Chapter Text
I step off the bus and unlock the door, I take a deep breath praying to see King on the couch or something, or at the least being calm. Yet, I turn the doorknob to see him standing right at the door. As if he was waiting for me. I notice a tremble in his hands, a crazed look in his eyes.
“Alexander. Do me a favor and tell me the time?” He sounded drunk with anger.
“U-Um it’s 4:17?”
“When do I say you have to be home?”
Shit.
“4:10” My voice trembled, earning me a hard smack to my cheek.
King had been hitting me ever since I was sent here. Which was about a year ago. My cheek stung as warm tears streamed down my face. He began to yell at me. He yelled at me while I could only zone out.
“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WHY AREN’T YOU PAYING ATTENTION WHEN I FUCKING TALK TO YOU? THIS IS WHY YOUR PARENTS ARE GONE.”
I come back to clarity as he punches my chest so hard I thud against the door. I must’ve stood up at some point. As I attempt to catch my breath, he grabs me and shoves me into a wall with ease, seeing as he barely even feeds me. When he does feed me it’s like a singular piece of toast. I can’t even think straight.
“Leave me the fuck alone.” I whisper, I didn’t mean to even say it out loud. He had struck the utmost anger within my very core.
King seemed to have heard this and answered my plea by shoving me into my “room” which consisted of a blanket on the ground, and some trash littered about. It’s not even a good blanket, it has holes and is super thin, my teeth chatter at night.
I guess it didn’t hurt that bad. I guess. My head is throbbing, my heart is hammering, my face is numb but I can tell it’s bleeding, I don’t even remember him punching me in the face, he clearly did though. I’ve had enough.
I waited until he was asleep. I knew he would be asleep by 10:00, I check my phone and it seems safe to leave now. This should be easy, seeing as my room had a tiny window, it shouldn’t be too hard to climb out of, seeing as I'm 13 and like maybe 105 pounds. At least I’m not very tall.
I crack open the window and first I grab my phone, which I got from an old foster home, and my blanket. The blanket actually seems like an unnecessary memory to carry around so I throw it back on the ground.
I put my phone in a small bag, along with my kit. I climb up to where the window is, pushing my gaunt figure through it. I finally succeeded with a light thud on the ground. Not even comparable to the thud from earlier.
I feel the frigid winter air as I stand slowly. Then, I run. I start thinking about how I would get to school in the morning, I decide abuse is an excused absence. I run until my body physically can’t anymore. I pass out in front of some houses, I think. I don’t remember.
—-LAF—-
My friends and I find a little lump of something on the ground, breathing, I think. My friend, John, takes a closer look.
“Holy shit. This is Alexander from school.”
We all gathered around him.
“Holy shit you’re right. I’ll take him to my house, my dad will know what to do.”
John insists on carrying Alexander. I think he likes him. I have history with both of them and John is always staring at him, even if his head is down and he’s worn the same outfit everyday for the whole year.
We arrive at my house and when my dad opens the door his face freezes in shock.
“Lafayette. John. Hercules. Who is that, is he alright?” Dad asked.
“I-It’s someone from school, he’s breathing but unconscious.” John’s voice shook.
“H-His name is Alexander, Alexander Hamilton.” John trembled.
My dad, being a paramedic, took Alexander in his arms and took him to my bedroom. He wrapped the boy gently with blankets and turned a heater on nearby.
I suppose it’s fine that Alex slept in my bed, even though I found him gross for never changing his outfit. I climbed into the guest bedroom bed after suggesting that John and Hercules leave so if Alexander did wake up, he wasn’t overwhelmed.
—-ALEX—-
My eyes un blur as I awaken.
“Where the fuck am I” I accidentally say out loud.
I try to get up but my body is compressed by what seems like 100 blankets. I unwrap myself and notice I'm in a bedroom of sorts. The lights are off but there’s a window, weird. I look around, I'm sitting on a bed. There's photos scattered on the wall. Mostly of a considerably large male, a smaller male, and a beautiful one.
He has curly hair and freckles. I wonder whose room this is and hope it isn’t him. That would be awkward. I recognize all those people, from school I think. I stand on my trembling legs, the room starts to spin, my vision goes blurry and dark, my head pounds, so I have to sit back down.
