Maelle had never been an irritable person. Though, while she was packing her bags with a social worker trailing behind her every move, she physically felt as if she could fight someone. There was adrenaline running through her veins from the endurance of her mother's passing, her father going into a slope of drugs, and now being forced to live with people she didn't know.
She didn't have the slightest clue about who she'd be spending however many weeks or months with, but one thing she did know, is that she hated them. She was hardly a disrespectful kid— but she was willing to become one if it meant giving these people a hard time. After all, whether they would admit it or not; they were taking her father away from her.
Maelle lazily carried her duffle bag over her shoulder, not responding to any small talk that the social worker, who had introduced herself earlier, was trying to make. She threw the bag into the backseat of the car, not being careful if there was anything in there that was fragile. There wasn't much effort made while she threw whatever she came in contact with first into it, anyways.
"You have no reason to be nervous," the woman sitting next to her mumbled without putting much thought into the statement as she was backing out of the driveway, tires screeching. "It's not a permanant situation you're in, here. A couple weeks, a month, it all depends."
Maelle rolled her eyes, scoffing. Even after this short of an interaction, she felt frustration steaming in the pit of her stomach. "I'm not nervous. Thank you for your concern."
"You don't have to lie, Maelle," she spoke, accompanied by a caring tone, but all the teenager understood was someone who was condescending her. "After your mother's passing, you must've gone through—"
"Don't talk about my mother!" Maelle interjected, coming across as much harsher than she intended. Her stomach fell as soon as it left her mouth, but she knew she would get nowhere out of this place if she sat still and let it all unfold in front of her. This wasn't right. She should be with her father.
To Maelle's surprise, the woman was seemingly unaffected, but she swallowed and nodded affirmatively. "Alright. I apologize for upsetting you."
The rest of the ride was quiet, and until they got in front of the home where she'd be staying, the anxiety hadn't really hit her. She took her things out of the car, and followed her social worker like a stray dog.
When they got to front door, Maelle suddenly realized the atmosphere of this situation. In what seemed to be like no time at all, her entire world had shattered in front of her. Her mother was gone. She would never be able to say 'je t'aime' to her again, see her bright smile after the teenager came home from school or ask how her day at work was. The most mundane things seem impactful at a time like this, of course, but not before. Maelle decided ignorance truly was bliss, after all.
"Ah, oui, allô!" a sudden voice exclaimed, surprising Maelle more than she would've hoped. That, for one, was definitely not an accent from Montréal. A man, much taller than her, smiled politely. He shook her social worker's hand as they spoke for a few seconds as if they knew eachother prior to this. "Bien! S'il vous plaît, entrez."
After Maelle met who she automatically assumed was his wife, her social worker went through a couple things, presumably, and left without further warning.
"Maelle, non?"² the man, who had just moments ago had clarified his name was Paul, asked her. She paused for a second, absolutely not matching him or his wife's enthusiastic personalities.
"Yeah, it's Maelle." she came up with on the spot, trying to mask her unbearably French accent with another. Apparently, it was good enough for them to believe when two intrigued expressions appeared before her.
"You don't speak French?" Paul had spoken up, clearly not as comfortable in this language as the other. Right as that happend, Maelle knew that this would be hard not to laugh at, even considering the situation. Still, she kept a stoic and rigid face.
"Just a little. Picked up the basics, like everyone who lives here I guess, but I don't really get any of it." She lied. If she was forced into this uncomfortable situation, they would have to be at least a little uncomfortable along with her.
Coralie and Paul waved it off as if it was fine, and she took it as an answer. They showed her around the place, and after the short tour she was left some time alone to set up her room. The first thing she did was lock the door, and jump on the bed. She's forgotten what it was like to sleep on something comfortable rather than a hospital room chair.
She guessed this was a spare bedroom or something, because it was pretty barren. She put some of her clothes in the drawers but stopped midway– she wouldn't be living here. This was not permanant, so why act like it is? As soon as her dad was fine, she would be getting out.
Coralie had mentionned that supper would be ready soon, but to hell with eating a meal with them. She had no interest in that in any way. Instead, she opted to turn the lights off and sleep— even if it was only seven in the evening. She felt like she was sleeping in a stranger's bed after breaking into someone's house– and the only thought that would ease her way into sleep was the thought of seeing her father.
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a/n: hey guys whats gucci i wrote this at 2am and i'm very tired but i pushed thru bc i wanted to finish it!!! anyways, hope u guys r havin a good day
qotd: do u speak french?? if not, do u speak any other languages?? i can speak english fluently and french fluently ig
have a nice day!!! -addy
translations!!!
¹ - Oh, yes hello! — Well! Please, come in
² - Maelle, right?
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Adopted by Stromae
Fanfiction-this story is written in english- Maëlle Vaillancourt, left parentless by an accident that claimed the life of her mother and a drug addiction that claimed the liberty of her father, had no other options. In hands and under the protection of social...
