Sorry!
Okay, so what I've been doing:
You know the chapter about Mr. Elliot I posted a few months back? Basically, I wasn't super happy with how I'd done it, so I've written an alternate ending in which Alex doesn't call his social worker and he's forced to stay with Mr. Elliot. It's very long, (and dark) I'll probably post it in increments.
Love you guys! XX
Trigger warnings: Homophobia, hospitals, talk of suicide and overdoses.
The night was cold against the exposed skin of his face and hands when he stepped out of his dad's car. The car door was slammed behind him and he shouldered his bag, taking a steadying breath.
Calm down, John, think of Martha, think of Mary and James.
He stepped over the threshold of his house, which he hadn't been back to in nearly a fortnight, but didn't have time to look around at his home before something had barrelled straight into his stomach. Something about four foot eight, with a curly brown fringe, freckled, wearing a Tinkerbell nightie.
"Jack! Oh my gosh! I've missed you!"
He cast his bag aside sloppily, fell to his knees and engulfed her in a tight, smothering hug. He cupped the back of her head and breathed in her scent of bubble bath and those strawberry candies she wasn't supposed to eat but bought with her friends after school anyway. Her own little bit of rebellion, she wasn't so different to John.
"God, Martha, I've missed you too."
It was funny, how she still said 'gosh' but he had no qualms about saying 'God'. The differences between them were small but telling, she probably still tiptoed around her father's bad temper, made sure to be quiet and respectful in church every Sunday, kneel down at night to say her prayers. John had... John had somewhat lapsed.
"Are you back for good? Please say you're back for good!"
John broke away slightly and threw a glance at his father, who returned the stare sternly, with a brief nod.
"Yeah, yeah. Back for good."
Martha pressed herself back into his shoulder, her small arms wrapped around his middle, playing with the fur of his collar.
"Are Mary and James asleep?"
Martha nodded and straightened up, staring at him like she was drinking in the sight of her brother with large, dark eyes. God, he hadn't seen her in far too long. He'd missed her, so goddamn much.
He could see, in his peripheral vision, his father picking up his bag and moving towards the stairs, but he couldn't tear his gaze from his little sister. She took his hand and led him into the kitchen. On the table lay an open book, obviously Martha's, and a mug of hot chocolate. John went to the fridge and busied himself with pouring a glass of orange juice while Martha resumed her seat at the table.
"Is Dad mad at you? He seemed mad earlier."
John winced at the thought of his siblings being subjected to their dad's wrath, despite the fact that it was John who the real rage was directed at. They didn't deserve all that, they shouldn't have to be involved.
"Yeah, just a bit. Don't worry about it though."
Martha leant forward on her elbows, watching him. She blew some hair from her face in such an endearingly childish manner, John's heart swelled.
"Is it because you're... Gay?"
She still whispered the word, like it was a swear, despite the emptiness of the room. Despite the fact that their dad was on the other side of the wall. He supposed they'd all grown up with a fear of speaking their minds even in private places. They'd all been taught that God could hear them, no matter where they were.
"Yeah, I guess. Among other things."
"I don't get it. Why don't you just not be... Gay? You should just like girls instead. Like Henry."
John winced and pulled himself up onto the kitchen counter. Hearing that from his own sister's mouth, despite her youth and lack of desire to offend him, it, well, it stung. Henry was, in his father's eyes, the epitome of what a son should be. He was fluent in French and Spanish, attended an elite college, had graduated with honours and most importantly, dated women.
"It doesn't work like that, Martha. I can't decide whether I'm gay or not. Like... You didn't decide to have brown hair."
Martha thought for a moment, shrugged, "but I can dye my hair. I can change if I want. Why not you?"
John laughed a little and gave a shrug of his own, "well, sure. I could pretend my hair was naturally ginger," Martha giggled a little but he pressed on, "but that wouldn't be me, you know? My hair will always be black naturally. Doesn't matter what I do to it. If I dyed it ginger, I'd only be covering up what I really was. X'cept... it's okay that people dye their hair, not really that they hide who they are. I dunno, it's hard to put into words."
