Notes:

"Motherly Love" touches on a lot of subjects. It's important to note that everyone experiences mental illnesses differently, so please do not take this fanfiction as a guideline for how everyone with these mental illnesses must behave. Any negative words Alfred says here about himself are internalized stigma.

This was originally posted on my AO3 account so there may be differences since I'm uploading the original file without looking over it. I definitely recommend reading my fanfictions through AO3 as this account is more of a second thought.

Thursday was objectively Alfred's least favorite day of the week. He'd decided to take one online course this semester and another three in person, the latter he scheduled to be on the same day. It came with some upsides but one major downside: Thursday.

He was still working towards his Associate's degree, so sadly most of Alfred's classes were the basic requirements of every major. Only one of his courses this semester actually pertained to astronomy, and it wasn't even one of the in-person classes he had the joy of attending every week. Instead, his lineup today was French II, English lit, and statistics.

It was hard to bring himself to feel up to doing anything nowadays, but attending classes he didn't like was even harder to force himself to do. His third semester at UEF and he still hadn't gotten the hang of things yet. He hadn't managed to make anything more than acquaintances so far either. The giant and crowded campus felt even more lonely in that sense, and was often what Alfred thought about as he sat next to a wall to eat overpriced food or walked the hallways of Florida's best educational facility it had to offer (that wasn't saying much, but he couldn't argue with the in-state tuition.)

The groan he let out could be heard across the world as Alfred forced his eyes awake at the sound of the alarm on his phone. How much he wanted to tap the snooze button couldn't even be described. Well, maybe it could have been if he was an English major. He hesitated, wiping his weary eyes and questioning his life choices before turning off the alarm. It probably helped that he'd made sure to choose one of his least favorite songs as his wake up call.

The mantra in his head started as soon as he tore away from the blankets and brought his feet to the floor. Left foot first, then right. Make sure to step on this specific area of the carpet. He had stepped on a pencil near it before and almost lost his footing when it rolled under his feet, so he had to make sure he stepped two inches left of that spot every time now. Even though the pencil was no longer there.

Alfred walked the treacherous way to the closet where he rummaged through the trash bags of clean clothes that he kept there. The bags were in an array of sizes, some containing just a shirt and a handful of socks, others filled to the brim with clothes, all miscellaneous. None of the bags were organized. That would just make it harder on him… he may always have to shovel through these trash bags to find what he needs and yes it's more complicated that way in a certain sense, but that wasn't the point. Organizing meant touching. These bags were a plastic barrier to make sure nothing could get to his stuff. You never know what could touch your things and then...well, they would be touched. He ignored thinking about the consequences further because no one ever understood why that was a bad thing. He hadn't managed yet to explain it in a way others could accept.

What would possibly touch your clothes?

He didn't know! Bugs! They come out of no where.

What's so bad about something touching your clothes? It's not going to hurt you.

Yeah, Alfred's mom, well you would sure know a lot about what hurts him, huh?

Again going on about how bad of a mother I am. I'm sorry I'm not perfect for you. You know I didn't mean it that way when I told you last night we could get easier classes if you need them.

Saying it's possible to get classes "as dumb as dirt" when Alfred was struggling due to someone's emotionally abusive behavior sure is hard to take the right way, it seems.

Just forget it. I didn't mean what I said.

That's a theme with you.

Alfred shook his head. There was no time to think about his mother when he had to hurry and get ready for his first class that day. His two and a half hour French class would be over by the time he finished debating his mother in his mind, and even within his own imagination she still wouldn't listen to him.

Slept-in t-shirts were perfectly fine to wear the next day. The less steps Alfred had to worry about, the better. It was just fact that the longer his routine, the more arbitrary precautions his brain would make up and force upon him. If he was going to have time to pull on the door handle of his car eight times, he would have to forgo whatever extra fear would come with changing his shirt.

He pulled on a pair of jeans even though it was still dying hot outside. It was 95 degrees (35 for all you Celsius lovers) at the beginning of September because that's Florida for you. The four seasons here were summer, summer that's less hot, hurricane season, and a one to four week winter. It depended on the year how long the cold weather lasted. And yes, the word is "cold" because despite what northerners will try to claim, Florida winters are freezing due to the extreme humidity. Alfred had survived dry winters up north just fine and barely felt a thing, but a wet cold? It seeps through your clothes, cakes your skin, and melts into your body until it chills you to your core. No amount of layers can keep the Florida cold from finding a way through. Trust him on this one.

