Hamilton|First Person
I'm up to my elbows in soapy water...again. There's a dishwasher about a foot to my left, but the other boys here tell me it's supposedly been busted for a couple years now. I'm no stranger to chores, don't get me wrong. Give me a broom or a vacuum, or even a toilet scrubber, but I'll be damned if you tell me to hand wash the dishes. All those wet, mushy food scraps...
It makes me want to vomit.
I sigh deeply, pulling my hands from the sink onto the edge of the counter. My face twitches. My nose really itches but the idea of scratching it with gross fingers coated in dirty water makes me shudder.
A set of heavy footsteps clad in chunky heels tap up behind me into the kitchen. I dunk my hands back into the sink quickly, pulling out a plate and sliding the sponge down it. Ms. Cornelius' old chubby fingers land on the counter beside me. She clears her throat.
"You've been in here for an hour, Alex. I'd like these dishes done faster next time," she tells me in an almost nonchalant tone. I cringe at the sound, my chest tightens. I hate drawing any attention whatsoever to myself in these types of situations. I wish I had somewhere to myself at least, somewhere to sit in silence and pity myself.
She claps a hand roughly down onto my back, nearly knocking me off my feet and forward toward the soapy water. It splashes up from my hands that fly up to catch myself. Water gets into my eyes, making me squeeze them shut and cringe again.
I blindly fumble for the paper towel holder, feeling Ms. Cornelius' eyes on me the entire time. I rip a towel off, drying my hands and rubbing my eyes. I turn on my heel, looking the wide woman in the eye. She's only an inch or so taller than me. She sets her jaw, challenging me, asking what I think I'm doing.
"I'm done for tonight," I tell her flatly, moving to walk past her. She holds out her arm to stop me.
"What was that?" She asks, her voice angry and low now. I bite my lip, stepping back again to look at her. If I act scared this won't end well.
"I'm done. I can't do this anymore."
She narrows her eyes, her hand coming up before I can register what she's doing. She strikes me across my face, just hard enough to make my skin sting and eyes water, not quite enough to make a mark. She's done this before. The thought makes my stomach clench.
"To your room. Now." She points down the hall, pushing my shoulder off in the direction of my "room".
I suck in a breath and walk down the hall into the solitude of the room. The door doesn't shut properly though, so I leave it cracked while I sit on my mattress on the floor. The sheets are messily stretched over the thing, and probably haven't been washed since I got here.
I lean over to my pillow and pull out a book I found in the piles of magazines in the living room. It's not very good, but I'm halfway through my second time reading it anyway. I chew the inside of my cheek so hard I'm sure I'll end up drawing blood. It comforts me somehow.
===
It's dark outside when someone shakes my shoulder lightly. They mutter something I can't quite make out, but I don't recognize the voice so I force my eyes open to look at them. It's a boy who barely looks like he's fifteen with dark skin and a rounded face. I squint at him a little and his mouth opens to repeat what he said.
"Do you have an extra pillow?" He asks, his voice low and soft. It matches him somehow. I rub my eyes, sitting up and squinting at him again.
"I'm sorry, but who are you?" I ask, my voice groggy from sleep. He smiles a little, though he seems to be clearly uncomfortable.
"Oh, uh, I'm James. Your roommate?" He stands back, leaning on the washing machine. I glance around, noticing another mattress shoved up against the back wall of the room, just barely leaving enough room for the dryer to open. I nod a little to myself, remembering that he was supposed to be here earlier but his car broke down.
"Sorry," I repeat. "I'm Alex," I tell him, reaching behind me for one of my flattened pillows and tossing it onto his bed.
"Were you crying?" He asks, glancing down at my sheets that have a spot of water on them. I blink, quickly covering the stain with my blanket, remembering what I was thinking about before I fell asleep- or rather who, I guess I should put it.
I haven't let John Laurens invade my melancholy thoughts for a long, long while- but tonight for some reason amongst all my other regular self-deprecating speculations his face appeared. I bite my cheek in the same raw spot again as I think about him. I hate that I miss him so much, I know I really shouldn't. I do though, so much so that I've got his phone number from Peggy saved between two pages in my journal and no way to reach him at all. It quite literally kills me to think about.
"Yeah, I guess," I mutter my response, not looking up to meet James' eyes. I don't like this being my first impression. "Just had a rough night," I shrug him off, busying myself with bookmarking my page in my book and shoving it back under my mattress for safekeeping.
"What's up?" James asks, sitting on his own bed. He looks over to me with genuine interest that I internally groan at. I hate having to talk to new people.
"Ms. Cornelius isn't exactly the most forgiving," I tell him, folding my hands in my lap and turning to face him. If I'm going to have this conversation I might as well make eye contact.
"I sort of got that," he chuckles humorlessly and I crack a small smile.
"I kind of reconnected with some old friends and I'm a little more sad than I'd like to admit about them living six hours away from me." I sigh, rubbing my eyes that still have the after effects of crying coating them. "I just wish I could call him, you know?" I barely even register the fact I said him until I look back at James who bites his lip.
"Can I tell you a secret?" He asks, leaning forward and lowering his voice. I raise my eyebrows curiously.
"What?" I ask, not bothering to talk quietly. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and black. He opens his hand to reveal a phone. My chest clenches in disbelief. It's nearly impossible to get a phone into a group home, especially with people like Cornelius running them. "How'd you get that?" I hiss, leaning forward to grab the phone. He pulls his hand back for a moment holding his hand up.
"If I let you use this and you get out of here before me I have to ask you a favor." I nod quickly, whatever it is can't worse than being stuck without John alone. "Sneak me in some whiskey?" He asks somewhat shyly. I raise my eyebrows again. He really can't be old enough to drink. "My ex got me into drinking and I haven't been able to kick the habit," he shrugs and I nod.
"Sure. I'll bring you a drink if I get out," I reach my hand forward again, this time getting handed the phone. I smile down at the thing and reach for my journal under my pillow and find the page with a loose slip of paper scribbled with numbers.
To: John
I need help.
I type it out quickly noticing the battery is only at twenty-two. I look at it for a moment, quickly tapping in one more thing and clicking off the screen.
To: John
It's Alex.
I sigh, praying the messages go through as I hand the phone back to James reluctantly, telling him to keep an eye on the thing for any response.
This update is brought to you by me reaching a hundred followers the night before my birthday, so you're welcome.
I've pretty much got this planned out so I have high hopes for this story.
<3
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