Martha nodded slowly and took another sip of her drink, watching him over the rim. When she put her mug down, she had a little moustache of milk foam.
"Like how in Frozen, Elsa has those superpowers she can't control, and she spends her whole life trying to hide them, but then she just decides she doesn't care what people think about her."
John laughed a little at this analogy and nodded, "yeah, gay superpowers. I like that."
Martha giggled and just then, in what had to be some of the worst timing John had ever experienced, their dad walked in.
"Martha, I think it's time you go to bed."
She groaned at this and shot John a beseeching look, pouting in annoyance.
"Come on, dad! It's only like nine!"
She withered slightly under the glare he sent her at this and flicked his head in the direction of the door. Martha slid her book off the table, posture a little defeated and slunk out of the room rather morosely. John spun around to glare at his dad, he shouldn't be taking out his anger on her, he could at least send her out nicely if he wanted to shout at him. As soon as her footsteps reached the upstairs landing however, John's dad turned to face him furiously.
"John, I don't want you talking to her about things like that."
John groaned, ran a hand through his hair in frustration. The old line. His dad would do his damnedest to turn his son straight, but in the event of that failing, John, at the very least, wouldn't 'corrupt' his siblings.
"Sure, I won't teach her respect and acceptance. Sorry about that."
His dad took a step closer and John groaned again. He wasn't up for another one of these boring arguments, they only got ugly, they only ended up in yelling.
"You won't teach her respect and acceptance for sin, John!"
John saw red for a moment, his fists clenched, his jaw tightened. Sin? Fucking sin? How could his dad use that argument against him, invoke beliefs of a fucking imaginary God people were delusional for worshipping.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Dad, if God even exists, I'm sure as hell irredeemable to him, I'm irredeemable to you! So why even bother?"
His father looked, just for a moment, as though he'd quite like to hit him again. Indeed, John actually flinched back marginally, half expecting the sting across his cheek and the sharp flash of pain. It didn't come though, just a torrent of hissed, angry words.
"John, I think I made myself clear last time, when I told you not to speak to me like that. Not to speak about The Lord like that."
John took a step forward, scowling, straightening his posture. He was as tall as his dad, as strong, as livid.
"Yeah, how did you make yourself clear again? Oh yeah, you hit me."
Something like guilt flashed across the man's eyes for a moment and he shook his head slowly, his fists were still tightly clenched, knuckle bones stretching out from beneath his skin.
"John, I... Look, I regret doing that, but you forced my hand. You should've known better than speaking like that to me."
He sighed, too desensitised to being spoken to like this to feel much anger at his father. Whatever, his dad could pass off hitting him, but not John 'taking the Lord's name in vain'.
"Whatever, I'm going to bed."
His father watched him with narrowed eyes as he left the room. He didn't try to stop him, or say anything more to his son, but his brows were furrowed and he stood there in the room, almost statue like. A sculpture of disappointment, of angry resignation. John was too tired to care very much.
Alex didn't have any visitors until around three o'clock the next day. He saw Warren for the second time that morning, gave her short, rather non-descriptive answers. It wasn't that he didn't like her, he thought he did, just that he had yet to warm to the idea of talking about the inner machinations and workings of his feelings.
He was finishing off the Kafka book Lafayette had brought him when there was the sound of footsteps outside his door and the buttons on the lock being pushed. Either a nurse, or visitors. Then, when the door suddenly opened, Gilbert strode in.
He was dressed rather hastier than usual. A sweater and jeans, hair a little messy, dark smears beneath his eyes. He barely smiled at Alexander before he sat down, holding his face in his hands.
"John's gone back to live with his dad."
Alex dropped the book he was holding, frozen. His eyes widened slowly, as though his brain had only marginally processed the full gravity of the truth Lafayette had told him.
"What?"
