The Fighters Journal (Chapter Two)
Title: Settling In (Chapter Two)
Author: TheAllTimeLow
Rating: PG
Pairing: Alex/Jack
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the creative thought process behind the writing.
Summary: Rose Hill is hope for the hopeless and I was the most hopeful of them all. That was until I met Alex. When I first saw him I couldn't believe someone so broken could still be living.
Author Notes: All feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Previous Chapter
As he sat, elbow to elbow with the other residents that filled the long three tables of the dinning hall, I watched him intently from the other side of the room. He was staring blankly at the plate in front of him; the fork in his hand pushing the untouched food around his plate. Every so often he would blink and something foreign would appear in his eyes. For that brief moment in between blinks I saw a mixture of emotion so chaotic and wild that I couldn’t think of a single adjective that would properly define what I saw there.
Blink. Gone.
“Plates to the front, everyone! Anyone with food still on theirs might as well not even get up because an empty plate is your only ticket out of here.” There was a chorus of groans and crude protest, but The Boss - a petite women with grey woven into her waist length auburn hair - just smiled sweetly. She leaned back against the large double doored exit of the dinning hall, crossing her arms casually across her chest. “I can wait here all night.”
You could always tell the new residents from those who had seen their fair share of Rose Hill winters. The old ones would scowl and turn begrudgingly back to their food, knowing she was dead serious, as they too had once tested the legitimacy of her promise. But the new ones would just sit there and smirk - food remaining untouched, chin tilting towards the ceiling in ignorant defiance. And they would sit there. Every so often they would try to sneak a glance at the doors thinking maybe she had given up and they were free to go.
It always amused me when they discovered The Boss still standing at her post.
Their eyes would grow wider and their mouths would gape a little until they would turn away from the small smile that never seemed to leave her face as she stood there. The Boss stood at a whopping four foot six, her real name Lily, but her outward appearance told little to the story of her fiery interior. And though most of the men on staff could lift her with one arm, she earned her title as The Boss every time someone dared question it. Meal times were her specialties and the staff frequently talked of a night where she stood until dawn to keep her promise.
Alex swiveled around in his seat to glance at the doors, than back to his plate; chest puffing out and then falling as he exhaled a deep sigh. Then, eyes firmly shut, he began to shove food into his mouth as fast as the fork would allow. I watched as he devoured the plates contents and then opened his eyes. A look of pure and utter disgust contorted his face into lines of anger while his knuckles turned white around the fork he still held. He pushed away from the table and exited the hall, brandishing his cleared-plate-ticket as he went.
“Hey, Alex! Wait up! Do you even have any idea where you’re going?”
I was huffing when he finally stopped so I could catch up to him. Though I was tall and lanky, I was horribly out of shape. He stared silently while I worked to catch my breath and I wondered idly if I could sneak some weights and a treadmill into my room without anyone noticing. “The better question is, would I even use it if I did mange to?” I mumbled, pulling myself back to full height. Alex looked at me like I should have had a room set up in the psych ward. "Don't mind me. Just thinking out loud."
"Right," he said shortly, kicking the toe of his shoe into the ground with enough force to send several large chunks of dirt flying into the air. "And people think we're the crazy ones. The ones who need help..."
The emotions from the dinning hall flashed across his face again and I seized my opportunity at a chance to unfold a chapter on this mystery boy. "Do you think you need help?" Alex exhaled abruptly, his lips twisting upward into a bitter smirk. "My opinion doesn't matter," his tone was formal as though he had memorized it from a textbook. "I am a chronic depressant. I am a suicide risk. I must be watched, and observed, but never trusted. I am a self-harmer. I am a threat to myself and society. I must open up to you completely and trust you willingly without question."
He kicked the ground again and I couldn't help but laugh.
"And I am immune to bullshit," I said matter-of-factly, watching as he looked at me in surprise. "Yeah, you're quite the little hypocrite, aren't you? You seem rather bitter about being judged and treated as a textbook statistic, yet you're so willing to do the exact same thing to other people. Don't think for a minute that you know me and especially don't walk in here thinking this is just another place that will treat you like you're just another patient. You're not. You're Alex. You have a name, a story, feelings, and no one here - especially me - will ever overlook that. Ever. And whether you want to accept it or not, I care about you. I want you to walk out of here in the end, and if I didn't, I wouldn't be here right now trying to convince you otherwise. You have to stop thinking that everyone in your life is going to screw you over."
We walked around in mutual silence, me casually explaining certain places and routines of Rose Hill, him nodding but never saying more than a word or two of acknowledgement. "This is a journal - your journal. Write whatever you want in it. Hell, write a whole page that just says 'fuck you' over and over; I don't care. Just write something in it every day and then you can either choose to give it to me to read at Sessions on Friday's, or you can choose to keep it private. Your journal is your journal and anything you decide to put in there will remain secret so long as you choose to keep it that way." He nodded and I set the notebook on the small desk with a thin ballpoint pen. "Oh, and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't decide to do anything reckless with this pen. I don't want to put you on a supervised writing program."
"People actually do that? With pens?"
