cedar rapids, iowa | saturday | march 6
The night in jail hadn't done anything to Alex other than make him sore and stiff the following morning. Apparently though, it'd been decided that he'd be granted with good luck this morning because, sometime between the drunk in the corner vomiting for the third time and the old man offering Alex a 'fun ride, one of the police officers came by and told him he was free to go.
Old man bartender had corroborated that whole self defense story Alex had drunkenly blathered and they'd taken his fake ID (like he didn't have others) with a warning to stay out of that bar and keep his nose clean (like he'd listen). Still, he was grateful that he'd avoided that whole phone call home portion of the morning. Of course, stumbling in the house, looking like the shit a pile of shit scraped off its shoe would have been nice to avoid but there was no getting by that.
His mother was sitting on the couch when he pushed the door open. Alex didn't say anything right off but had the decency to look embarrassed. He felt...young again, like he'd just been caught coloring on the walls and it was either going to be the light punishment of his mother or the severe punishment of his father. But, his father was gone and his mother just looked disappointed.
"I'm fine," Alex said, trying to cut off any lengthy questions about his health. "I look worse than I feel." That was probably a lie. He felt pretty damn bad. He'd felt worse though. A few hours in bed, some ice and maybe a few bottles of Tylenol and he'd be fine.
"I didn't ask," his mother said, pushing herself off the couch and moving to stand in front of him. Alex expected her to touch him, check his injuries for herself but she just continued to look sad and disappointed. Like she'd been let down irrevocably.
Alex dropped his eyes down to the floor.
"Gimme a few minutes to clean up and we can go to your doctor's appointment," Alex said, clearing his throat painfully and avoiding eye contact, avoiding that look that was making his stomach turn over and twist uncomfortably. "I shouldn't look like the patient."
"There's no need," his mother said briskly, brushing past him without another look. "I've called a cab. When you weren't here this morning, I'd assumed you'd left again."
"You-- what?" Alex asked, caught off guard by that. He knew his mother could take care of herself since he wasn't here all the time but he was here now and he...did things like that. "Call it off, I'll take you."
"No." His mother shook her head, already gathering her things. "I can do this without out you."
Alex bit down on his immediate anger, fingers clenching his shirt over his sore ribs. This was his fault, not hers even if he wanted to blame her for driving him to do things like this. He knew that wasn't the truth though. He'd never needed a reason to be a giant fuck up, after all. "But, I can take you."
His voice sounded tinny and small to his own years, almost pleading. Trying to hold onto the one thing that had been solid and present throughout this entire life, even if it had been shaky and broken over the years. Alex shook his head, trying to shake himself of that feeling. He'd buried that long ago. Buried it, locked it away and tried to forget.
"I don't need you, Alex," his mother said and it sounded so final, he nearly choked. "If you're still here when I get back, I'll see you then. If not, have a good trip back."
Without another word, she was closing the door behind her, leaving Alex standing alone in an empty, too quiet house. If he'd been feeling better, he would have kicked things, put his hand through the wall but, instead, he moved slowly upstairs to take a shower and close himself up in his room. It wasn't going to be a cure all but it would be something to do. It'd give him some time to think on if he wanted to stay, try and fix...this or if he wanted to go back.
It'd be something to do. And that's what he needed right now.
[nfb but open for any phone calls, if wanted, normal or not. this is me, once again playing in an open (for now) fandom with little backstory and getting some stuff worked out. it can't always not be alex's fault! thanks, shonda rhimes!]
Old man bartender had corroborated that whole self defense story Alex had drunkenly blathered and they'd taken his fake ID (like he didn't have others) with a warning to stay out of that bar and keep his nose clean (like he'd listen). Still, he was grateful that he'd avoided that whole phone call home portion of the morning. Of course, stumbling in the house, looking like the shit a pile of shit scraped off its shoe would have been nice to avoid but there was no getting by that.
His mother was sitting on the couch when he pushed the door open. Alex didn't say anything right off but had the decency to look embarrassed. He felt...young again, like he'd just been caught coloring on the walls and it was either going to be the light punishment of his mother or the severe punishment of his father. But, his father was gone and his mother just looked disappointed.
"I'm fine," Alex said, trying to cut off any lengthy questions about his health. "I look worse than I feel." That was probably a lie. He felt pretty damn bad. He'd felt worse though. A few hours in bed, some ice and maybe a few bottles of Tylenol and he'd be fine.
"I didn't ask," his mother said, pushing herself off the couch and moving to stand in front of him. Alex expected her to touch him, check his injuries for herself but she just continued to look sad and disappointed. Like she'd been let down irrevocably.
Alex dropped his eyes down to the floor.
"Gimme a few minutes to clean up and we can go to your doctor's appointment," Alex said, clearing his throat painfully and avoiding eye contact, avoiding that look that was making his stomach turn over and twist uncomfortably. "I shouldn't look like the patient."
"There's no need," his mother said briskly, brushing past him without another look. "I've called a cab. When you weren't here this morning, I'd assumed you'd left again."
"You-- what?" Alex asked, caught off guard by that. He knew his mother could take care of herself since he wasn't here all the time but he was here now and he...did things like that. "Call it off, I'll take you."
"No." His mother shook her head, already gathering her things. "I can do this without out you."
Alex bit down on his immediate anger, fingers clenching his shirt over his sore ribs. This was his fault, not hers even if he wanted to blame her for driving him to do things like this. He knew that wasn't the truth though. He'd never needed a reason to be a giant fuck up, after all. "But, I can take you."
His voice sounded tinny and small to his own years, almost pleading. Trying to hold onto the one thing that had been solid and present throughout this entire life, even if it had been shaky and broken over the years. Alex shook his head, trying to shake himself of that feeling. He'd buried that long ago. Buried it, locked it away and tried to forget.
"I don't need you, Alex," his mother said and it sounded so final, he nearly choked. "If you're still here when I get back, I'll see you then. If not, have a good trip back."
Without another word, she was closing the door behind her, leaving Alex standing alone in an empty, too quiet house. If he'd been feeling better, he would have kicked things, put his hand through the wall but, instead, he moved slowly upstairs to take a shower and close himself up in his room. It wasn't going to be a cure all but it would be something to do. It'd give him some time to think on if he wanted to stay, try and fix...this or if he wanted to go back.
It'd be something to do. And that's what he needed right now.
[nfb but open for any phone calls, if wanted, normal or not. this is me, once again playing in an open (for now) fandom with little backstory and getting some stuff worked out. it can't always not be alex's fault! thanks, shonda rhimes!]