Lafayette ran a hand through his unkempt hair. His finger caught on a tangle and he winced, withdrawing them. He hadn't redone his hair that morning, had been too preoccupied with John to care much about his appearance. He'd deliberated telling Alex for some time that morning, maybe he could sort the situation out before he had to tell his brother? Maybe John would see sense? Alex had enough happening in his life to be stressing over something else, yet he couldn't keep this from him. This was John they were talking about, the teenager who made Alex the happiest Lafayette had ever seen him.
"Hercules texted me last night. He came round to his place and..." he paused, possibly considering his wording, "Il a exigé... that John came with him."
Alex groaned and leant his head back to rest on his headboard, groaning. This was... This was the worst possible thing that could have happened at the moment. They were all going through so much crap, the last thing John needed was to go back to a toxic, dysfunctional home.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. How did this happen? Why did John go?"
Gilbert sighed heavily and shrugged, "Hercules said he was talking about his siblings. You know, Mary, Martha and James."
John's siblings. Of course. He almost never shut up about them to Alex, always showing him photos, always recounting stories of fun times they'd had. Of course the thought of their loneliness would be the last straw, of course that'd be the thing to convince him to go back.
"Has he texted you? Do you know if he's okay?"
Gilbert shook his head and sprawled back on his chair, one foot resting across his thigh, his eyes closed; exhausted.
"I've tried calling him, but he didn't pick up," he opened one eye and watched Alex for a moment. His gaze softened from the tense stress it had held moments prior.
"I'm... I'm sorry about this. You shouldn't have to deal with this. Not right now."
Alex shrugged, watching a plane go by, high, high up out the window. Sure, he supposed he could have done with some peace at the moment, would have done him some good, but the last things currently on his mind were the effects this situation would have on him. It was John he was worried about.
"I'm not in John's situation, it's not me I'm worried about."
Lafayette frowned at this. Alex's situation was just as dire as John's, he privately thought. Just because Alex wasn't in immediate danger from somebody else didn't mean that Gilbert shouldn't worry about him.
"I'll try calling him again now. Maybe he'll pick up."
Alex groaned into his hands and nodded, pictures of John being hit by his dad, being screamed at, being hurt, flashing through his mind. He thought of what people like Pace and Mr. Johnson had done to him. Surely John's dad wasn't as bad as they'd been? He'd never break his son's ribs or send him to the ER, would he?
"He won't hurt John again, will he?"
Lafayette shook his head, the shrugged.
"At least not badly. What happened, in all fairness, was an... how do you say it, anonamy? ano-ana-"
"An anomaly, yeah, I get you."
Lafayette nodded and then jumped as John's voice rang out through the phone.
"Hey, Laf, are you with Alex?"
Lafayette fought back a grin, winked at Alex, who blushed and leant back in his chair.
"Yeah, I am, but are you okay? You're at home, aren't you?"
There was a heavy sigh from his end and Alexander took his lip between his teeth, rolling back and forwards, eyebrows creased together fearfully.
"Yeah, yeah, I am. I'm okay too, I'm fine."
Alexander's posture relaxed somewhat at the honesty in John's voice, normally, when he lied, it was obvious in the way he spoke rather than his body language or expressions. But he couldn't hear the lie here, he just sounded a little tired.
"Can I talk to Alex?"
Lafayette handed his friend the phone and Alexander took it hurriedly, speaking quickly down the phone to his friend, still panicked despite John's previous reassurances.
"John, you're okay? He hasn't hit you? Why did you go? When can I see you?"
"Alex, I'm okay, seriously, please, don't worry. He's not done anything. It's been fine. I just... He came last night, he was angry, he wanted me to come home. My siblings missed me, I couldn't... I had to see them."
Alex ran a hand through his hair, nodded, his eyes closed. He was looking better by the day, pinker cheeked, less malnourished, but the anxiety and wariness stamped into his features seemed to set him back a day or two. Lafayette felt his chest tighten, like a rope inside it was being pulled.
"When can I see you?"
Alexander repeated the question, his voice quiet, as though he was scared of what the answer might be.
