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Trigger warnings: mention of self harm, mention of past abuse, bullying, homophobic slur.
This chapter got real deep.
Alex headed down the empty corridor and pushed into the men's room. He turned on the tap and splashed some cold water in his face, breathing deeply. He was okay, he was okay.
He heard the door open and was about to look around when he felt someone pulling on the back of his shirt.
Next thing he knew, someone had grabbed him and was pushing him up against the cold tiled wall.
He kicked frantically, panic bursting like fireworks inside him.
Alex looked up to the face of whoever it was that was holding him and cursed under his breath.
Fucking Lee.
The boy was grinning slyly, like a cat who had just caught a mouse and knew it was seconds away from being devoured.
George stood behind him like a bodyguard, watching on.
"Well if it isn't 'A-A-Alexander...'" he grinned, imitating the boy's nervous stutter.
"Lee, can you just piss off? I'm trying to use the bathroom here."
This evidently wasn't the smartest thing to say because as soon as the words left his mouth, Lee pushed his hands towards Alex's neck and squeezed hard, cutting off the diatribe he'd been about to throw at him.
Lee's grip tightened until Alex saw white spots dancing in his vision, Lee was smirking, he said something Alex couldn't make out.
He couldn't breathe. It was Pace all over again, but this time he was going to die, he was getting light headed, his eyes involuntarily fluttered shut.
"Lee, stop it, you can't hurt him too bad."
George was speaking now and Charles' grip loosened. He nodded at his friend.
"Yeah, you're right."
Alex frantically gulped in air, his breath came out wheezing and shallow.
Lee turned back to Alex and grinned again, "you think you're all that? Laughing with the Schuyler dyke in English, showing off in french. Tu te faites vouloir vomir."
Alex smirked, "actually, it's 'tu me faites' otherwise you're saying you make yourself sick. Genius."
Alex winced and prepared himself for the inevitable blow, he wasn't disappointed.
Charles growled and kneed Alex harshly in the gut, making him double over in pain. He let go of Alex's collar to punch him square in the face, knocking him to the ground.
"Not so smart now, Alexander, lying at my feet."
Alex choked out a response, filled with rage. "Still speak better french than you..."
Charles laughed and kicked Alex in the ribs, over and over again, he was now struggling to breathe. He thought he might have heard something crack.
He was frantically trying to gasp in breaths and get air back into his lungs, but his ribs stung painfully whenever he inhaled.
George knelt down next to him and patted his arm in a mock friendly manner. Blood was pouring from Alex's split lip, or was it his nose? He didn't know.
Suddenly, George grabbed a fist full of Alex's hair, which was coming undone from its bun, and pulled his head up off the floor. Alex gasped in pain and stared at George straight in the eye.
"Remember, if you tell anyone, we won't come for you, we'll go for that gay kid you hang with, the french one."
With a chuckle George dropped Alex's hair and gave him a farewell kick before the two boys left the bathroom together, leaving Alex on the floor, in too much pain to move, silently having a panic attack.
The linoleum floor was cold against his face. He tried to push himself to his feet by grabbing the faucet of the nearest tap, but it twisted on and his grip slipped, making him crash to the floor again with a yell.
He closed his eyes and tried to still his trembling shoulders, he could feel the panic attack coming on in full force now.
The blood from his nose or lip, maybe both, was metallic and coppery in his mouth. He could feel bruises forming around his neck and ribs.
Vaguely in the corridor he heard voices, male ones. Hang on, he recognised that one.
It was Hercules. He was about to yell out to his friend but stopped himself. Hercules would call Lafayette, or John. They would in turn call George or Martha, who would just worry. He'd caused them enough pain already, how could he be selfish enough to drag them out of work just because he couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut, or take a punch?
He heard the voices die away, fading into non existence. Hercules was gone.
Alex was still lying on the floor, the hard tile increasingly painful against his injured rib. First he sat up against the wall and whimpered in pain when he felt his rib twist. He wondered if it was broken, how could he keep it from the Washingtons if it was?
Wincing again, he used the edge of a sink to pull himself to his feet, resting against the cold ceramic. He stayed like that for a while, seemingly hovering on the line between consciousness and cool, blissful oblivion.