I smiled, no humour touching my face. "You wouldn't believe how broken some people can get..."
Author: TheAllTimeLow
Rating: PG
Pairing: Alex/Jack
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the creative thought process behind the writing.
Summary: Rose Hill is hope for the hopeless and I was the most hopeful of them all. That was until I met Alex. When I first saw him I couldn't believe someone so broken could still be living.
Author Notes: All feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Previous Chapter
As he sat, elbow to elbow with the other residents that filled the long three tables of the dinning hall, I watched him intently from the other side of the room. He was staring blankly at the plate in front of him; the fork in his hand pushing the untouched food around his plate. Every so often he would blink and something foreign would appear in his eyes. For that brief moment in between blinks I saw a mixture of emotion so chaotic and wild that I couldn’t think of a single adjective that would properly define what I saw there.
Blink. Gone.
“Plates to the front, everyone! Anyone with food still on theirs might as well not even get up because an empty plate is your only ticket out of here.” There was a chorus of groans and crude protest, but The Boss - a petite women with grey woven into her waist length auburn hair - just smiled sweetly. She leaned back against the large double doored exit of the dinning hall, crossing her arms casually across her chest. “I can wait here all night.”
You could always tell the new residents from those who had seen their fair share of Rose Hill winters. The old ones would scowl and turn begrudgingly back to their food, knowing she was dead serious, as they too had once tested the legitimacy of her promise. But the new ones would just sit there and smirk - food remaining untouched, chin tilting towards the ceiling in ignorant defiance. And they would sit there. Every so often they would try to sneak a glance at the doors thinking maybe she had given up and they were free to go.
It always amused me when they discovered The Boss still standing at her post.
Their eyes would grow wider and their mouths would gape a little until they would turn away from the small smile that never seemed to leave her face as she stood there. The Boss stood at a whopping four foot six, her real name Lily, but her outward appearance told little to the story of her fiery interior. And though most of the men on staff could lift her with one arm, she earned her title as The Boss every time someone dared question it. Meal times were her specialties and the staff frequently talked of a night where she stood until dawn to keep her promise.
Alex swiveled around in his seat to glance at the doors, than back to his plate; chest puffing out and then falling as he exhaled a deep sigh. Then, eyes firmly shut, he began to shove food into his mouth as fast as the fork would allow. I watched as he devoured the plates contents and then opened his eyes. A look of pure and utter disgust contorted his face into lines of anger while his knuckles turned white around the fork he still held. He pushed away from the table and exited the hall, brandishing his cleared-plate-ticket as he went.
“Hey, Alex! Wait up! Do you even have any idea where you’re going?”
I was huffing when he finally stopped so I could catch up to him. Though I was tall and lanky, I was horribly out of shape. He stared silently while I worked to catch my breath and I wondered idly if I could sneak some weights and a treadmill into my room without anyone noticing. “The better question is, would I even use it if I did mange to?” I mumbled, pulling myself back to full height. Alex looked at me like I should have had a room set up in the psych ward. "Don't mind me. Just thinking out loud."
"Right," he said shortly, kicking the toe of his shoe into the ground with enough force to send several large chunks of dirt flying into the air. "And people think we're the crazy ones. The ones who need help..."
The emotions from the dinning hall flashed across his face again and I seized my opportunity at a chance to unfold a chapter on this mystery boy. "Do you think you need help?" Alex exhaled abruptly, his lips twisting upward into a bitter smirk. "My opinion doesn't matter," his tone was formal as though he had memorized it from a textbook. "I am a chronic depressant. I am a suicide risk. I must be watched, and observed, but never trusted. I am a self-harmer. I am a threat to myself and society. I must open up to you completely and trust you willingly without question."
He kicked the ground again and I couldn't help but laugh.
"And I am immune to bullshit," I said matter-of-factly, watching as he looked at me in surprise. "Yeah, you're quite the little hypocrite, aren't you? You seem rather bitter about being judged and treated as a textbook statistic, yet you're so willing to do the exact same thing to other people. Don't think for a minute that you know me and especially don't walk in here thinking this is just another place that will treat you like you're just another patient. You're not. You're Alex. You have a name, a story, feelings, and no one here - especially me - will ever overlook that. Ever. And whether you want to accept it or not, I care about you. I want you to walk out of here in the end, and if I didn't, I wouldn't be here right now trying to convince you otherwise. You have to stop thinking that everyone in your life is going to screw you over."
We walked around in mutual silence, me casually explaining certain places and routines of Rose Hill, him nodding but never saying more than a word or two of acknowledgement. "This is a journal - your journal. Write whatever you want in it. Hell, write a whole page that just says 'fuck you' over and over; I don't care. Just write something in it every day and then you can either choose to give it to me to read at Sessions on Friday's, or you can choose to keep it private. Your journal is your journal and anything you decide to put in there will remain secret so long as you choose to keep it that way." He nodded and I set the notebook on the small desk with a thin ballpoint pen. "Oh, and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't decide to do anything reckless with this pen. I don't want to put you on a supervised writing program."
"People actually do that? With pens?"
I smiled, no humour touching my face. "You wouldn't believe how broken some people can get..."