How the Leaves Fall Down

5

He didn't know what to expect on the other side of that door, but it sure as hell wasn't something this lavish.

The room was absolutely humongous. A large bed fit for a king lied against the wall on the right, and a big mahogany desk sat next to it. In a corner, there was a huge window with a sitting ledge, complete with black and emerald curtains, pillows, and a neatly folded throw blanket. There was a big walk-in closet and a dresser drawer filled with brand new, ready to wear clothes. And to the far left corner was a big bathroom that was already stocked with care products and toiletries.

"Woah..." Alex breathed. He heard Martha chuckle a bit behind him.

"We didn't want you to just have any old room, so we asked around a bit before you came. I really hope you like it." She smiled.

"I love it..." he whispered, still shocked. Her smile only got bigger.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you to unpack and settle down. Welcome to your new home, Alexander." She smiled softly.

"Thank you so much..." he murmured, feeling the corners of his own lips tugging up into a small grin.

"You're so welcome, sweetheart."

And with that, she left him to himself.

He was expecting something way worse than this. He had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming because this seems too good to be true. Who are these people?

As he unpacked the little of his belongings, he couldn't help but wonder how long this could last. Either one of two things could happen:

1, they would be nice first and give him everything he ever wanted, then take it all away as soon as he does something wrong.

Or 2, they will get rid of him and he'll end up back where he started.

He enjoys this while he can, and hope that it's the former, because he couldn't bear it if he ended back up on that godforsaken island. He worked far too hard to get where he is today.

He's not too sure about how he feels about the man, what's his name, George? Yeah, he'll be cautious and stay out of his way for now; He doesn't want to get hurt. But Martha? She seems really nice. He's kinda warmed up to her a little, but that's only because she reminds him of his mother. Her presence is somewhat... comforting to him. He doesn't understand why.

Nothing makes sense anymore. All sense of this world died when his mother did. When Peter did, and James, and almost everyone in his town.

Why couldn't he just die with them?

Wiping the tears from his eyes, he takes a small box to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

He looks in the mirror, bringing a hand up to his weary face. "That's new..." he murmured, touching a dark, painful bruise; the badge he's earned for surviving in the last home.

The couple wasn't as shitty as they usually are, but still horrible to him. But their oldest son? He was a living nightmare.

The older boy had had his way with him a few times, but Alex couldn't take it anymore. He remembers the final time he was backed into a corner; he was able to get a few hits on the boy, but it wasn't enough to really get him off of him.

Even after the hell he put him through, the son put out on a show for his parents, flaunting his bruises with tears and bold-faced lies.

Alexander was beat and left in a cold room to starve afterwards. He would've died if the system had been even a day late.

That was merely a month ago.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed away the memories and continued what he was doing. He opened the medicine cabinet with the intent of putting away his razors, but different thoughts flooded his mind. All too familiar ones.

Don't be a pussy, it's just one cut
Fuck all the work you put into stopping, you deserve all of this pain
Disappointment
Useless, you couldn't even save your own mother
You couldn't even save your own brother from drowning
Pathetic

With a shaky breath, he took a razor out from the box, staring at it with guilty fear. God, he tried. He tried so hard...

He was only clean for like a week.

One cut.
Two.
Four.
Eight.

He was about to go for a bakers dozen, but stopped when he remembered something. Something important.

Where are his pills?

Throwing down the razor, he ran to his bag, rummaging through it desperately.

"Where are they, where are they..." he murmured frustratedly. Unable to find them, he was getting pissed.

With an angry growl, he threw the bag against the wall.

"SHIT!" He shouted angrily. Where could they be?

Nice going, dipshit. You lost the one thing keeping you alive.

"Shut up." He hissed, trying for his hoodie pockets. His anti-depressants and anxiety medication are the only things keeping him sane. He hates them, but he needs them unfortunately.

Rummaging through the pockets of his discarded hoodie, he finally found what he was looking for.

He let out a relieved sigh, clutching them close to his chest. If he accidentally loses them again, he'll be sent away faster than he came, and then it'll be all over for him.

Standing up, he glanced around, staring guilty at his semi-trashed room. George and Martha are going to kill him for this. He just silently picks up his items and hopes that his little rampage wasn't too loud. Maybe it won't be so bad...

As he puts a few things back in his travel bag, his arms brush up against the rough zipper edges, and he winces in pain.

Oh right... his arms.

He sighs and walks back to the bathroom, glaring at the blood in disgust. It was splattered in the bowl of the sink, and the bloody razor lay off to the side. Guess he'll have to start his streak over...

After cleaning up the blood and patching up the wounds, he threw on a big hoodie he found in the closet.

It was white.

Not exactly his favorite color, or the ideal one given his arm situation, but it smelt like it was freshly washed. It smelt of earth and rain. Not in a nasty, outside type of way, but like... a peaceful forest. And it was oversized, which is always a plus.

This might be his new favorite hoodie.

Breathing in it's scent, he sat down on his new bed, really taking everything in. It's been a long day...

He curled up to go to sleep. He really needs it because it's been two days since he last slept (being on edge constantly and fearing for your safety will do that to you) and he couldn't imagine them needing him any more tonight. Hopefully.

He took one last glance at the door, making sure it was locked before allowing his eyes to flutter shut.

But it didn't last. A soft knocking sound, barely audible erupted from his door.

Groaning tiredly, he got up to go see who it was. When he opened it though, it wasn't who he expected.