Alex finally had the courage to open his eyes and look in the mirror. He cursed. There was no way he could hide this. His eye was swollen badly; already purple and bruised. His lip and nose were bleeding dark, sanguine blood and there was a cut on his cheekbone that looked nasty. He wondered vaguely if Lee had been wearing a ring.
That wasn't to mention the possibility of a broken rib and the finger print necklace of bruises around his neck.
Alex stumbled to the bathroom stall and grabbed some tissues, the effort he had used causing him to rest there for a few minutes before hobbling back to the sink. He wet the tissue and held it up to his bleeding face, crying out slightly too loudly when it stung.
After a few minutes of stemming the blood flow, his face looked slightly better. Of course, there was still the matter of his bruised up eye that he couldn't ignore.
He had nothing to do about his eye however, he had no make up handy. He'd used his fair share of concealer and foundation back at Paces' but it now sat tucked away in a drawer back at the house. Unreachable.
Swallowing nervously, he hesitantly reached his hands up to his hair, with the aim of retying it. When his arms exceeded a 180 degree angle however, he paused. His rib was throbbing now, as if warning him not to stretch his arms any higher. He ignored it, biting back a yell and using his trembling fingers to pull his hair into a slightly more passable messy bun.
His ribs exploded into agony and he yelled again in pain, his vision clouded again by that horrible, crushing white. He stayed stock still for a moment, not seeing anything but white, then it subsided slightly and he drew in a breath.
Dropping his arms limply back to his sides he breathed deeply again. Deciding he would rather have a panic attack here than in the middle of class, he shuffled into a cubicle and locked the door, succumbing to the waves of nausea and anxiety that had been threatening to flood him.
He focused his eyes on a star someone had doodled on the wall and felt his breathing quicken. Each inhale felt like someone was digging a knife into his side, carving words into his ribcage.
Not so smart now, lying at my feet.
He trembled at the recollection and closed his eyes, willing the fear away until the anxiety in his chest resembled a harsh wind rather than hurricane.
He glanced at his watch. Two minutes until the bell. He could use those two minutes to pull on his hoodie, do something to hide the trembling, to hide the bruises on his neck.
He began the slow, pain full process of unzipping his bag and pulling out the hoodie. It was nestled deep at the bottom but he took it out and used the remainder of his energy to slide it on.
Now he just had to walk to class on the other side of the school, up another flight of stairs.
The bell rang and he jumped, crying out at the pain in his ribs. This was perfect, he had a bruised, swollen face, a bleeding nose and lip and a broken or at least cracked rib. This was everything he had hoped for in his first day at school.
He stumbled out of the bathroom and used all his energy to limp to class. The corridors were swelling now and people gave him funny looks and he shuffled through the school. Fortunately, They were too preoccupied to stop him. Either that it they didn't care enough. Alex assumed it was the latter.
He made his way to the maths block and deliberately stalled slightly so that he could get into class quickly and leave no time for anyone to ask questions.
When he finally stumbled to his assigned room almost everyone was in their seats. He spotted an empty desk far away from Lafayette and John in the third row.
He winced as he pushed open the door and kept his face lowered when he walked in. He collapsed into his seat and refused to let his eyes dart to where Lafayette and John were sitting.
He felt his mind going fuzzy, his thoughts drifting around aimlessly. He closed his eyes and felt the darkness welcome him.
Then he heard the door being pushed open again and his heart stopped when a familiar, sneering voice met his ears.
Lee and George were in this class?
He didn't dare turn his head when he heard their footsteps walk nearer and nearer to his desk. The class grew quiet and he heard angry murmuring from where Lafayette and John were sitting.
He still kept his head down, eyesight fixed on his fingernails. The anticipation was killing him.
He allowed his eyes to dart up for a second and as expected they met the icy, tempestuous stare he knew to belong to Charles Lee.
The eyes smirked and a laugh ripped from Lee's throat. In his peripheral vision he thought he saw Lafayette standing up.
A cold, long fingered hand darted towards his face and grabbed his chin, forcing his head up to stare Lee right in the face. He heard Lafayette growl.
Alex bit back a yelp when Lee's strong grip squeezed down on the cut across his cheekbone.
