying, self hatred, memories of past abuse, physical bullying.
Alex said nothing to any of his friends about what had happened with Lee and George outside American Politics. It hadn't been that bad. His stomach was a bit bruised, big deal. It wasn't like he'd broken a bone or anything.
Lee and George left him alone for the rest of the day. After that class he had drifted through the day in a daze. Not really focusing on anything but his work, often not even hearing people when they spoke directly to him.
Lafayette seemed to notice something was up on the walk home. Alex, who was usually very quiet anyway, didn't talk at all, instead responding with nods and shrugs.
"Alexander, tu vas bien?"
Alex looked up at Lafayette in surprise and quickly nodded his head.
"Oui, ça va bien. Just lost in thought."
Lafayette grinned.
"À quoi tu penses?"
Alex waved his hand in what he hoped was an air of nonchalance.
"Rien. Ce n'est pas important."
Lafayette decided to drop it. After all, this was the least of all the strange and admittedly worrying habits Alex had. He could deal with a bit of silence.
That evening dragged by uneventfully. Alex and Lafayette retired to their rooms quickly to complete their ever-growing pile of homework they'd received. This was not to say Lafayette was antisocial by any means. In fact, that was the main difference between the two of them.
While Lafayette regularly went for breaks to get some water or chat with Martha and George, Alex didn't leave his room once until dinner, three and a half hours after he'd gotten home.
Alex stayed up far too late that night. Even he, the paragon of staying up till ungodly hours, was worried about how he would cope with drowsiness the next day.
He'd only meant to stay up until eleven. He had sworn to himself he'd complete all of his homework that night and he had... at only ten. The rest of the night was devoted to an essay he'd been meaning to write for days. It was one he was particularly excited to complete, a scathing critique of immigration policy in the USA and the attitude towards said immigrants.
It seems to me, a matter of national shame, that in a country founded by immigrants, the term has somehow become a pejorative one. Politicians and talking heads perpetuate ideas about non-white, working class immigrants to advance their personal agenda, which has in turn created the cultural fear of this group today. In a study done by the USA council of immigration in 2015, it was found that out of criminal offenders and felony charges, immigrants are one of the lowest offending groups. Xenophobes dislike not the fact that these people have immigrated, but the fact that these people are different from them. That they are largely non-European, sometimes non-English speaking and often not rich. Immigrants are some of the hardest working groups in the country; they pay tax, earn legally and contribute to our society. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for many in America's top one percent.
Alex had written page after page on the subject, barely even looking up from his notepad until he noticed the room getting lighter. He looked up towards the window and, sure enough, the morning sun was streaming in through the curtains.
A quick glance at the clock told him it was six in the morning.
Shit. You are not sleeping tonight. Well, today.
He sighed and closed his notebook. He might as well eat some breakfast and get dressed, there was no point in him trying to get some sleep, it took him hours to even fall into a light doze.
He walked into his bathroom and pulled at the bags under his eyes. They were dark and purple, he looked like a coffee addict locked in a room without caffeine for a week.
Deciding to compensate for his haggard appearance with his outfit, he pulled out his nicest jeans, which were black and slim fitting with panels of denim over the knees. Deciding quickly on a plain white button down and a burnt sienna sweater he pulled these clothes on and admired the effect in the mirror.
At least you look like a fashionable corpse.
He stepped out on to the landing quietly, walking down the stairs without even making a creak. He'd memorized the pattern of steps that made no noise when stepped upon. He liked to move around the house without people noticing.
All was quiet and the kitchen was bathed in a milky, thin white light. He boiled the kettle and poured himself some coffee as quietly as he could, wincing when the cabinet door slammed rather loudly.
He didn't bother with breakfast. It was too early to eat and besides, he didn't feel like he really deserved to.
It was another hour and a half before he heard Lafayette's footsteps. Alex was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when he came in.
"Morning..." He yawned, walking over to the kettle and pouring himself some coffee.
"What time did you wake?" Lafayette slid some bread into the toaster and sat down next to Alex.
"Only fifteen minutes ago, not too early." He lied, knowing it would concern Lafayette if he knew Alex hadn't slept at all.
Lafayette frowned and tapped Alex's under eye.
"You look tired, mon petite lion."
Alex chose to ignore the nickname and shrugged.
"I have my coffee, I'm okay."
Lafayette seemed like he wanted to ask more but his toast popped at that very moment and Alex turned back to the newspaper.
George came down the stairs just then and smiled at Alex.
"Good morning, Alex, you look tired. Sleep much?"
Lafayette turned around from his toast and nodded, "I said so also."
Alex didn't like all their eyes on him and seemed to shrink into his chair.
"I'm fine, honestly."
George looked unconvinced but, like Lafayette, dropped the subject.
He noticed Alex had no food in front of him however, and sighed.
