torment in paradise

I

a small breeze fluttered through a derelict room, empty only for a few days before a bag was slumped back in the corner. Tommy smiled gleefully in the face of his social worker as he plopped his aching limbs back on the bed that had been worn to fit his size. the middle aged woman clicked her tongue in recognisable distress and left, no words were exchanged, they didn't need to be this time. 17 placements, a 12 year old with severe adhd and abandonment issues and a care centre with unreliable staff that's low on funding. this was Tommy's life. and he loved it or so he said to the many patient parents who attempted fostering him. the reason he returned to this pit of familiarity so often was a common topic in meetings, could it be his neurodivergency, his stubborn closed off persona or just that they hadn't found the right people. pens scribbling against pads of paper, conversations turning heated at ableist remarks, the clacking of a mechanical keyboard, emails and calls flowing through the reception. they were desperate for a permant solution yet it didn't come. even fosterers experts in troubled and neurodivergent kids turned him away. it was clear to Tommy that we was a waste case and he just couldn't wait to leave the system. each rubbery crinkle of his black bag of belongings left a mark inside him that proved true his unwanted nature.

a bell rung somewhere unrecognisable and the small shuffling of tired bodies filled the halls. an array of kids all different genders, ages and races came scuffing into the makeshift dining hall to get their delicious daily helping of lukewarm discounted wholesale porridge. if they were lucky the local food bank might've donated a jar of unnamed jam or chocolate spread. 4 long tables for around 60 kids led to an array of chairs donated by schools, a  roar of boisterous chatter and well deserved shoving. Tommy usually ended up sat on the floor in the corner with another boy to which he held a dear relationship.

Tommy had been gone for about a week by the time he returned yet again and was greeted at breakfast by the boy he joined daily in the corner. pummelling towards him at full speed a smaller boy with messy brown hair wearing what looked like a bee-print nightdress.
"TOBY!" Tommy kept up his stoic unbothered persona most of the time but something about this stupidly happy little kid broke down his walls like no one ever could. his pure unfiltered childish nature tore the desperation of normal child behaviour from Tommy which turned many of their adventures into 'health hazards'. Toby had been in many a group home but never for long, and like most of the children that reside here benefit much better from a care centre.
it wasn't that there was anything wrong with the kids here it was more that they all had diagnosable or undiagnosable mental health issues. Toby was rumoured to have autism but it was never a subject the boys discussed.

important days were always easy to spot as the bell rung 30 minutes earlier and the white shirts and black trousers the local senior school donated had been mass ironed to perfection. Tommy woke up with a grunt to find his perfectly ironed suit hanging on the door and all his other clothes confiscated, he left for breakfast with the others and soon returned to the common area amidst the sea of different fitting white shirts. if you were lucky enough to have an interview you were given a recently donated colourful tie you could pick yourself, Tommy's signature pick was the plain red silk and Tobys was a dark green with yellow dots, Tommy had made many the remark of how ugly the mustard yellow was but Toby never had any of it. the kids are picked in groups or pairs or sometimes if they're specially chosen, alone. Toby and Tommy were one of the pairs that day, for the first time in their 4 years together.

Toby jumped around the common room spinning Tommy in a frantic type of stim-dance and the excitement they shared sparked a frenzy of happiness throughout the mellow room. being in charge of 60 'bottom of the barrel' kids was a hard job on a good day but on an interview day getting them all calm and docile enough to be polite and use their well taught manners was another mission.
an office building esque corridor of bright crayon drawings and grainy watercolour painting pinned into concrete, colourful doors leading to interview rooms and signs above each door reading number in order from 1 to 10. Toby and Tommy gulp nervously in unison a familiar feeling of dread weeves it's way from the creaky tiled floors into the pits of their prepubescent stomachs. the juxtaposition of the bright colours and overwhelming dread is enough to perhaps knock out a sane adult yet alone a mentally ill kid. they approach number 3, pushed from behind by Tommy's Court appointed social worker who has a smile on her face so wide it could be in a horror movie. Tobys fingers twitch nervously against Tommy's as their pinky fingers link in nervous subconsciousness.
the room layout is quite dull, following the theme of donated items an old wooden school table painted shiny white accompanied with 2 large mismatched lounge chairs either side of it. shoulder length blonde hair, a green coat and black jeans accompany the kind brown eyes and soft face sat before them. they scurry into their seats like mice being reeled into a mousetrap and Tommy's social worker takes the seat from beside the kind stranger and busies herself in the corner out of the way with a crossword. by law she has to accompany Tommy to every meeting but by personal interest Tommy's convinced she couldn't care less. a large hand outstretches towards them and Toby takes a reflexive joult back, kind eyes fall into concern which Tommy mistakes for clear disgust. Two small hands out stretch to hold eachother in a desperation for comfort and the large hand is redacted. a hearty cough echoes through the room and darting eyes are pulled into attention.
"I'm Phil" Toby outstretches a small sweaty hand and answers the questions asked in jumbled confusing stories. Tommy however slouched deeper into his chair than a swan diving for a fish. self sabatage, a therapist had once said, is the first stage of denial. Tommy was never sure this was true but as he matured he took note of his own self sabatage as long as others yet as much as he accepted it he couldn't despite best efforts stop himself doing it. so as he sunk deeper into a depressing cycle of sabataging interviews, home visits and family's the slow realisation of craving belonging sunk into him too.