"Oh dear, looks like Alexander got his face all rearranged."
George was speaking now. Testing him, seeing if Alex would dare to say what they'd done in front of the entire class.
He wrenched his face out of Lee's grasp and stood up furiously, feeling the eyes of at least thirty teenagers following him intently.
"Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone."
The words came out as a hiss, growled through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed and glinting dangerously.
Shock registered on Lee's face for just a moment before he threw his head back and laughed.
Alex was suddenly aware of his tall Lee was in comparison to him. He towered five or six inches above Alex, who was admittedly short.
Why was everyone so goddamn tall?
Lee's hand had reached forward again at lighting speed and was at his ribs before he could stop it. His grip found the injury quickly and he pressed down hard, squeezing tightly like a boa constrictor. He could feel his rib moving underneath the skin and the grip pressed harder as he struggled to break away.
Alex yelled in agony and doubled over in pain, all but collapsing onto his chair.
"Someone get you there too?" Lee's smirk was taunting now, daring him to respond as he had before.
Alex had another diatribe on his lips when suddenly Lafayette was next to him, pulling him away from the cold blue stare.
Lafayette looked as though there was nothing more he desired at that moment than punching Lee square in the face, so he did. His fist flew through the air and connected with Lee's face in a satisfying crunch.
"Va te faire foutre!" Lafayette hissed, his anger causing him to lapse into his inventory of French insults.
Lee staggered back, gripping his nose in agony, swearing violently.
"It punched me! The fag punched me!"
Alex snarled and was about to pull away from Lafayette's restraint when he felt another grip on his arm. Presumably John's.
They dragged Alex from the room, ignoring their maths teacher who passed them in the corridor.
Alex's nose had started bleeding again. The rhythmic pulse of blood against his lip felt like the ticking of a clock. He was running out of time. Until what, he didn't yet know.
Lafayette and John pulled Alex into a bathroom and sat him down on the sink.
"Alex, what the fuck happened?" John was speaking, he blushed a burnt sienna when he was angry. It suited him.
Alex couldn't quite speak yet, his breath was rattling in his throat, it sounded broken. Like wind whistling though abandoned buildings.
John and Lafayette looked at each other, their eyes wide with concern.
He calmed down a little and spoke.
"I think my rib is broken."
Lafayette winced, "Alex, qu'est qui ce passe?"
"Nothing is going on, I just want to be left alone."
John ran his hands through his hair angrily.
"Alex, it's obvious someone laid into you, who was it?"
Alex considered lying, telling them he didn't know. That it all happened so fast, he didn't see their faces. He remembered what George had told him, the threat of him and Lee finding Lafayette, hurting him.
Alex shrugged.
John sighed, "what do you mean, you don't know?"
"They wanted money, my phone. I don't know, I didn't get to see their faces very well."
Lafayette shook his head, "but you don't have money or a phone." He winced, that came out a little insensitive.
Alex didn't seem to care, "I said that. I guess they though I was lying. I mean, these jeans look expensive. So do the shoes. They probably assumed I'd have cash on me."
It was a weak excuse and he knew it. Who would mug a random teen at school, in the middle of the day?
Lafayette didn't seem to be buying it.
"Mais, how did you not see their face?"
"I did a bit. They grabbed me from behind. Didn't see much."
Alex tried to appear angrily nonchalant. He was good at lying. It was a talent he'd perfected with Pace. He made his voice sound bitter and pained, dabbing at his lip with his sleeve as if recalling the injury being inflicted.
"Why was Lee acting so weird then? He came into the class room towards you like he knew something had happened."
You could practically see the cogs in John's head turning. He stared at Alex perplexed.
"It was Lee and George, wasn't it?"
Lafayette looked at Alex intently. He pretended to be distracted with the bruising around his eye. Again, he shrugged. He knew if he told Lafayette and John they would be outraged. They would drag him to Principal Adams, call George, get Lee in trouble. Get Lafayette hurt.
He couldn't do that to these people. He couldn't give a shit about Lee and George, but he imagined the expression on Martha's face in Principal Adams' office. He thought of George, how angry he would be that Alex was in a fight. No. It was much easier to say he was mugged.
