Camp for the Emotionally (Un)Stable || Lams

Chapter Twenty-Five: You Can't Just Grow Out Of Me

Hamilton|First Person

"Hey...James?" I mutter across the table we're seated at in the back of the library. Mrs. Cornelius has been letting us go here once a week for a couple hours to "stay sharp on our literature", which really just means we're messing around in the back of a library that we've been on the brink of getting kicked out of for the past couple weeks.

James glances up at me, "huh?"

I bite my lip, skimming over the same page I've been reading for the past ten minutes. It's been almost two months since John Laurens' dramatic re-entrance and second exit from my life. Since then I've been reading up on what it takes to leave a group home early when you're in the system. My birthday is only a month away, but I hardly think I could stand to stay locked up for that long.

"Have you seen any job listings around?" I ask him, careful to keep my voice low in fear of the librarian hearing me again.

"Why?" James snorts. "You want a job, Hamilton?" He closes his book with a smirk. "You really think the bitch would let you get a real, paying job?" I sigh, rubbing my temples that have already started to ache at the conversation. I know James is sort of all I have left, but he can be incredibly negative sometimes, even for someone like me.

"Just..." I groan to myself. "Forget it," I mutter, already regretting trying to bring it up.

"Shit," James hisses. I look up at him, instantly feeling the alarm set in. "We were supposed to be back five minutes ago."

"Shit," I echo him.

We sloppily shove our things into our bags and wedge our books back onto the shelves wherever they fit. James shoots a sarcastic wave and smile to the librarian who glares back evilly. I would've laughed, but I'm too nervous about what's to come when we get back home.

We jog down the street and around the corner back to the group home. As soon as the brown lawn and the droopy trees are in sight I make James slow to a walk. We don't really need Mrs. Cornelius questioning us on our heavy breathing and sweaty appearances. 

We walk tentatively up the matted path of weeds and onto the concrete stoop, easing the door open carefully as if we could avoid the witch's sonic hearing. As I expected, it's no such luck. 

Mrs. Cornelius' craggly voice rings down the hall in an irritated fashion. "Boys?" I physically cringe, stepping aside so James can dart in the house toward the kitchen to try to avoid her. There's no reason for him to be punished anyway. I have significantly less time trapped in this hell hole. Besides, I'm used to it by now. 

"Hello, Mrs. Cornelius," I mutter after James has disappeared into the house and I'm walking in slowly after him. The witch comes out of a room in the hallway, waddling toward me hurriedly. I bite back a groan as her lips tilt into an ugly frown as she approaches me. 

"Alexander," she begins, pausing before me. I watch behind her as James tiptoes down the hall toward our room, successfully avoiding her. "You were supposed to be home almost ten minutes ago," she notes, rather calm as she glances down at the chunky digital watch on her wrist. I nod in understanding, unsure if speaking would be best in these circumstances. "Where is Mr. Madison?" 

I clear my throat before speaking, not wanting to risk something below par. "He got back on time. I stopped to look at something on the sidewalk," I lie. She sets her jaw, obviously not buying the story. 

"So, you're saying if I go down the hall into your room I'll find Mr. Madison?" She queries. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

She narrows her eyes, "then why weren't you back with him, Mr. Hamilton?" 

My chest tightens as I try to formulate an answer that will bring her the least anger. "I got distracted. It won't happen again. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Sorry isn't going to cut it in this house, Alexander. You must know that now." I don't respond. I already know where this is going. A sick look takes over her face as she prepares herself. I only stand stiff. There's no use in trying to fight these types of things. 

===

One week later and everything still hurts- though I suppose it doesn't help Mrs. Cornelius has found something to hit me for nearly every day since. Plus, the fact that I haven't been able to leave the house for all this time as well. At least James got away unscathed. 

I'm back to chores again. I finish up the younger kids' chores as well nowadays. I think it's too cruel to keep them cooped up when they'd obviously much rather be playing in the sun. It's not like I have anything better to do these days anyway. This is as good a way as any to spend my free time. Maybe when I finally get out I'll have some real life skills. 

I sigh to myself as I let my self-pitying thoughts run freely through my mind. I'm nearly out of dishes to wash though, which is more of a bad thing than it should be. At least when my hands are busy my head doesn't make the rest of me ache so bad. It's easier to accept the physical bruises on my body than the emotional ones that litter my thoughts. 

One more month. One more month. One more month...

If I keep repeating the end of my prison time then maybe it'll be a little more bearable. 

Mrs. Cornelius is in the living room watching game shows and knitting when the doorbell rings. My heart jumps. No one ever comes here unless they absolutely have to. I hear nothing for a moment and begin to wonder if the witch is ignoring them. A moment later her show goes quiet and I hear the creak of the floorboards under her large figure as she starts toward the front door.

There's muttering for a second that I almost migrate toward her to hear better, but I busy myself rinsing my hands and wiping off the counters instead. Something tells me this visitor is unwanted. It is nearly six at night... 

"Hamilton!" Mrs. Cornelius' raspy yelling voice makes me jump. "Get your ass out of my house. This boy wants an hour with you," she informs me. Something about the way she says it makes my skin crawl. I shove my handful of crumpled paper towels into the trash can, slowly making my way into the living room to see the inevitable. 

John Laurens dressed smartly in a polo shirt and jeans, a small smile on his face. He holds out a bouquet of plastic-wrapped yellow lilies that look sort of smushed. I fight back the urge to wrinkle my nose at them. I've always hated the way lilies look. They're too bright. 

"Hey, Alex. Mind if we go for a drive?" He asks sweetly in that damned smooth voice that used to never fail to have me swooning. I find myself biting my cheek harder than I should be as I try to think of an equally as charismatic answer. 

"I guess it beats sitting around here." 

I get things may be getting confusing so if you have any questions about how I'm writing this don't hesitate to comment. I try to put a little meaning behind it all.
<3