I don't own The Fosters. (Duh.)
It's not like it was unusual for Jude to wake up in the middle of the night. It wasn't even unusual for Jude not to sleep at all on any given night. Sleep didn't come easy to Jude, and as far as he could remember, it never really had. It was a fact that he had long since accepted since his mother died, which was practically his whole lifetime ago. Sure, it had gotten better here. Sleep had come easier with his new and improved surroundings, but it was temporary.
It was always temporary.
There were different reasons for each house, of course. In Foster Home Number One, it had been too loud to sleep, given that there were a total of eight other kids there and he shared a bedroom with four of them, two of the children being infants. Foster Home Number Two had been the foster home of scarce food, and anyone who knows will tell you that it's practically impossible to sleep on an empty, begging stomach. Foster Homes Number Three and Four had brought about insomnia out of fear. Sleeping was dangerous because then you couldn't watch your back. In Three and Four, you always had to watch your back. Always.
Foster Home Number Five had been different. Five had been the Olmsteads: the best foster home he and Callie had ever been placed in. Things changed for him in Five. He could actually usually sleep through the night without too much of a challenge. And that was a mistake – the biggest mistake of his life. He broke the cardinal rule of the foster system: he got too comfortable. It was too good to be true and he should have known it. He should have known it, but he didn't. And look how that turned out.
Foster Home Six was basically a repeat of the nightmares of Three and Four, made worse by the fact that he was all alone for part of it when Callie went to juvie. Being split up from Callie was the scariest time of his life. It was worse than any beating or hunger he had ever experienced, and he would've willingly gotten hit a thousand times, stopped eating for a week if it meant that Callie would be back with him.
And then there was Foster Home Number Seven. Lucky Seven. The Fosters.
He began to sleep through the night almost immediately here. It scared him at first. It terrified him because it was beginning to feel a whole lot like Five and he remembered what had happened there. But he ignored the fears and he accepted it. He let himself start to feel comfortable again, and he began to get used to it. He pushed down any hesitation he had and dove right in.
Stupid.
Because it was Five all over again and he should have known it would be. And not only was it Five, but it was Five mixed with Six because not only did this house have Liam 2.0, but it had Liam 2.0 and now there was no Callie either.
Jude hadn't slept a full night past the wedding. When he did manage to sleep, he was awakened nine or ten times a night with that awful reminder: Callie was gone.
So it came as no surprise to Jude when his eyes shot open in the panicked, dreadful realization that played over and over, a mantra in his mind. Callie was gone. Callie was gone. Callie was gone. But for some reason, this felt different. Even worse, somehow, than all the other nights. He was so cold, but so, so hot. He could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck and crawling down his skin, his body slippery and bumpy and chilly and burning.
His already racing heart sped up even faster when he opened his eyes and couldn't immediately identify his surroundings. But then he remembered. He was in Callie's bed, sitting on the familiar grey paisley sheets that were so…Callie. The matching pillowcase still smelled like her too, which was comforting and devastating all at once.
He looked over at the bed on the opposite side of the room, which contained the sleeping figure of Mariana. She was being so nice to him lately, and it felt so good and comforting, but at the same time he had never felt more like a traitor. It probably looked like he was trying to replace Callie with her, which of course, he wasn't, but still…
It felt so nice to sleep in here, because in an odd way, he felt a lot more connected to Callie in her bed, like she wasn't so far away. But in another sense, nothing was more painful and it felt like she had never been farther and it just felt so wrong. She should be in here, not him, but she wasn't. And it was his fault.
Sure, Brandon said that it wasn't, but why should he believe anything that Brandon said? He was not to be trusted, because he was just like the rest. Just another Liam who did whatever it took to get his way. He was the selfish one, not Callie, and Jude should have figured that out earlier. Maybe Callie would still be around if he had…
Jude wished for nothing more than for Callie to be here with him right now, because she'd know what to do. She'd know what to say to make his stomach stop twisting and his head stop pounding and his flesh stop burning. He had to get out of this bed. He had to get out of this room.
He glanced over at Mariana again, making sure she was sound asleep before saying a small prayer and getting off the bed as quickly and quietly as possible. He ran on his tiptoes out the door and into the hallway, awkwardly prancing past tables and strewn shoes and everything in between, making his way as efficiently as he could to the hall bathroom. Mariana may be a heavy sleeper, but there was no way she'd sleep through this.