"I don't think so. Who ever it was, they wanted cash. It's no secret Lee is filthy rich any way."
John and Lafayette seemed to be at a loss, but gave up.
"We need to get you home. If your rib is broken, we can't keep you in school."
"No." Alex shook his head and whimpered slightly at the pain in his throat. "I'm fine, really. It's only third period, I can stay."
At this, John and Lafayette looked furious.
"Bullshit Alex, you can't move your head without wincing. We're taking you home."
He tried to stand up, he felt pathetic leaning against a sink like this, craning his neck up to talk to them.
He got to his feet but no sooner had he taken his weight of the sink, he was crashing to the floor. His vision had flashed a bright white again and his head throbbed.
John caught him just before he hit the floor and hoisted him back up again, this time holding his shoulders steady.
"This is not up for debate. You are going home."
Alex sighed. He didn't bother nodding, he knew he had no choice on the matter.
Lafayette pulled his phone from his pocket.
"I will call George, D'accord?"
Alex sighed wearily and yelped at the sudden pain in his chest.
"D-d'accord."
John laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and gently rubbed him there. Alex melted into his touch, then realising what he was doing, stiffened.
Lafayette swiped into his contacts and tapped on 'papa'.
The phone rang for a few seconds before George's familiar gruff voice sounded.
"Gil, why are you calling? Shouldn't you be in class?"
Lafayette gulped. "It's uh, Alex. I won't talk about it now. We need you to drive us home."
"Gil, what's going on? Is Alex okay?"
Lafayette didn't respond and George repeated himself, "Gil, is Alex okay?"
"Just, just pick us up."
He hung up the phone and sighed.
Alex winced.
You're just a waste of space. Seriously, it's like three hours into the school day and you're getting picked up. Can you do anything right?
The front office was empty and silent, the same idle receptionist was chewing gum in slow, rhythmic movements.
Her expression swelled from surprise to horror when her eyes rested on Alex. Lafayette rushed over to the desk, ready to explain the situation.
John moved Alex over towards the sofa, before they had even reached the destination, Alex was limp in John's arms. A marionette puppet with the strings cut.
John pulled Alex towards the sofa where he lay him down gently. He swallowed, not sure if the boy had fainted or fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Deciding that one was not much better than the other, he sat down.
Lafayette was still conversing with the receptionist. John walked over.
"Mon père will arrive soon, we have to go home."
"Mon what?" She looked confused. Lafayette sighed.
"My father! He will be here soon, I have called him."
The receptionist sighed and nodded, her eyes already bored again.
Just then the door swept open and a gust of wind stung John's face. George stood at the door, looking as though he had left work in a rush. His coat was flung on askew and his face was frantic.
Lafayette walked quickly forward and wrapped his father in a tight hug. George reciprocated but released Lafayette quickly, scanning the room for Alex.
His gaze stopped at the sofa where he took in his foster son's ragged appearance. He started forwards and crouched down in front of him. His temperament calmed and he cautiously shook Alex awake, applying the same hesitancy another man would use when handling small animal or broken glass.
But Alexander was neither small and delicate nor broken. Just asleep. Just Alex.
He stirred and jerked awake, sitting bolt up right when his gaze fell on George.
"Alex, let's go. The car is outside."
He nodded and Lafayette and George helped him to his feet.
He moved gingerly with a fawn like stumble. The lack of self assurance was not unfamiliar and given the situation, George fancied, not improbable. While Alex said fairly little about his past, his body language often betrayed a kind of simultaneous - or, rather, cyclical - self-awareness of imminent self-destruction. As though, for example, every yawn or stretch was calculated to draw as little attention to his caution as possible.
George shook himself out of these useless musings and focused on getting Alex to the car.
When they reached the car Alex was helped into the back seat next to John, the former of the two lain down, his head resting on the latter's lap.
Lafayette clambered into the passenger seat next to George and they slowly reversed from the hasty parking space in silence.
When they had reached the gates, George spoke.
"Seeing as three of you seem less than willing to explain what is happening, I'm going to take it upon myself to ask."
Lafayette coughed awkwardly and looked at John, who looked at Alex, who was asleep, (or unconscious, but we shall ignore these pessimistic parenthesis, reader.)
