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A/N - wash ya damn hands

Alexander's POV

   Hi...I'm Alexander...well...Alex. I'm sixteen and I'm poor. After the hurricane destroyed our island my brother, James, and I moved to New York for a better chance. I was just fourteen and James was sixteen. More job opportunities for Jamie and a family friend who can help if we need it. Mr. Washington was a good friend of my mom's and he cares for us like his own son. Jamie and I have a small studio apartment, there's only one bed and it's basically one room. James gave me the clothes and he got the dresser. He does his best to keep me happy and I appreciate it. Ever since the hurricane it's just been different.
When the house was torn apart James got impaled on a piece of shrapnel and I was swept into the street. Being as short and skinning as I am I was tossed around like a rag doll but that wasn't even the worse part. The hurricane dragged me through a car's windshield and my right leg got torn up pretty bad. I was in a coma for a seven months and it got infected. They had to amputate it about half way up my thigh to prevent it from spreading. When I woke up with no leg and a barely able to stand brother I tried to kill myself. The doctors saved me and James made a full recovery. I was put into rehab and I have a prosthetic leg. The knee doesn't bend so I have a pretty noticeable limb and I need help going up and down stairs. I feel so awful because Jamie has to do so much for me. I get these things called Phantom Pains. Basically if I 'stub my toe' on the leg I can feel it. Most of the time James makes me sit on the bed or at the table and he does things for me. He knows how hard it is for me to get up and down. I don't know why but James insisted on paying for the prosthetic himself. It's kind of flimsy but it's better than nothing.
James works two jobs and every time he gets a paycheck he puts a little in a separate account and never touches it. He won't admit it but I know it's for my college. It's not enough. It will never been enough. I've accepted that. I appreciate the gesture though.
I hate the idea of soulmates. Ever since dad left mama. They were soulmates. She loved him and he left for us for a business opportunity in St. Croix. I was only ten and Hames was twelve. My mom had to turn to prostituting herself for us. Men who 'loved their soulmates' would play with her for a night and then leave her like nothing happened. Not too long after mama got sick...really sick. I was just twelve. I caught it. It was awful. I couldn't move or breathe. One night mama told me to go to sleep and sang a French lullaby before hugging me and kissing me goodnight. When I woke up in the morning James had to carry me away as paramedics carried my mother's lifeless body out. Forgive me if I don't believe that someone is just going to love me for who I am unconditionally.
Wow. I've been ranting haven't I? Sorry. It's a habit. Later!

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