⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ACT ONE ⇢ Sucker Punch. PART ONE, Ted Bundy and his Tiny Prick
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
FADE IN: SCENE ONE DAY ONE—5:14 PM
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₊˚ˑ☁️ 🏹*ೃ༄
CARRIS MERRYWEATHER, in stark contrast to her name, was a vindictive bitch. This could have something to do with the fact that her husband, Ted (who bore a striking resemblance to the renowned serial killer who shared his name) was fucking his receptionist. It had taken Tommy a grand total of twelve days to be transferred from their care. A new personal record. He had achieved this by breaking every single piece of fine china they owned. So, here he was, being driven by his social worker to his newest family.
He silently reminded himself that he'll only be there for a month (maybe less). This was something he reminded himself of often. It was easier to get kicked out on his own merit than to be kicked to the curb once he started to actually feel comfortable. At least, that's how he justified it.
"They're very kind people." His social worker stated, who, in all honesty, was a saint. He knew it wasn't her fault that he was in the Foster system. However, that didn't stop him from harbouring a deep-seated resentment towards her. "I'm sure you'll get along with the other two boys"
Oh, Right. Two boys lived in the house already, they were older than him and he wasn't sure by exactly how much. He didn't really care either.
Tom slipped into a state of nothingness— zoning out the world as he stared out the window. He didn't bother to reply to his social worker, Helen. After an undetermined amount of time had passed, the car stopped, and Helen turned to Tommy.
"Please make an effort this time, I know it's hard but I really think this one will be different,"her saccharine brown eyes stared into his blue ones. He didn't exactly say anything but made a noise of agreement.
He wanted to stay here, in this eternal state of limbo. He didn't want to meet another fucking family who'd string him along just long enough for it to hurt. They'd get just close enough to stab the knife into him— and he'd be too fucking distracted by the prospect of affection to notice. That was how it always happened, well, unless he got kicked out himself. Regardless, he couldn't just stay here, in a car that's just a tad too nice for a mere social worker to be driving. So, when Helen got out of the car he had no choice but to follow.
knock, knock, knock
He took these final instances of freedom to study the house that loomed over him. It was two stories tall, but it was quite small (not that it's size bothered him). It was more of a cottage than a house—he accredited the flora and fauna splayed around the exterior for the distinct cottage vibe. In all honesty, he quite enjoyed the homey fee— The door swung open.