"Alex got into some sort of... trouble today." The euphemism felt foolishly unsuitable for the situation.
George snorted, though there was no humour in his expression.
"I can see that. What I am asking however, is who did this."
John spoke now. "Alex doesn't seem to want to say."
George frowned, "what do you mean?"
"He says he didn't see who did it, that they wanted money or his phone. But we don't really believe him."
Lafayette nodded, glancing back to make sure Alex was still asleep.
"There are two boys, Charles Lee and George Frederick."
George nodded angrily, "I know their fathers. Lee may run against me if he's nominated for Senate next year."
John continued. "They don't seem to like Alex at all. When he came into maths all... beaten up they acted super weird. Lee grabbed his face and forced him to look at him. They were asking him what happened, like they were challenging him. Calling his bluff, I don't know. Then Lee dug his hand into Alex's rib, like he somehow knew it was injured."
"What happened to his rib?"
John gulped. "It might be uh, fractured. Broken - perhaps."
George cursed under his breath, so quietly Lafayette and John weren't sure they'd heard correctly. George never swore.
They pulled into the driveway of the house and John shook Alex gentky awake. He sat up blearily.
Again, Lafayette and George helped Alex into the house. He insisted he was alright, feeling weak and pathetic relying on the strength of his foster father and brother.
Alex was guided to the sofa in the sitting room and ordered to lie down, despite his protests that he would rather sit.
Bandages, ice packs, painkillers and ointment was produced, as well as other medical paraphernalia. George skilfully attended to the cuts and bruises on Alex's face.
There was still the matter of the rib however, broken or not, it was causing Alex a good deal of pain and his breaths were shallow.
George gently pressed along Alex's rib, searching for anything to indicate a break. It became evident the bone was indeed broken soon, George could feel the edge of the broken bone beneath the shirt and skin.
Lafayette had brought up a page on Google about broken ribs, which could be treated at home. After some consideration, although silence on Alex's end, it was decided that the hospital would not be necessary.
Alex had, for the most part, remained silent and complicit through the entire affair. However, when it was suggested he take off his shirt to get to the bruising that would undoubtedly have bloomed across his ribs, he tensed.
Lafayette knew about the scars on his forearms. George did not. George knew about the cigarette burns and belt marks on Alex's back, John did not. It was a messy situation in which the tension was palpable.
Alex quickly undid the buttons of his flannel, revealing the injury but discreetly keeping his arms in his sleeves, the cuts covered up by the thin fabric.
George used a cotton bud to rub on the ointment. Alex's ribs were not a pretty sight. The bruises resembled a storm cloud in both shape and colour - isn't it funny how humans and their natural surroundings tend to look like each other?
Alex's ribs were also clearly visible, flesh stretched tight across the bone. It was worrying considering he had stayed at the Washingtons for over three weeks now. He hadn't gained much weight.
The ointment was applied, the injury assessed, the shirt re-buttoned, the ice pack applied. Simple, easy - just add water.
Except it wasn't simple or easy. Alex still felt the words carved into his ribs.
not so smart now, lying at my feet
He sat up right on the couch, drifting into unstable sleep. According to Lafayette, sleeping in an upright position helped the bone heal. Alex couldn't care less. His ribs were usually like a cage, encasing his heart. The cage had broken now, ironic that the break had been born of violence.
Actually, Fuck that useless rhetoric. Two idiots had broken his rib for literally no reason. There was nothing poetic or remotely romantic about it. His thoughts were bitter as he slept. He would not admit it had been Lee or George, but he wouldn't stop hating them internally.
When he awoke a few hours later the TV was on, some documentary about marine animals.
He looked up to the clock on the wall and sighed. 4:30
He'd slept for a good four and a half hours, and he was still tired.
John had noticed he was awake and smiled at him, it wasn't patronising or pitying, just warm, happy, John.
Lafayette was sprawled across the rug, his head facing away from them. Slowly, as though trying to make the moment last, John reached his hand towards Alex's and slowly took it in his, their fingers interlocking.
Alex smiled at the two hands and gripped tighter. They felt like they were made to fit together, like two halves of a broken rib becoming whole.