"Have you eaten?"
Alex jumped and looked up from the newspaper. He hesitated for just a second before gulping down some coffee and nodding.
"Yeah... cereal."
George suspected Alex was lying and felt concern twinge inside him. He nodded curtly, not wanting Alex to think he thought him a liar.
He was constantly torn inside himself, trying to find a balance between caring for Alex and watching over his every move or letting him have independence and space.
He made a mental note to mention this odd behaviour to Martha later.
Alex and Lafayette left a short time later, the former had taken his medication under George's watchful eye and had grabbed the little change he had to buy some coffee in the school cafeteria before roll call.
Lafayette waved goodbye to him in the corridor and they split ways, going in opposite directions to their home rooms. The next class they had together was third period.
Once again, after buying coffee in the school canteen, he chatted with Eliza in the corner of their classroom. She was exceptionally funny and never failed to make him laugh about something or other.
She was also a fervent follower of politics and they soon found themselves in a passionate discussion over the latest president. Alex rarely got to let go and talk freely with anyone, but when he chatted to Eliza he felt understood and listened too.
He had always been talkative by nature. It had endeared his mother and made his brother laugh, but people in America hadn't taken kindly to it. Especially when he mixed French, Spanish and English all in one sentence. He'd learnt to hold his tongue within six months of being in the foster care system.
Eliza talked a little more about her girlfriend, Maria. She was a sophomore, like them, and was apparently an incredible dancer. The look Eliza had in her eyes when she spoke about Maria was heartwarming, he wondered if he looked like that when thinking of John.
He had English next, with Eliza, so they walked to class together keeping up the avid conversation the whole way. They took the same seats as last time and Alex unpacked his bag, placing everything neatly on his desk.
The door behind them opened and Alex managed to keep his flinch small, relatively unnoticeable to an eye unused to paranoid foster kids, when he heard the familiar, sharp intonations of Charles Lee and the harsh, monosyllabic laughter of George.
The majority of teenagers hadn't had to learn to recognize every pitch chance or subtle hint of anger in a person's voice to survive. Ordinary people couldn't equate the tension in a person's jaw to the exact amount of pain they could expect to receive. Alex knew every danger sign, no matter how slight and he could pick up many in Lee's voice alone.
He kept his eyes on Eliza and continued to look as though he was listening, clamping his hands together under the table to make sure they didn't tremble.
Before Eliza could even notice a change in his demeanor, Miss Monroe had swept into the class room and was logging into her computer.
Alex zoned out for a while then, which was disconcerting to say the least. He had always enjoyed English, it was one of the few subjects he consistently looked forward to. To say it was alarming that he found himself slipping out of focus during the class was an understatement.
He couldn't help but think of what Lee had said to him yesterday.
Do you think anyone actually like you? No one does.
Just a waste of space.
No one left to care.
It wasn't like this talk was anything new to him. It was nothing Pace hadn't growled at him through gritted teeth as he pushed his hands tighter around his throat. Nothing he hadn't told himself in the middle of the night when the darkness crushed down on him and he curled his knees to his chest, palms pressed firmly to against his eyes.
But it still stung.
Their essays were collected and Miss Monroe put up an extract they were supposed to be analyzing on the board. Alex threw himself into this task, keen to distract himself from the thoughts running one thousand miles an hour through his mind.
He pulled his fountain pen from its case and got to work, not even stopping when he noticed the ink had splattered onto the tip of his nose in tiny droplets like rain.
Forty-five minutes later the bell rang, just barely registering in his brain. He blew on the ink in his copy book for a moment before packing his things away and nodding goodbye to Eliza. He left the class quickly, he had American politics next but he wouldn't make the same mistake he did last time.
To avoid arriving to early and running into Lee and George, he ducked into a bathroom on the way and locked himself into a cubicle.
Alex sat on the closed lid of the toilet and buried his head in his knees. He took long, deep breaths like Katherine had taught him.
One, two, three, in. One, two, three, out. One, two, three, in. One, two, three, out.
He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and counted to three minutes. By then he assumed everyone would be in class and he could walk in unhindered.
At three minutes he stood up and willed himself not to collapse from exhaustion. Of all the days to get no sleep...
He arrived just before his teacher walked in and got to his desk in the corner without as much as a glance from Lee or George.
They continued with the subject of civil rights and at one point Alex actually found the courage to put up his hand and contribute to a class discussion they were having.
"I uh, I don't think racism is over in America, I mean... if you look at a graph of active hate groups in America, the numbers actually growing. Just because people are more or less equal legally, doesn't mean people's attitudes change."
The discussion was about whether racism was over yet. Alex hasn't meant to get involved but some people were just being so aggravating that he couldn't help but voice his own opinion.