"I- I'm gonna have to ask my dad. I won't be able to say where I'm going though... He knows we've been on a date."
Alexander closed his eyes, breathed deep and nodded. He just wanted to see John, wanted to hold him, be held by him. He'd wait, but he couldn't for very long.
"Okay, okay, that's cool. Just try to come," Alex breathed. He was, despite all the evidence suggesting that John was okay, still worried. Maybe he was fine now, but what happened if he and his dad got in another argument? Would he hit him again? Harder this time?
"I will, I'll probably be here today. I'll try as hard as I can."'
Alex nodded and then, when John spoke again, the smile was apparent in his voice.
"Te extrañare, cariño."
I'll miss you, baby.
Alexander laughed and leant his head back against the headboard, his eyes bright.
"Ídem, cariño."
Ditto, baby.
The call ended and Alex handed Lafayette back his phone, a smile still playing on his lips. It was a little smug, a little flustered. Lafayette raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, cariño," he pretended to swoon like a Victorian lady, "I love you, cariño. Will you marry me, cariño?"
Alexander scoffed and rolled his eyes, feigning incredulity and annoyance to disguise the blush creeping across his face.
"Are you actually twelve years old, Laf? Seriously?"
"You guys are just so soppy."
Alex rolled his eyes. They were brighter than they'd been last week, shiny in a warm, alive way, rather than glassy.
"It's ironic, God, you should know me better than thinking I'd seriously call someone 'baby'. Besides, different connotations in Spanish. It's less cheesy."
Lafayette laughed and shrugged, holding up his hands defensively.
"I'm French, I know about these things. I can tell you're absolutely love-sick, don't deny it."
George and Martha visited about an hour and a half after Lafayette arrived. The former was easing his way back into normal work hours, taking calls more and spending an increasing number of hours shut up in the study. Martha had been working from home, had gone grocery shopping earlier.
When they arrived, Lafayette thought it'd probably be best he left. He'd been there for over and an hour and he had a sneaking suspicion that Martha and George knew something that he didn't, something they were anxious to discuss with Alex.
He hugged his foster brother goodbye and pulled out his phone to text Hercules. He didn't particularly want to go back to his own house, not alone, anyway. Hercules would understand. Hercules always did.
Alex hadn't spoken to Martha and George alone for a few days. In all honesty, he'd been avoiding it. He knew they had been told that he'd tried to drink iodine, that he was seeing a therapist and was still a danger to himself. He didn't want to see the look on their faces, the pain he'd caused them. They didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve it, all this worry on his behalf, he could do without having people to please.
Martha and George were sat in the two chairs at the end of his bed, while Alex was sat, one leg curled up to his chest, the other stretched out in front of him.
"Hey, we thought we'd drop in, just to, well, see how you were and talk about one or two things that have come up," Martha smiled as she spoke, and though it was soft and tender, Alexander couldn't help but detect some concern in the action.
"Oh, yeah. Okay."
Alex tried to make eye-contact with his foster parents, nodding and twisting his bedclothes beneath his fingers where he sat. He didn't want to be that meek, anxious kid he'd presented to them thus far. That wasn't who he really was. If he could act less like a complete wimp now, maybe this conversation would be easier.
"Well," Martha started, glancing at George, a look passed between them, "I suppose we should address this, we spoke to Dr. Hosack and he talked about an incident recently with some iodine."
Alex nodded, eye-contact now seemed impossible. He stared ahead at the wall instead, trying to keep his face passive and stoic. He was smooth, he was a statue, water off a duck's back. Remember this, Alex, you've been through worse.
"Yeah. Well?"
George glanced at Martha, Alex could see the silent communication in their gaze. He wanted to scream at them, yell that he could see all this. They could talk about him to his face, they could say what they were thinking. He'd handled worse than whatever they could throw at them.
"They don't think your stay here is benefiting you mentally as well as they'd like. The psychiatrist you've seen, Warren, I think, said she would prescribe a combination of medication and therapy, but was hesitant about the former."