They stayed like that for a while, the clock ticked in the background, the sky outside changing. Not getting darker, but the light taking on a new, wearier afternoon shade.
Soon it was five thirty and almost exactly the same the clock struck this time, the door was opened and Martha stepped in.
She hung up her coat on a hook and greeted the house.
"I'm home!"
Alex scrambled into a more upright position and let go of John's hand instantly.
Martha stepped into the living room, her eyes fell on the gathering and she smiled. The smile dimmed however, when her eyes flicked back to Alex.
She took him the cuts and bruises on his face, the ice back held to his ribs, his sheepishly anxious expression.
"Alex? What on earth?"
George walked into the living room. He made eye contact with his wife and nodded his head to the room behind him.
"Martha, we could discuss this in the kitchen?"
She nodded. Alex and Lafayette stood up, John following a moment later. They hastened to the kitchen and sat down at the table, Martha busied herself at the kettle, her hands shaking slightly.
Tea was poured, which Alex politely declined and Martha sat down.
"Does anyone care to explain this to me?"
Alex winced. She was angry. This was not good.
Lafayette started speaking first.
"There is not a clear explanation maman. We, ah, disagree."
Martha looked puzzled. "You disagree on his this happened? What even happened, why does Alex have an ice pack?"
"Broken rib." Alex murmured, now wishing he had a cup of tea to focus on, something to stare into that wasn't one of the many concerned sets of eyes at the table.
Martha looked shocked and concerned all at once. She was about to speak but Alex cut her short.
"Just some idiots who wanted my money or phone, whatever. I'm okay."
Lafayette and John shared a look. They didn't know why Alex was maintaining this story.
Martha's eyes widened, "Alex, what did you give them?"
He shook his head, "I didn't have anything to give them. I guess they got angry, hence..." He trailed off, tapping his face vaguely.
Lafayette jumped in now, annoyed.
"Except, John and I disagree."
Martha looked confused.
"What is there to disagree on?"
John decided to intervene now.
"It's just, we think it was two boys in our class. You know them I think, Charles Lee and George Frederick."
Martha's jaw clenched. John continued.
"They acted really odd in maths, when Alex came in all bruised and stuff. Lee grabbed Alex's face and forced Alex to look at him, it was weird. They asked who laid into him, as though they were trying to scare him, or call his bluff. I don't know. Then Lee kinda dug his hand, sorta, into Alex's rib. Like he knew it would hurt."
Martha and George's hands had found eachother's now and were gripping tight.
"That's when Lafayette intervened."
George looked at his son suspiciously. Lafayette seemed suddenly, inexplicably interested in his fingernail.
"Gil, when John says intervened, what does he mean?" Martha looked a bit exasperated.
Lafayette looked up and his eyes were proud, unafraid.
"I told him to va te faire foutre and punched him in the face. He called me a fag."
Alex laughed, a short burst of rare mirth.
George looked half proud, half absolutely furious. Although, the three teenagers knew it was not at Lafayette. Martha looked humoured.
"He called you a what?" A muscle in George's jaw twitched.
John spoke up now, the fury he had been trying to bottle all day bubbling to the surface.
"To quote him exactly, 'it punched me! The fag punched me!'"
Alex had never before seen George or Martha angry, but when they were it was an awe inspiring sight. Martha looked quietly furious, her calm personality momentarily void. George on the other hand was clenching his fist so tight his dark knuckles had gone a stark white.
George took a deep breath and unclenched his fist. Alex wondered vaguely if he knew Lafayette wasn't straight or had assumed the insult was meaningless. Probably the former, all things considered, he was a liberal man.
Alex didn't like the way the conversation was straying. He didn't want George and Lee to be implicated. He stood up.
"I'm going to change, it's kinda late."
The eyes of everyone at the table met him and he internally shuddered. He hated it when everyone looked at him.
Lafayette's eyes widened as though an idea had struck him.
"Mamam, can John stay the night? It's late."
John smiled and sipped his tea awkwardly.
Martha considered this for a moment and looked at George, who shrugged in indifference.
"Yes, of course. As long as you don't stay up too late. You still have school tomorrow."
Lafayette smiled and Alex grinned too. A distraction, something to talk about other than the events of today, and more importantly, John. Staying over, all night.