Their teacher, a tall man with a receding hairline had smiled and nodded in agreement. He slumped back into his desk and scanned the classroom. Sure enough, Lee was glaring at him with a menacing look in his eyes. Alex gulped and tugged at the end of his sweater, wishing he had pockets to shove his hands into.
When the bell rang he waited behind for as long as he could manage without drawing attention to himself. Under the pretense of picking up pens he'd spilt 'accidentally', he watched Lee and George leave the class room. His plan was to wait until they'd left the corridor before he made his way to the yard outside for break.
When he was almost positive they'd be gone he shoved the last of his stuff into his bag and hoisted it into one shoulder. Their teacher had left a while ago, Alex had listened to his footsteps disappear down the corridor.
He was halfway across classroom when the door opened and George and Lee stepped in. The look on their faces was identical. He didn't even know how to begin to explain it, but he didn't like it. It was all too familiar to the many promises of a beating he'd gotten from his previous foster parents.
He clenched his bag harder, feeling the skin over his knuckles stretch tight.
"I met you literally last week. What could I have possibly done?"
He forced himself to sound unconcerned. It worked better than he had hoped, his voice taking on an uncaring, almost bored tone.
Lee stepped closer towards him, closing the gap between them until it was just under a meter.
Neither of them responded, instead throwing each other a shared, sly glance.
All at once there was a flurry of movements and George had darted behind him. Strong, large hands seized his wrists and were pinning them behind his back. He tried to break free but a punch thrown to his gut stunned him, knocking the air from his lungs. He tried to summon his breath back but another punch landed, and another and another.
After at least ten punches were thrown by Lee before he felt one of the hands on his wrists move away and stretch out to halt his attacker.
"Look at him, he can't breathe. It's pathetic, but you don't want to kill him."
Alex gasped in a huge breath and hung limply, the only thing keeping him on his feet was the crushing hold of George's hands, ensnaring him in an impenetrable grip.
"What..." He gasped out, glaring at Lee, "is your problem?"
Lee shrugged. "You're an immigrant, you're an orphan, you think you're smart and you get on my nerves."
Alex laughed and winced immediately. "You forgot to mention that your fragile masculinity makes you feel you have to beat on people half your size."
You would think he had at least a shred of self preservation, otherwise he wouldn't go out of his way to taunt someone who had no qualms on breaking his ribs and smashing his face. Not really.
Before Lee could punch him again, one of George's hands reached up and grabbed his hair so hard he heard a few strands split. Alex let out a whimper of pain and tried to stamp on George's foot. He yanked his head to one side and snarled.
"You'd better shut your mouth if you've got any sense left. Or did he punch it all out of you?"
Alex was too stunned and out of breath to respond but yanked his hand free from the iron grip and flipped Lee and George off, making sure his eyes showed as much cold fury as he could muster.
Without so much as a warning, Lee grabbed Alex's finger and nodded at George to hold him in place again. Alex tried to struggle free but it was no use, he cursed himself for letting himself get this scrawny.
Lee slowly pushed Alex's finger back, moving it further and further away from its natural position. Alex hissed in pain but stared straight into Lee's eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of looking away.
"Do you want me to break this? I could, I broke your rib didn't I?"
Alex snarled but didn't respond, his finger was screaming at him now, the skin where it met his palm was white with tension.
"If you ask me to stop, I will. All you have to do is say so."
Alex shook his head and shut his eyes tight, his finger was approaching a ninety degree angle to his hand now.
Lee pushed down harder and Alex could feel the bone taught and on the verge of snapping. He bit back his pride and yelled in pain. Lee pushed just a little bit harder and he gasped, shaking his head frantically.
"Stop! Please, just stop!"
At once his finger was released and he shook it frantically, aware his eyes were blurred with tears.
Lee laughed down at him and George let him go, causing Alex to fall to the ground and lie crumpled up against the wall.
George smirked and let out a low laugh and Lee had a satisfied grin spread across his face.
"Have you ever seen anything more pathetic?"
It was a rhetorical question but Alex responded anyway, desperate to win back some of his lost pride.
"Well, I'm looking at you two right now."
Lee laughed a horrible, false laugh and crouched down next to him. Abruptly, his smile dropped and it terrified Alex to see how quickly his expression could change.
He wrapped his hand around Alex's throat and squeezed, his hand clenching tighter and tighter.
Alex struggled and thrashed, landing a sharp kick on Lee's shin. This had the opposite of the desired effect however and only made the boy grip harder.
"Do you still think I'm the pathetic one? You should look at yourself now. Am I pathetic? Answer me!"
Alex shook his head frantically and clawed at the hands around his throat. He couldn't breathe at all, his vision was fogging up and his eyes were closing.
The pressure on his throat lifted and he breathed again frantically, his eyes still closed.
He didn't even look up when he heard Lee and George leave the class room.