I check my phone to see it’s 10:26 AM. Then, the doorknob started to twist. I panicked and thudded and the ground then rolled under the bed.
“Alexander?” A voice boomed.
I could only whine under the bed, covering my ears. I think he picked up on it and he lifted the blanket that covered me. I flinched at both the hand and the light.
“Come on, it’s okay, we can explain everything as soon as you come to the living room.” He practically whispered as to not scare me.
“M’kay ..” I murmured, climbing out from under the bed.
I don’t know how to feel about this man. He escorted me to the living room, hand around my shoulder as we walked. That’s when I noticed I was still in my old clothes, I supposed it would be fine though.
“Alex, this is my wife, Martha. And this is our son named Lafayette, or Laf.”
“Bonjour, Alex. I presume you have seen me in school.”
I hummed an agreement.
I knew I had recognized him from somewhere. He was only a little bit taller than me and had curly brown hair usually tied up. He doesn’t look like his dad or Martha, I guess I could ask him in private later.
We didn’t really talk though, I think we have some classes together and we were in a group project, but his boyfriend was there so I did all the work. Then again, I really don’t remember anything earlier than like yesterday.
“Sweetie, would you like some food? There’s hash browns or eggs, or we could go grab something.” Martha said softly, I notice that she is significantly shorter than everyone, standing at maybe about 5 feet.
“No thank you.” I muttered. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to speak louder, I just physically couldn’t. It also wasn’t like I didn’t want to eat. Well, actually I don’t want to eat.
“That’s okay but we need to get you some new clothes. Lafayette, go grab some of your old clothes.” Martha asked.
Lafayette went to retrieve clothes for me, I started to think, this shouldn’t be happening to me, I’ve done nothing good to deserve this.
I deserve nothing.
“Here you go mon ami.” The boy said.
I shakily stand, headed for what I can only assume is a bathroom. The door shuts and I strip down and glare to myself in the mirror. How was I so neglected and still so fat? My clammy and cold hand then ran down my arm, grazing the previous scars and current wounds.
I took my phone out of the pocket of the sweatpants and then stepped into the new sweatpants I had just gotten. Then, without thinking about it, I knelt down in front of the toilet, bringing my middle and pointer finger to my mouth.
“Alexander? Are you alright?” Someone who I think is Lafayette sounded very concerned for someone he didn’t know.
I push a reply from my mouth instead of throwing up. While putting the shirt on, I look in the mirror one last time before heading back to the living room.
As I walked in, everyone’s eyes glued to me. I then come to the realization that I’m wearing a short sleeved t-shirt. A short sleeved t-shirt that shows all my scars and wounds, pink and raised, or just plain white on my already fair skin. The wounds scabbed and slightly red around them.
I then remember that I also have a bunch of bruises from King. Fucking King.
“Son, what happened to you?” I don’t even know this man’s fucking name and he’s calling me son.
“M-My old foster dad..” I mumbled, god i’m so fucking stupid I can’t even talk.
“Who, Alex. Who is your old foster dad?” Martha sounded firm, I flinched.
“George Frederick.” I still fucking mumbled.
“Oh, I know him. I can get him out of the system real quickly.” The man said.
“Honey, what’s his phone number?”
I don’t trust myself to talk anymore so I pull out my phone and show her the contact.
George called him and sent me to my room. All I hear is yelling for a while. I think that man is like a social worker or something. After he presumably hung up, he called someone else. Then, I hear my name.
“Yes, I would like to have custody over Alexander Hamilton.” He said.
I’m shocked he wants me. I do need to find out his name.
“George Washington.”
Oh, how convenient. To finish what I’ve started, I grab my kit. My kit is a flimsy lunchbox I got from an old foster home that I put my blades, shards of glass, bandages, and gauze in.
I grab a shard of glass, dragging it hard and fast against my skin. As I do this multiple more times, my eyes catch to the photo of that boy. I think I’ve seen him somewhere before, probably from school.
I imagine the blood running down my arm is that boy caressing it. I quickly put on the bandages and put on a hoodie from the closet.
I hope they turn out to be nicer than the rest of my foster homes.