Alex felt his heart skip a beat.
The conversation about Lee and George stopped, everything almost seemed normal. Alex, John and Lafayette changed into pyjamas, John, who slept over so often at the Washingtons, had a stash of clothes of his own he kept in Lafayette's room.
They decided to sleep in the living room, Alex could sleep upright as to not damage his rib and there was plenty of room for John and Laf to crash comfortably.
George and Martha had gone upstairs to bed and it was approaching eleven. They watched a few documentaries on Netflix and talked contentedly about TV shows for a while, and really anything that sprung to mind.
It was nearly one in the morning now and Lafayette had long since crawled onto the sofa under a blanket and drifted off. He didn't snore but his breathing was soft and regular, endearing like his personality.
John and Alex huddled closer together subconsciously, their hands were grasped together again. Alex could not remember when they had taken eachother's hands, but it hardly seemed to matter now. John brushed the tip of a scar that curled from Alex's back onto his shoulder. The boy flinched slightly but didn't move away, instead looking further into John's eyes.
"Alex... what happened before the Washingtons?" John's voice was barely a whisper. The light in the room was almost non existent, a faint white glow from the street lamp outside illuminated the two boys, John's freckles were even more pronounced now and Alex's hair was falling in messy curls around his face.
Alex gulped. He had never talked to anyone about it before.
"I lived in a group home when I came to America. Me and two dozen other boys. I was thirteen."
"What was it like?"
Alex thought for a moment. Those years were blurry but he could remember a distinguishing factor.
"Hungry." He admitted honestly. He was bolder now, leaning in and resting his head against John's chest. He heard John inhale sharply.
"And after that?"
"There were loads of homes. I got that... that scar in the Johnson's, when I was, I think fourteen."
He breathed this into John's chest and felt the flutter of his heart beneath his cheek.
"They... they hit you then?"
"Yeah. Mr Johnson, with his belt."
He felt John wince but the boy didn't move away, instead he reached a hand out to play with the curly end of Alex's hair.
"Who did you live with last?"
"A guy called Mr Pace. Not very pleasant. In New York."
"Did he hit you too?"
"Yeah. He was the worst. That's why today was so horrible. I broke ribs a lot back then. I guess it brought back memories."
John didn't pull away in horror like Alex had expected him to. He didn't cry out or push Alex away, no. They looked up to face each other and John spoke.
"That's behind you now. Laf and George and Martha and I, we all care about you."
They were nearly nose to nose now. Alex could see the reflection of his silhouette in John's eyes. The room was submerged in a dark blue shade like spilled ink, the light shining off John's curls was like topaz paint strokes and everything was veiled in the thick, mist filled summer night time.
They inched slightly closer. Alex could feel John's breathing on his face, his eyes were wide and his lips were open slightly in shock, or maybe surprise. Similar emotions really.
Their lips met as John leaned in to close the gap. Alex gasped in surprise but relaxed instantly, interlocking his bottom lip between John's. They kissed for maybe a minute. It was sweet, and breathy and youthful. Alex gasped a little when John reached his hand up to his hair, resting it there.
Alex's breath was like peppermint - toothpaste. John brought one hand gingerly down to Alex's waist and pulled him in closer. He looked down into Alex's eyes and smiled. They broke apart for a moment to laugh quietly before moving back together.
They giggled into eachother's mouths and broke apart finally. Alex rested his head again against John's chest and found his hand again in the dark.
"I'm sorry you've gone through that stuff. That you're still going through stuff."
Alex sighed, "it's okay, really, besides, I have you..."
He kissed John gently on the tip of the nose and settled back down. They were silent now, Lafayette's gentle breathing and John's heart beat against his cheek gently lulled him to sleep. They were still holding hands.
ayyooo! I'm pretty proud of this chapter but it was a bit weirdly written. If you've read the book thief by Marcus Zusak, you'll see how I've drawn inspiration from his style. Anyways, this chapter was a bit irregular. Tell me what you think of my writing in a review, my favourite reviews are the ones that critique me, give me something to improve on! Anyway, hope you enjoyed!
By the way, va te faire foutre, the insult Laf used, means go fuck yourself.