Alex sighed, leant back on his hands and stared up at the ceiling. He could feel their concerned gazes, well-meaning but unwelcome and intrusive, boring into him. Was he really about to have this conversation?
"I'm not going to OD again. That won't be problem."
George frowned, seemingly a little confused, "I don't know if-"
"I get it. I tried to three days ago. But I don't want to die."
Martha reached forward gently, took his hand in hers. It was smooth, but hard worked, not like Mr. Elliot's. His had been soft, like he'd never worked them much harder than typing or holding a pen. Not surprising, as he'd employed Danna to do everything for him.
"We'll talk to them, just know that we're trying to do the best for you."
Alex smiled slightly, shook his hair from his face. He looked healthier now, with his hair washed, some colour back in his cheeks. Still skinny, but not emaciated.
"I'm not exactly enjoying myself here, I'll be fine taking meds and doing therapy for a little while. I'd really rather leave here."
He hated not being able to look after himself. He couldn't even shower with someone outside the door waiting for him. Apparently, he could hang himself with the shower curtain or something, so he had to be supervised. Like he was in one of those prisons where they handcuffed inmates to the shower. He couldn't make his own food, walk around and go in and out as he pleased.
He just didn't like being all cooped up, he was used to being left to his own devices. He was used to being forgotten about, allowed to wander the streets as he liked, come back when the sky was just breaking into dawn or when the clouds had obscured any traces of a moon from the sky.
He didn't like being in anybody else's care but his own.
Martha squeezed his hand gently, it was warm and affectionate, yet the nail polish that was usually so carefully applied to her fingernails was chipped and faded. As though she hadn't found the time for anything like painting her nails, anything but worrying about Alex. Alexander wished they would just leave him alone. He cared for them, he really did, but it just did irritate him when everyone treated him like porcelain.
"I understand, I know you'd rather be at home. We'd rather you there too, we just have to wait until you're ready, and that's up to the doctors. Though, we'll talk to Hosack about what you said."
Alex nodded, stared at the clock above Martha's head. It was nearing half past twelve. Would John come at all today? Eliza? Hercules? John?
"If I'm going on meds, do I need to see Warren to get a diagnosis? Isn't that how that works?"
George's eyebrows furrowed in thought for a moment, "it depends on what they're officially giving them for, I assume. You're file reads that you've been diagnosed with GAD and panic disorder, so they might prescribe something for that."
Alex nodded, he didn't really mind that George was talking about all this with such frankness. He was used to having his mental state picked apart rather cruelly by foster parents, yet he'd grown tired of the sugar-coated, hesitant approach Lafayette tended to take when talking about the subject.
The conversation went from there, Alex not exactly wanting them to leave, but anxious for John to arrive. He was starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel, however. It seemed as though he was nearing release from the hospital. They'd probably finally figured out that being here wasn't doing wonders from his fear and hatred of isolation, that attempting to drink iodine was probably a good indicator that something needed to change.
He might even make it out by John's birthday.
This thought stayed with him long after Martha, George and Lafayette left. It lingered in the forefront of his mind as he talked with Warren later that afternoon. She came often, normally for anywhere between forty-five minutes and an hour, though Alex didn't really like talking to her.
"So, do you want to talk a bit more about your friends, then? The ones that visit you?"
Alex shrugged, "I guess. Uh, there's John, Lafayette and Hercules."
Warren smiled, "I've noticed you keep looking at the clock. Are you waiting for one of them."
Alex blushed slightly, shrugged, "yeah. I mean, John said he might come around today. It's getting sort of late, though."
Warren nodded, scribbled something down in her notebook.
"What did you just write?"
He didn't let her take a note without knowing what it said, hated the idea of her observing him like some interesting science experiment, studying him.
"Just that you seem to anticipate your friends' visits rather than dread them," she smiled kindly, lines around her eyes wrinkling ever so slightly.
"I think that would be a... Fair assumption."
