Becoming His Fix

7

Kit's POV

Awkward. That was the best way to describe the feeling that filled the air of the cabin. Just awkward.

I don't know where he went after he left but the second he came back that awkward air returned.

He hadn't said a word to me when he opened the door. He didn't even spare me a glance when he made his way over to his bed. Hell, even the bed didn't make a sound when he sat on it, unlike mine that creaks at every movement.

I've always been told that I was too talkative, too friendly, too much of a people person but what could I say? I liked people! I like talking! I liked not having to sit in silence but it seemed that my new roommate was the exact opposite of me.

He almost seemed content just sitting in the center of his bed. He didn't fidget, didn't look up from the sheets, he just sat there, the only movement he made was from breathing.

I was only able to last a few more minutes before the silence was too unbearable.

"Have you made any friends yet," I asked. I had tried to keep my voice low and gentle like Andrew but it didn't do any good, he still nearly jumped out of his skin, as if he didn't realize I had been here the whole time.

His eyes went wide as he stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights. Every bit of peace Roland ever experienced seemed to leave his body all at once as his eyes tracked every movement I made, from my shirt moving from my breathing to the slight fidgets of my fingertips, he took note of all of it.

He doesn't answer my question and I can't say I'm surprised based on his reaction.

"I was thinking we could go to the art class sometime this week? Andrew said we could make stuff to decorate with and that seemed fun. Anything to make it feel more like home right?"

Roland still didn't say a word but his expression gave away the thought running through his mind. The light scowl he couldn't hide, the way his nose scrunched up in disgust; it gave a clear message: this place could never be home.

I felt bad for him. I'd been through this for years now. The constant moving, the foster homes, the rehab centers, the boarding schools. Each time you get dropped off and look around you get that whisper in your head that says home would be better than this shithole. Then after a few days, if it was a good place, the feeling would lessen until it slowly did feel like the next best thing until you were being moved again.

This had been my normal since I was 8. I was used to it. I never stayed at a place for more than a year since I entered the system and it was hard never feeling like you had a home but as time goes on, you just become thankful that the new place doesn't hit you.

If Roland's face told me anything, he was still new to this forced placement thing. My heart went out for him but still, this place was heaven compared to some places I've been to and I'm happy that he will hopefully never have to see homes like that.

"You're a foster kid I take it," I asked and even though I didn't get a verbal answer, his eyes widened before he glared. "Figured. When you've been in the system long enough you start being able to spot others pretty easily."

Roland doesn't say anything but manages to ball up even more as he goes back to staring at the end of the bed.

We stay this way for far too long until his eyes break free from the mattress and glances over at the clock on his dresser. Promptly, as if he's done it a thousand times, he turned, put his feet flat on the ground, stood up, and walked to the door without a word, taking the perfect amount of steps to reach the door without having to reposition his body in order to open the door. He did however leave the door open as if he figured I would follow.

Out of pure curiosity, I do. Kids and counselors screamed as they played in the lake and on courts but for the most part we all seemed to be heading the same way. I could vaguely remember this being the way to the cafeteria.