Finally Alfred was ready to leave the apartment. His jacket was slipped on to keep as many things from touching him as he could; the heat was just a price he had to pay, and the jacket had the added bonus of keeping his body, his stomach, more hidden.

One of Alfred's roommates came out of their room just as Alfred was grabbing for the front door.

"Your long day again?" Francis bit into an apple. Somehow even the sound of his bite had an accent to it.

"Yeah, but I'll be back in time for dinner. We're still on for a French-American cuisine night, right?" Alfred said with his trademark grin. No one would ever guess it had always just been a mask. Turning a frown upside down is much harder than painting on what people hope—want—to see.

"Mais, oui. You know I'm excited to try your…"

"Sloppy joes. And that French charm ain't gonna work on me, Francis." Alfred joked, knowing full well Francis would never have any other reason to say two such common words in his native tongue to a non-French speaker.

"I'm awaiting your joes, even if they're sloppy," Francis laughed, caught red-handed. "I'm going out today to get the ingredients for my part of the meal. 'ave fun learning a beautiful language." Francis waved him off as Alfred opened the door.

"What language are we talking about again?" Alfred smirked before closing the door shut, sighing as he could let down his defenses. He locked the door and rotated the knob, pulling to check it was locked. Letting go was extremely hard since he felt so badly the need to do that another seven times just to make sure it really was locked. An even eight would surely mean the door was closed, but he didn't want to let on to Francis, still in the kitchen and who would hear the repeated knob-turning, that anything was strange. Alfred was a normal guy whose head just happened to have been thoroughly fucked up from the divorce, his mother, and emotional trauma. But other than that, completely normal. Considering how many gay people dealt with things like depression, he probably was the average gay guy.

Francis was the closest thing Alfred had to a friend at the moment, he thought as he walked to his car, but Francis being an international student made it hard for Alfred to fit in to his busy schedule. His other two roommates weren't even options for acquaintances on Alfred's radar.

One was homophobic and somehow even anti-immigrant even though...the guy himself was an immigrant? Well, there's such a thing as internalized racism and homophobia, so maybe it was something similar to that. Thankfully Alfred had never felt ashamed of being gay because internalized homophobia was not something else he needed to deal with in his crammed head. There was no vacancy for any more mental illnesses or...whatever internalized homophobia would be considered, thank you very much. Though that didn't mean he was able to escape his roommate's homophobia, so Alfred's usual decision was just to stay in his room and avoid the guy altogether.

His other roommate had absolutely no respect for those he lived with and would refuse to help clean or take responsibility for things. What made it worse was Alfred constantly having to overhear him flaunt his Christian ways which was the most hypocritical shit. You can't act like a good person if you walk all over the people you live with. If you're going to be religious, actually follow the words you preach. Being a missionary in Canada for a month doesn't mean anything if you yell at your roommates for calmly bringing up that you've left your dishes in the sink for the fourth week in a row.

So yeah, the only person out of the three Alfred felt comfortable around was Francis, who he also felt guilty had to live with the other two. What a way to be introduced to a new country. He knew it wasn't his job to make sure Francis had a good time here but Alfred couldn't help but want to show Francis the best of what America had to offer, even with its problems. It hit home for him for some reason. He loved foreign cultures so it was hard not to take the perception of his own culture personally, which isn't a very healthy or realistic way to view things. (Alfred was very good at recognizing how messed up he was, but managing to stop being messed up was like going from recognizing what a rocket is to building it.)

His hands were on the steering wheel of his car and his foot on the pedals when Alfred's phone started buzzing nonstop in his pocket. He felt his heart bubble up in his chest like his body was an enclosed, dark space suddenly being flooded with water, said heart bobbing up and down in his esophagus crying out to escape. Hearing, feeling, his phone vibrate like that from a call transported him every time back to his eight year-old self when his parents would scream at him over the phone and he would have to take it. At least they weren't screaming at each other. Being a millennial wasn't the only reason why he disliked and avoided phone calls.

Alfred steadied his breathing as he shoved his hand in his pocket to search for the source of the incessant vibrations and read the notification.