John didn't visit that night, nor the next. He, Lafayette and Hercules were back at school, but Alex would think they'd still have an hour or so to spare, come see him. He supposes they're busy.
Martha drops in every day, if only for fifteen minutes or so. She and George are both back at work, part-time at least. Alex is more comfortable with her than he ever has been. He'd originally seen her as warm, kind and gentle, but she can also be witty. He'd known she was intelligent, but their conversations had never been more than a joke or two, brief pleasantries and kind words. It was sort of nice to actually talk to her about the things he was interested in.
His release date was coming closer and closer. Incidentally, it was the same date as John's birthday. October the twenty-eighth. Over the past few weeks, he'd noticed himself gaining weight. His ribs didn't jut out alarmingly anymore, his face wasn't hollow with hunger. Though he was still on the skinny side, sharp hip bones and bony fingers, he was at least on the way to healthy. That was more than he'd been able to say in years.
He found himself lonely, for the first time in months. Since he'd 'broken up with' Rob months ago, he'd not missed anyone like he now missed John. Lafayette and Hercules too. He finished all his books in just two days, spent the rest of his time curled up in bed.
He wasn't depressed, exactly, just a little numb. Doing nothing turned out to be easier than feeling shit, he didn't feel hollow when he was asleep, he didn't long for his razor blade when he could drown out everything around him, let himself go stoic.
Marian shot him looks of concern when she came in to give him breakfast every morning, asked him often whether he was okay or not. Alex always said he was fine, always smiled back and ate the food given to him without complaint. It's not like he wasn't fine, just a little lonely.
He next saw John the day before his birthday.
It had been a slow day, little had happened outside the usual visit from Warren and a quick physical from Marian. It was nearing five o'clock and he'd resigned himself to the fact that his last day here would be spent alone. Not that he minded, he was sure his friends had other things to be doing.
Until John walked into his room.
Alex was on his feet immediately, running at his friend, jumping into his arms and wrapping his legs around his waist. He hung off John, his face buried in his shoulder like a koala, laughing.
"Alex, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Alex shook his head into his shoulder, still grinning broadly. He let his feet find ground again and smiled broadly up at the teenager, every inch of his face elated.
"You're here now, that's what matters."
John grinned, pressed a quick kiss to the highest point of his cheekbone and shrugged off his bag, unzipping it and pulling out a bag of popcorn.
"I have popcorn, my laptop and Netflix. Do you wanna watch something?"
Alex has missed this, missed just simply hanging out. The last person he did this with, in a romantic sense rather than a platonic one, was Rob, and they didn't end well. But then, they never really had what Alex thought he had with John. Alex has never felt this complete before, never felt this understood.
As a response, he leant in and pressed his lips to John's, cupping the teenager's jaw and teasing his tongue over his lips. John eagerly reciprocated, placing a hand on his thigh and learning in further, backing Alex up against the wall. He felt the teenager stiffen slightly under him, though he didn't attempt to move away. Alex's hand came down from John's cheek and guided his hand off his thigh, up to his waist. He was more comfortable with it there, less reminded of Mr. Elliot.
Eventually, they broke apart, out of breath, grinning a little sheepishly, all flushed cheeks and pink lips.
"Popcorn?"
John held the bag between them, grinning at his friend, the sudden offer so random and unexpected that Alex burst out laughing.
"You're ridiculous!"
John stuck his tongue out at him and tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it in his mouth. He grinned at Alex and held the bag of popcorn out to him.
"Give it a go."
Alex rolled his eyes, this was utterly insane, and took a piece of popcorn. He tossed it into the air, tilted his head back and caught it in his mouth.
"Nice. What you wanna watch?"
Alex shrugged, leant onto his elbows and gently nudged John's shoulder with his head
"Something funny."
John opened Netflix, put on The Office and rested his head in Alex's lap. He would be sixteen tomorrow. He didn't feel any different yet, not really. He didn't feel more mature, more like he had everything figured out. He was still sort of lost.
But now, having Alex here, that helped.
