Going Mental

File #1: Nickel

TW!
//Abuse, Attempted Murder, Attempted Su1c1de + Minor Drug Use Warning//

No POV

MePad stared blankly at his shaky hands. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it any longer. He needed something-- anything, to distract him. 

He rubbed his eyes. Don't cry. The last thing you need to do is cry. 'For the love of Meeple, pull yourself together MePad.' MePad took a deep and shaky breath in, sitting up from his bed, kicking aside any dirty clothes or trash that he hadn't bother to clean up in days. He crouched down, aggressively pulling open his filing cabinet and running his fingers through a total of 10, fairly full files. He eventually landed on one, with a name, and a year.

Nickel, 20XX.

MePad pulled the file out. This file dated the farthest back. Although Nickel was one of the more...well, in-between children when it came to age, he was the very first to arrive at the home. That was something special about Nickel, he understood. MePad had visited a long time before, but he was sure Nickel wasn't aware of that day. It was the day Paintbrush arrived. Nickel was...mad. Just...mad, that day.

MePad slowly but surely opened the file, taking a deeper breath to calm down. He took a longer moment to breathe, before continuing on reading the file.

Reminder to inform authorities about this.

On January 14th, 20XX, at about 4:36 at night, a boy, about 11, knocked on the door. This was the information I was able to gather from the boy: 

Nickel Valuta is a 10 and 3/4 boy (specifically reminded me that it was 10 and 3/4) who is about 4'7, has messy, slightly wavy, gray hair, and dark gray-ish blue eyes, and has now joined me in my household. 

His version of the story goes like this:

He lived in a home of seven, him being one of those seven. He had four siblings, and both of his parents. He was stuck directly in the middle, being their third child. Being stuck in the middle, he stated that he was often ignored, or neglected. His parents would often 'forget' to buy him food, or 'forget' to get him back to school supplies. They'd often make him sit in the bathroom overnight if he didn't do his younger siblings chores.

The ages of the children go like this, youngest to oldest. Dime Valuta, Penny Valuta, Nickel Valuta, Quarter Valuta, and Dollar Valuta. Three boys, two girls. The parents, whom Nickel Valuta didn't bother to call 'Mom' and 'Dad,' were named Metal Valuta and Check Valuta.

He described each of his family members in a dark light. Dime, his youngest brother, appeared to have no negative things about him. He was young, about three, and appeared to be innocent. Penny, according to Nickel, had a short temper and would often throw tantrums to get what she wanted-- like Nickels belongings. Quarter apparently just hid in his room all day, trying to act 'goth' but not doing so well at it. He'd also smoke weed in Nickels room so Nickel would get in trouble instead of himself. Dollar seemed to be the worst. She would constantly make fun of, shove, punch, and even go as far as to try and force him to drink bleach, or soap. She refused to treat Nickel as a human. 

Nickel continued on, and told me of a pet hedgehog he once had, which he had named Nacho. According to Nickel, Dollar had taken Nacho and drowned him in ammonia. How horrible.

Nickel had accordingly left after his parents tried to force him to drink toilet water (gross, honestly.) He packed his very few belongings and ran away. It had been two weeks, from what he told me, and he stated that he didn't plan on going back, and if I attempted to contact his family, he'd just run away again. Not before egging my house, though.

Mepad chuckled as he read. How awful but...but despite that Nickel still managed to have a goofy little sense of humor.

Nickel seems extremely grumpy and sarcastic, often talking badly of people he once knew, including people outside of his family. I'm planning on contacting the authorities in the morning. 

MePad flipped to the next page of the file, reading on.

Today I woke up to find that Nickel was holding a gun to my head. It scared me to death. He pulled the trigger, but by some miracle, the gun jammed. I immediately shoved him backwards and took the gun from his hands. I just about died. 

Nickel stared at me with a blank expression. I almost screamed at the top of my lungs before taking a moment and sitting him down. I had him talk to me. He told me he was going to kill me and then himself. He didn't trust me to keep his location a secret, but couldn't live with himself if he killed me. For the first time, I really and truly believed every single word he had told me the previous night. I knew for a fact it was true.

So I contacted the CPS.

MePad was truly in shock. He hadn't been informed of the morning after MePhone took Nickel  in. In fact, he only bothered to read the first page of each child's file. Maybe he should...read those after this one. He swallowed, somehow shocked and startled at something he had only simply read. MePhone had nearly died. The next pages were dated several days later. At least a week or two, MePad didn't take the time to count them.

I got permission to keep Nickel here with me. He's sleeping in the empty room down the hall that I normally just slept in when I couldn't handle my own room. Nickel would sleep for hours, and whenever I offered him food he'd poke at it and smell it before even taking a small nibble of it. Trust issues, I'm assuming. I should contact MePad about Nickel. Nickel is...Nickel is something else. I don't know if that's positive or negative. Yet.

I gave him a bowl of cereal, and he wouldn't even get near it until I took a bite of it myself to prove it was fine. For lunch, it was a sandwich. He looked through the entire thing before eating. For dinner, I just made some simple mac and cheese. He watched me make the whole thing, so I can't be certain if he would demand I try it first, or poke around at it before eating. 

Nickel worries me. Almost as if some sort of father instincts have kicked in, I suppose. I haven't ever been given the responsibility of taking care of a child-- or anyone, for that matter. Besides MePad, of course, but that was just when times were tough. Plus, I wasn't a ton older than him.

When I went to tell Nickel goodnight, he asked for an odd request. He asked if I could tell him a story. Not a make believe one, or one from a book, but one about myself. So I told him the story of how I left my home. 

He fell asleep when I finished. That was the very first time I had ever seen Nickel so calm. That gave me a moment to relax and think. I had to help Nickel. I had to help him control his anger and I help him with his...I don't even know if you could call it depression, really. But I needed to help him. I would help him.

MePad was no longer shaky, or frightened, or on the verge of tears. No. He was moved. MePhone had recently become so...so cold to the children. To Toilet. To MePad. To himself. Seeing, or at least reading, at what he had previously been had been so calming and admirable. MePad had no clue MePhone had felt that way. If Nickel held a gun to MePhones head nowadays, well, none of the children would ever see Nickel again. 

Speaking of never seeing someone, Toilet had disappeared into his room for a good while after the children finished up with their small little activity. MePad had yet to know why.

Reading Nickels file gave MePad an idea. He...might as well learn some more about the other children, right? Maybe...figure out how to avoid any personal or social conflicts in the near future. MePad scanned through the rest of the files, searching for the next person to arrive at the home. He was aware of who this person was. The day they arrived was quite the disaster. 

Paintbrush Aretz. 

.

.

.