Incoming call:

Aaaaaa Mom

He still hadn't changed her name from when he was young enough that his mother insisted he add those unnecessary A's to make her number the first result in his contacts. From when he was too young to know what a parent with an unchecked personality disorder acted like...from when he could still call her "mom" and mean that word.

"Hello?" Alfred asked reluctantly.

"The doctor said I'm allergic." What a greeting.

"To what?" There was obvious annoyance in his voice at being made to guess. Just more of her games.

"To your cats, so they'll be finding a new home by Friday. I've already asked Lisa and she said she'd take them until you can have them."

Alfred was floored. His mind hit the breaks and screeched to a stop as he attempted to contemplate what was going on, what was happening to his only real family.

"You're suddenly allergic? After all this time?" He was struggling to keep it together over the phone.

"It's possible and it happened. The doctor said so." Alfred received a text from her with some sort of picture of her test results that no one but medical professionals would be able to understand the meaning of. That somehow qualified as matter-of-fact proof. "Sorry you can't afford your cats at your apartment."

"They don't even allow pets here! You know that! I'm forced to live close to school and this was all I could afford. I don't see you helping!"

"I was taking care of your cats for you."

Was. And now she couldn't even do that. She couldn't do anything. Why should she when not being a mother requires zero work? Also gotta love the "your" cats. Apparently Alfred had been the one to sign the paperwork when they got them. That's definitely a thing 13 year-olds are allowed to do.

"So you're forcing the cats out of the only home they've ever known to live in Lisa's neglected and littered house where she won't even care about them?" Where she won't love them like Alfred does?

"She's been cleaning up her house. It's not as bad as when you saw it last. If you're worried about them getting fleas then we'll just put some flea medicine on them." She was already wiping her hands of the cats and walking away. Alfred knew for a fact that she didn't mind this excuse to get rid of the last remnant of Alfred in her life, while somehow still finding a way to blame him for not being around. Every day the desire to go the full Mattie route and kick her out of his life entirely became harder and harder to overcome.

"I'm still in college and won't be able to have the cats for a long time! My lease isn't up for a year and I can barely afford to pay for myself as it is. How can you expect me to take care of two other living beings while I'm in the middle of all of this?" There wasn't even anyone else he could think of to take the cats until he could.

"You'll figure it out. Lisa's perfectly fine with this. She'll take good care of them."

Alfred could hear no comprehension in his mother's voice of what this meant to him. This was all nothing to her. The cats were nothing to her. Alfred was nothing to her, but she'd be damned if she didn't still dangle him by a string that she delighted in controlling.

This, just like all of the other conversations Alfred had had with his mother since 9th grade, was something he could never get through into her head. It was always a losing battle because no matter what her prize-winning lack of empathy was the trait of hers that showed above the rest. She was incapable of understanding reality. Alfred knew this, god damn he fucking knew this by now after years and years of her treatment, but that didn't stop him from wishing so much that he could get through her head and the personality disorder she would never understand she had. If he could just...make her understand...make her stop treating him this way. Why couldn't she stop treating him this way? Why couldn't he have a mom?

Fuck, now he was crying into the steering wheel. Of course.

"So your dog is fine?" Alfred asked, the emotional distress on his face hidden through the phone line.

"I'm not allergic to him, no."

Well wasn't that just great for her? Her dog, her boyfriend, her house, her appearance, her facade, she wasn't allergic to any of the things she actually cared about. How convenient!

"I have class. I can't and don't want to talk about this right now." The sound of his breathing was starting to become more sporadic and he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of hearing him cry.

"Have a good day of studying. I'm sure you'll do great." Not a single ounce of empathy. Not a single drop. Her words were as dry and barren as her heart.

"Bye."

Alfred didn't even have the chance to end the call before she hung up first. She cared so little about what she was doing to him and his family. He took a moment in the middle of his tears to look with resentment at her name in his contacts. Twenty years she had beaten him down mentally, emotionally until he could barely even function. Five seconds was what it took for him to delete her from his contacts.

Already late for his class, Alfred thought as he drove about the single letter difference between mère and merde in French. It made him almost laugh through his crying that France had known the truth about motherly love for millennia. Maybe Francis really was right about French being a beautiful language.

Translations:

Mais, oui - But, yes

Mère - Mother

Merde - Shit