He lay there in the rough, carpeted floor for a minute or so, trying to catch his breath back and stave off the panic attack he could feel lapping up against him like the tide.
He pulled himself to his feet not long afterwards of and examined his injuries, his brain switched over to auto-pilot.
Nothing on his face. That was good, easier to hide that way. He lifted his shirt up to his ribs and pressed firmly on the tender skin of his stomach. It was already a pinky purple and he was sure it would bruise black eventually.
There were fingerprint bruises around his neck but they didn't feel quite as sore as ones he'd gotten from Pace, or even Lee himself before. He'd let Alex go quicker than he had to.
Aside from that, his finger was okay. Not broken at the very least. The joint however, where his finger met the larger part of his hand, was puffy and swollen looking, already red and raw in colour. That would be difficult to hide...
He redid his hair in a ponytail and pulled his hood up to cover the bruises forming around his throat.
All things considered that hadn't been that bad. It was nothing he didn't get from Pace every night when he'd forgotten to do the dishes or whatever bullshit excuse the man could think up for beating him. He could handle it, he had to handle it.
He glanced at the watch and sighed. There was ten minutes left in break, so there wasn't much point in going outside, nevertheless he decided to at least make his way there. Maybe he'd meet John, Lafayette, and Herc as they went to the class they all had together.
He made his way across the field to the tree where they'd sat a day prior. Beyond the distant fencing edging around the field there was a slow suffusion of inutile loveliness, a high sun in a platinum haze with a warm, peeled-peach tinge pervading the upper edge of dove grey cloud. There was a line of spaced trees silhouetted against the horizon and the heat had stolen most of the azure from the sky.
The sight calmed him somewhat and he made his way towards the three figures sprawled out in the shaded sanctuary of the oak tree.
"Yo! Alex, what took you so long?"
Hercules was the first to spot him, propped up on his elbows, a lopsided grin perched on his face.
"Went to my locker and then the toilet."
Hercules shrugged and Alex lied down on the lush grass next to John. The bell didn't sound for a few minutes and they took the opportunity to steal some tranquility back from their hasty and fast paces lives.
All too soon, however, they were heading to class. Alex's body throbbed with the familiar tenderness and omnipresent pain he was used to after a beating.
He moved with a slight limp, not thinking anyone would notice his delicate movements and trembling hands. He didn't, however, notice Lafayette watching him as they entered the air conditioned halls of the main school building.
He sat in class next to John, gazing out the window absently. He was in- well, in all honestly he'd forgotten what class they were in. Oh. History, right? Yes.
He turned back to his book, ripping his gaze from the vast expanse of bleach cotton sky and catching John's eye.
John's mouth crinkled into a smile and his eyes sparked. He raised a quizzical eyebrow to Alex, as if to ask if he was okay.
Alex felt his heart beat a little faster and he shot back a smirk of his own, hoping it reached his eyes, that it looked genuine. Because it really was. No rare, sheepishly awkward grin of his could match John's grin however. Every time Alex saw it he felt warmer inside.
His friend's eyes softened a little and he turned back to the section they were reading, perfect mouth chewing on vermilion pencil.
After school, he and Lafayette walked home together as usual. It was unusually hot for a September day so Alex had taken off his sweater and tied it around his waist, also undoing the top two buttons of his white shirt.
He knew there was brushing around his neck so he pulled a few strands out of his ponytail and let them fall to frame his face, hoping that would be enough to distract from the faint traces of purple at his throat.
When they got home Lafayette persuaded Alex to come and sit outside with him in the yard, rather than shutting himself in his room until dinner.
He grudgingly agreed and grabbed a book from his room, unfurling out on the grass, his head in the shade of a willow tree and the rest of his body utterly soaked in golden sun.
"Are you okay, Alex? You looked in pain earlier." Lafayette was sitting on a chair next to him, homework laid out on a garden table in front of him.
"Of course," He lied quickly, "my rib is just a bit sore sometimes."
Lafayette narrowed his eyes slightly but nodded and suddenly beamed as though a thought had just crossed his mind.
"You and John seem very close, non?"
Alex blushed and looked away, horrified. Had he been that obvious?
Lafayette laughed, "Mon chèr, it is hard not to notice the way you look at each other. I am French. I know these things."
Alex rolled his eyes and grinned internally. Not 'the way you look at him', no. 'The way you look at each other.'
"Has anything happened yet?" Lafayette smirked, his altogether very French grin back on his face.
"No." Alex fibbed, not daring himself to make eye contact with his new brother.
"I don't believe you, but I will drop it. You're very embarrassed, petite lion."
Alex scowled at Lafayette and felt his cheeks burn, but said nothing. He couldn't ever be properly mad at Laf.
Thanks for reading guys! I slipped some more lams in there because the next few chapters will be a bit less fluffy. Angst is near.
