Ornery and a Smiling Act

A clean slate that's not so clean...

As the car progressed further and further away from his most recent hell home, he tried to focus on anything other than the ridiculously loud tapping that his social worker- 'No, her name is Jane, you've gotta stop calling her that,' was making on the wheel with her fake acrylic nails.

But fuck was it hard; Tommy was never good with loud sounds ever since the first home. We don't need to talk about that, though. He was perfectly fine.

The only reason he's in this predicament now is because of that damn fucker thinking he could make Tommy do anything he wanted, which was completely wrong, obviously.

'No way in hell, that's an abuse of power I've read about shit like that, hell I've been through shit like that,' Tommy yelled in his head, he wouldn't dare say it out though. The thing is, Tommy didn't tell his social worker why he needed to leave; he just called her out of the blue, using all the right words so he knew that she couldn't say no.

Tommy was suddenly yanked out of these thoughts when he heard talking coming from the other side of the car, 'Jane was talking to someone on the phone?'

"Yeah, we're on the way back right now- no, I don't know the full reason- no, he didn't tell me much- haha well yeah, he's a problem child, after all, what did you expect." After that last sentence, he completely zoned out. It wasn't like he was trying to be a so-called problem child; luck just wasn't on his side.

Well, there was this one time he got lucky. They were a lovely family but, they had several flaws. One is the fact they had never fostered before. Another was that they had a severe case of 'Savior Complex,' which was nice since that got him braces, but he ruined it when they found out how fucked up he was, mentally.

It also didn't help his case when they saw certain scratches on his arm. Luckily, the family never told his social worker about it, but maybe if they did, he could've gotten help, 'do I even want help though... No,' he didn't need help. Nothing was wrong with him.

Tommy was suddenly yanked out of his thoughts once again when he heard someone call his name, "my- Tommy!" He flinched back into his surroundings, noticing that the car wasn't moving anymore.

"What?" 'The tone of her voice is starting to give me a headache,' Tommy thought.

"Get out of the car. We're here," She sighed, cutting off the car and opening up her door.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you old hag, I'm getting out," He groaned while stepping out of the car.

"Wha- Wha- We talked about this. I'm only 24!" Her words made it seem like she was trying to justify her age but, her face was full of astonishment.

"Still old as fuck. Watch the steps, or you might break your hip, old lady!" He laughs while going inside, leaving her dumbstruck.

'Finally back to this nightmare disguised as a group home,' Tommy entered his old room, repressing the urge to lay in bed and let the soothing darkness consume him... Well, he was never very good at stopping his urges, so he finally gave in and laid under the warmth of a shitty but effective, dark blanket.

He was awoken by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

'Fuck fuck he's coming fuck what should do fuck,' His breathing started becoming unsteady, but he couldn't do anything else but focus on the loud footsteps.

'Fuck did I do something wrong again?' Suddenly, the footsteps stopped, and finally, he could breathe. Then the door handle started shaking as if someone was trying to get in.

'Okay fuck, I'm not there anymore, I'm not there,' He let out a shaky breath, trying to examine his surrounding. He finally found a non-destructive anchor, 'Digging your nails into your thighs isn't destructive... right?'