Chapter Two

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Warning; It gets a bit...Erm...depressing? And it has mention of rape BUT DO NOT FEAR! It's only a lil only the word is brought up. Just felt like I should put that out there before ya start reading.

Alexander Pov
       I paced around my room. They haven't stopped talking yet. What is there to talk about?

I heard a soft knock on my door. "Alec?" Martha called.
I sat down on 'my' bed. "Come in."

Martha and George walked in. "We wanted ask you some questions." Martha told me.

"What kind of questions? I have rights." I said.

George stifled a laugh, which I smirked at.

"What happened in your past foster homes? Excuse me, allow me to elaborate. Did they ever...were you ever...touched Alec?" She asked.

Well this got real uncomfortable real quick. I glance down. Memories flooded my head.
Hands tied.
A tear slipped down my cheek. "Oh Alec." Martha breathed, engulfing me in a tight embrace.

"I-I said n-no...They didn't listen...nobody ever listens..." I hiccuped.

"We will Son. It'll never go back to the way it was before." George said.

"Never." They both reassured.

"God I'm so stupid." I muttered.

"No, you're not. I have never met another fifteen year old almost graduating from their senior year of high school." George said.

"Y-you haven't?"

"Nope." Martha answered.

So that means I'm just weird then. Not smart. Why am I such a downer. After a few minutes I calmed down.

"Another question we have to ask is did you ever self harm?" George asked.

I hate these questions.

"Y-Yeah...But I've been clean for about a year now." I said, quite proud to be honest.

It's not an easy thing to do. I fell so deep in depression I was barely able to drag myself out. I'm still dragging myself out. But now I'm afraid that Im not dragging myself out, anxiety is. It's an edge each way I turn. An edge to a mental breakdown. One slip. One crack, and I'm down. Straight into oblivion.

"That's really good Alec!" Martha exclaimed.

"T-thanks?" I said, more of a question than a true thank you.

It's not good though. If I continued then just maybe I would succeed. No more suffering.
I can't think like that.
Not with George and Martha standing by me.
No, no, no! Don't think that either! They will throw me out the second they get to. Don't get attached. Never get attached, because when you do, it's the hardest to let go. God what's wrong with me. My mind is pulling me apart.

"Do you have pens?" I asked.

"What?" George said, slightly taken back.

"Pens. Do you have any?" I asked.

"Yes...why?" Martha asked.

"I like writing." I told her.

"Yeah okay." George said, getting up. Martha followed him.

A few minutes later he came back and threw a pen to me from the doorway. "Here ya go bud." He said, as I caught the pen.

I twirled it in my hand and pulled a journal from my bag. I started writing.

'George and Martha are the nicest people I've ever met since I was twelve.' I scribbled that out. Don't get attached. That will only lead to a world of hurt and despair, which I already live in so I don't need more of that.

'George and Martha say not to ask for their consent to do things. Back in the Caribbean I needed permission to do the smallest things. Like, put on shoes. They will be different. I know it.' I scribbled that out too. It's just not...right.

'George and Martha are indescribable.'
I put my pen down. I have never been at such a loss for words before.

I fiddled with my bracelet again. Why do Martha and George care? It just doesn't make sense. Nothing about them does. They seem to care about me even though they don't know anything about me. The way I scribble stars on the cuffs of my jeans, the way I fiddle with my bracelet, that fact that I have a bracelet, and they don't know the bisexual part either.

To be honest I didn't know about that part of me until about two years ago...which was when my foster parents found my pride stuff...which is when I became an ashtray. So I don't really bring it up. I don't want it to be like last time.
I'll do anything to make certain it won't be like last time.

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