Jude pulled the door closed, propped open the toilet seat, and tried to vomit as quietly as possible. To most people, that probably sounded silly, but to Jude it was absolutely vital. In house Three Callie had made the mistake of getting sick loudly and all over her bed, and suffered the consequences for it, and Jude swore that he would do everything in his power never to let that happen. Callie always taught him to learn from her mistakes so he didn't have to make as many as her.
Jude didn't get sick very often. The last time he had gotten sick was early in his time at Six, and Callie had thankfully been there to care for him. The two somehow managed not to let their foster father find out about it at all, and it was like it had never even happened. Callie had been there to rub his stomach and snag some cough drops from the top of a teacher's desk at school, and so it hadn't been so bad.
He felt tears sting at his eyes, and he didn't know if it was from illness or guilt or sadness or a mixture of all of them. Before he knew it tears were streamed down his face, gravity pulling them into the bowl he was still leaned over, mixing with toilet water and the contents he had just disposed of.
He was near hysterical now, though he had enough sense to keep his sobs quiet.
Or at least he thought he was being quiet.
"Jude," a tired, hoarse whisper came from the other side of the door. "Is that you in there?"
He froze and lifted his head. This was the last thing he wanted to happen.
"Jude, what are you doing in there? Ugh, forget it, I'm coming in," the voice whispered again, impatient, carelessly barging through the door. The casual footsteps stopped immediately upon the sight of him. "Jude, oh my god, are you okay?"
Did he look okay? No he wasn't okay. What a stupid question. He was the farthest thing from okay. But of course, he didn't say any of those things. Instead, he had to work up the courage to look over at the figure to the left of him. A face probably full of annoyance and irritation and anger, because even though she might be nice to him sometimes, he interrupted her beauty sleep. He braced himself for the impact, the blow of realization that he had once again been kidding himself thinking people in this house were different and actually cared about him. Callie was the only one that really cared about him, and now that she was gone, he wasn't safe. He never would be.
It shocked him to see her face, and he had to blink to make sure it was real. She looked so…worried. And sincere. And he had trouble believing that anyone, much less a teenage diva, would be able to show that type of emotion towards him. Day and night were two different animals and night showed people's true colors, the darkness illuminating their real selves. Sure, she'd let him stay with her that night, but it's not like she wanted to deal with him. She pitied him, but in the end no one was truly altruistic, and egotism always won out over pity.
"Are you…do you need something? Can I do something?" Mariana asked, still keeping her distance. She could smell the rancidness of throw-up, and while Mariana's compassion was strong, her gag reflexes were not.
"I'm okay," Jude replied weakly, attempting to stand. He grasped the sink, but struggled to stand up, wobbling and almost collapsing to the floor. Mariana's eyes widened, and her instincts won out over her disgust for whatever was in that toilet. She rushed over to Jude, and steadied him, but made sure to look as far away as possible from the substance.
"Whoa," she said, catching him. "Are you okay?" she asked again. He really wished she'd stop asking him that, but was too tired to even manage a reply. Suddenly, he was so very tired.
"Um," Mariana took a step back once Jude was once again safely grounded, sitting on the floor. She bit her lip, and almost gnawed on a fingernail before she remembered how unsanitary and gross that would be, considering she just touched a sick person coated with a plethora of contagious germs. "I'll go get moms," she said, turning on her heel to hurry out the door. Who was she kidding, she was good for things like nail polish and offering extra pillows, but she was way out of her league with this one.
"You don't have to," Jude managed.
Mariana gave him an odd look, her eyebrows crinkled. "Jude, you're sick. They'll want to know. And they'll kill me if I let you stay in here by yourself and don't tell them," she said, exaggerating the end to try and lighten the mood, the attempt going unnoticed by Jude.
"No, don't bother them. Just go back to bed. I'll be fine," he said, his assuring sounding more like pleading.
Mariana's face softened, and it all clicked. Her mind flashed back to the first time she hadn't felt well with Stef and Lena. It was scary, getting sick at a foster home. You didn't know how people were going to react, you didn't know if you could trust them to take care of you. She couldn't imagine how it would be without Callie. At least she had had Jesus to get through it with.
She pursed her lips in sympathy. She felt for him, but she knew what she had to do. "I'll be right back," she promised, and managed to work past her own personal nausea to touch his shoulder lightly. "It'll be okay," she said, before making her way down the hall.
No, Jude thought, defeated, it wouldn't be. But there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was sit and let everyone else control him. He had no power, but what was new? So he sat on the tile and picked at a thread on the hem of his pajama pants and waited for the inevitable arrival.
I hope you enjoyed! This story is going to end up being a three-parter. Thank you for reading, and please leave your thoughts in a review. I'd love to hear from you!
