Welcome to the Scrapheap

15.

Jack picked up the phone, eyeing Alex, who was sitting on the sofa. He glanced at her as she spoke quietly: "Hello, Jack Starbright speaking. Yes. Okay." He caught the subtle tightness in her jawline and the coldness in her voice. Right. It was them.

She left the room, closing the door behind her. A sense of apprehension sent ice water through his veins. What did they want?

Alex waited on the sofa for what felt like forever, steadfastly trying to keep his grip on reality as his mind spun into ever darker places. Phone calls from them never ended well. He wasn't an asset anymore, why would they need him? He couldn't do anything.

Jack finally emerged from the hallway, looking uncomfortable. "It was the Bank. They wanted to discuss your... education."

Alex almost laughed. They hadn't called once since dropping off the exorbitant compensation money and arranging security, which wasn't really an issue since he never left the house except for physio. Now, a month since getting out of hospital, they're pretending to be concerned about his future. As if they weren't the ones who destroyed that, he thought bitterly.

Seriously, though. Go back to school? It was the furthest thing from his mind.

He was hopelessly behind even before this. Everyone was convinced he was a druggie or knew something suspicious was going on. You got used to the stares and the whispers... they were pretty insignificant when you'd spent the last two weeks undercover in a cartel, or getting stabbed by an unhinged businessman.

Or, you know, getting kidnapped and used as a couple of sadists' toy.

He'd never been away this long before. What cover would he use that could explain months of complete radio silence... and a missing leg.

Shit. Shit. His sarcastic chain of thought shattered as the reality hit him with a dizzying rush of panic. His heart jumped up a few gears even at the thought of dealing with everything on top of his leg, his arm, and those more invisible injuries. There was no way. His PTSD symptoms had always been bothersome but this final setback had left him literally unable to cope.

Alex was already the centre of most myths and rumours at the school. Imagine what they were going to think when he turned up with the prosthetic. The once star of the football team, not even able to walk unsupported. And his face. He hadn't even thought about his scar since getting out of the hospital, he avoided mirrors.

He felt sick.

There would be zero opportunity to avoid his triggers faced with the chaos of school life, the already constant threat of panic attacks would be through the roof. A mental list of all his worst fears started scrolling in his head.

He felt the crumbling feeling in his chest again and forced himself to listen to what Jack was saying, which had been reduced to a buzz. He buried his hands firmly in his hoodie pocket to hide the shaking.

"-want you to be able to at least finish your education. It's your GCSE year." She sounded guilty. "Look, I think this is too much too soon as well. I don't have the authority on this one, honey." She sat down next to Alex, not touching him. "You'll do half-days, only on a collapsed timetable, okay? Home by lunch. You don't even have to do a 5 day week if you don't want to. They'll make any accommodations you need, I promise."

He couldn't make eye contact. His lap suddenly became very interesting.

Jack hesitated, a heavy, solemn sadness radiating off of her that contrasted with his own electric terror. "Hey," she said softly. "It'll be alright. You've only got to get through this last year, and then it's up to you, okay." She was used to him not responding by now.

"Alex, honey, can I touch you?" He froze even stiffer, surprised by the question. He hadn't let her, or anyone, touch him, not really, unless he had no choice. Somehow he found himself nodding, and she reached out hesitantly. Ever so gently, the tips of her fingers brushed his arm. Alex reflexively flinched violently, sucking in a breath as his bad arm twinged at the movement.

Jack lowered her hand, and it felt like the sniper bullet was sinking into his heart again. "No, it's- it's okay." His voice was rough from disuse and barely audible. This time, although he flinched again, she didn't pull away. It felt like lightning even through the hoodie material, but he gradually got used to the feel of her gentle stroking.

Touch had meant pain for so long that Alex had completely forgotten what physical affection felt like, and with the residual panic still tightening that band around his chest, it was bringing back emotions that he had long let turn cold. Unbidden tears stung his eyes and he let out a choked sob, unable to hold back the swell of misery that was rising through him, unstoppable.

He closed his eyes and went limp, relaxing for the first time in who knows how long, leaning into Jack's embrace, feeling achingly vulnerable.

"Alex," Jack whispered, sounding overwhelmed as he cried into her arms. Years of buried pain and restrained tears flooded out, wracking his frail body with convulsive sobs, occasionally muttering indecipherable words. "You're okay, I've got you, it's okay," she told him over and over again as he weeped into her shoulder, stroking his hair, his scars burning as she brushed over them. It was all coming out of him at once and he felt like he should have split apart. The fragments of his mask were all over the floor for now.

For just this moment he could afford to stop pretending, take a break from the exhausting ordeal of being alright.

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Been a while, eh lads

Yeah.........alex is not doing okay is he

That is kind of 2-3 years worth of repressed emotion coming out onto Jack's shoulder. Someone fetch the kid a tissue Jesus fuck
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