If It Wasn't A Dream- Chapter 1 Pt. 1
His feet are still bare, the cold cement of the front steps digging into his heels as he steps onto it. The whispered words from the social worker and the harsh yells of his mother float in and out of the almost closed door.He stares at the brown blades of dead grass on the front lawn, wondering if they’ll want him to put on shoes. Probably. The thought is bland and empty, white noise his brain is producing to block everything else out.
“Nix Blanco, your things.” the social worker steps out with two bags, a kind faced man with a bit of hair still clinging to his scalp for dear life, and a wispy mustache over a weak mouth.
“Thank-”
“Get off my property.” his mother spats, cutting him off, and Nix’s jaw clenches, eyes trained on the rubber handle of his bag.
The social worker is the image of perfect politeness. “Good day,
Mrs. Blanco. Nix?” he gestures to his white car parked next to an overflowing trash can.
Nix takes one step, but before he can leave, his mother digs her nails into his shoulder, forcing him to turn and look at her. They’re the same height, and his eyes are level with hers. Her eyes are red, reminiscent of the alcohol she had downed the night before while Nix packed his bags. Her hand shakes, but her grip on him is steady. Dirty blonde hair hangs over her worn face, and she sneers at him, enraged.
“This won’t last long.” she says, alcohol on her breath.
Nix shrugs free, biting the inside of his cheek as he walks away. He can taste blood on his tongue as he puts his bags in the car. The metallic taste distracts him from the social worker, who says his name is Greg. He can’t stop watching his mother, frozen at the front door, a scowl on her face. The part of him not paralyzed hopes-prays she’s wrong. That this won’t be temporary. That this will stretch into eternity.
“Nix?” Greg adjusts his front mirror to glance into the backseat at him. “Is everything alright?”
“Um, yeah.” He blinks at the foreign question.
“Good, good. Have you ever been to Tarrytown, New York?”
The name rings a bell, Tarrytown. It was the second place they lived after...He doesn’t remember much. Eating popsicles on a porch. A bicycle ride, someone telling him to go faster, faster. Nix’s back tingles as more memories surface.
“Once.” he replies.
There’s singing coming from downstairs, some old song he’s sure he once heard playing in a bar his mother frequented at. His bags are unopened on the floor, and he stands by the door, listening to the male voices singing. His arrival had been to an empty house, but it seemed full now.
“His teacher reported it about a month ago,” Greg had spoken in low tones to the foster parent. “Said she hadn’t seen him in a week, and when he finally showed there were cuts on his forehead and bruises on his arm. She didn’t buy the bicycle accident story.
“His parents…?”
“Parent. His mother was a raging alcoholic, seems to be depressed, probably from her husband’s death. He won’t talk about any of it though, just shrugs at questions. We can declare her unfit to parent, but there isn’t any evidence to incarcerate her.” Greg had shrugged and snapped his folder shut. “I hope you can help him, Levi.”
“I’ll do my best.”
That's part one! I hope you enjoyed! Share and leave a comment and don't forget to subscribe!
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