Chapter Text
Alexander "Alex" Mercer was a deeply conflicted individual.
He was when he was little, and even now as a soon-to-be fifth grader, and when he died..
Well, he'd be a deeply conflicted individual then, too.
But that would be later on, and right now he was ten and a quarter, about to begin fifth grade, felt as if he was going to throw up, and was a completely, deeply conflicted individual.
"Alexander, dear," his mother called out from the driver's seat.
Alex's head snapped up. They were in his mom's small, lily white car. It's not like it needed to be big, if his whole family needed to go somewhere they'd just take his dad's van. It was large enough for his mom, his dad, his older brother, his older sisters, and him. As well as his dog, on occasion. However right now, they were in his mom's small, lily white car and while at times it felt cozy and safe, right now it just made him feel cramped and sick.
Cramped and sick.. , he thought to himself.
"Alex, honey, are you there?," his mother called out from the driver's seat once again.
“Uh- Yeah?”
“Yeah?” she responded in a stern manner
“Yes ma’am?” he corrected himself
“It's time.”
He quickly turned to look out the window. It was true, they were at the front of the drop-off lane.
OhgodOhgodOhgod-
Before he could collect his thoughts he was already out the car with his mother waving him goodbye. He was already walking up to the school, other kids running past him as if it were a race to see who could get in first.
And Alex? Alex was on the verge of tears, with a pit-like feeling at the bottom of his stomach, clinging to the strings of his new backpack for the sake of his dear life. He felt like everyone was staring, as if they all hated him for something he should’ve been ashamed of but had no clue as to what it was he should’ve been ashamed of in the first place. He shut his eyes tight, and felt his heart inside of his chest beating like thunder.
Maybe wearing white today wasn't such a good idea?
It’s not like he would have even gotten a choice though, because in his father’s words: “A young man should always look presentable.”
Alex shortly arrived at the glass door that shelters the front of the school. He could just barely make out his own reflection as the world spun in a dizzy haze around him. He studied himself briefly before coming to a clear decision:
He didn’t look very presentable.
He looked so uncomfortable. He was wearing a white polo shirt, black dress shoes, and khakis. Khakis . Maybe he’d look better if he were wearing black slacks, but then again who wore dress pants to school? Probably the kid wearing black dress shoes.
He sighed at himself and made a mental note to stop wearing dress shoes to school.
He looked down at his hands, which were still clinging to the strings off his new backpack for the sake of his dear life. They were devoid of any color, the blood not having space to move around his palm. Instead the blood collected at the ends of his now pinkish-red fingertips, which were scratched and scared and agitated as a result of him fiddling with them in the car. He never meant for it to become a habit, but whenever he became anxious he would have to start doing at least something with his hands if he didn't want to self-combust.
So he fiddled and picked, and plucked, and pinched at his fingertips inside of his mom’s formerly-cozy, formerly-safe, cramped, sickening, small, lily white car til he somehow felt a little better about whatever situation had caused this reaction in the first place.
God, he wished he knew what was wrong with him.
Next his attention turned to his face. He looked okay there, at least. He recently had gotten his braces off, although it’s not like he really needed them that much. It’s just that the last of his baby teeth came out back then, and his mother must’ve really wanted him to have “perfect teeth” for that “perfect image” for the “perfect son” for his “perfect family”.
At first Alex believed that he’d love getting his braces off, that the day he got them off would be like heaven. It's what he wished for the second he got those dumb things on. But that day came yesterday and he still wasn't used to it. It’s not like he didn't like having them off. They were annoying and cold and frustrating to deal with and he didn't like having to brush his teeth differently than how he used to beforehand.
But he guessed he got used to them. Because he’d been wearing them for a year and a half and now he doesn’t know how to feel without them. Maybe those cold, annoying, and frustrating pieces of metal formerly attached to his near-perfect teeth were more comforting than he’d care to admit.
His thoughts were interrupted with the small creak of the bathroom door. Alex looked around, confused. He was standing in front of one of the bathroom’s sinks. He assumed that at some point he had miraculously found his way to the bathroom during his spiral, which was good because if he’d been standing and staring at the school's entrance for that long with that much silence then he’d might as well die from embarrassment.
Time must’ve skipped because the kid who had just barely entered the bathroom was already at the sink, next to Alex, washing his hands. The two tried to sneak looks at each other before immediately looking away, as if nothing had happened. As if neither had noticed the other’s behavior. The energy in the room- well it was awkward to say the least. Maybe it was due to the fact that two in question were non-social, terribly awkward people.
Alex’s eyes darted back to the guy next to him, who was now struggling to get paper towels. He appeared to be in the same grade as Alex, so maybe they’d properly meet each other in a few minutes. He was wearing a light blue flannel over a black shirt. On his head was a bright orange beanie that was way too big for him, which let his untidy jet-black strands of hair fall from behind his ears. He completes the look with raggedy, dark blue jeans and worn-out tennis shoes.
Definitely interesting to say the least.
The boy looked like he opened his mouth to say something, but instantly shut it to avoid possibly saying something embarrassing. Which was something that Alex could relate too much to.
And just like that, the boy was gone before he knew it.
The door shut with a creak as loud as when it opened. Alex let out a long awaited sigh. He check a clock on the wall
7:58
If he didn’t leave now- or run now, for that matter- he’d be late.
So he tried his best to gather up his emotions and exit the bathroom with some sort up hope of looking confident. He ran looking for room numbered seventy-six and was thirty seconds from being late.
It wasn’t his proudest moment, but he ran through that hallway and slid into the classroom just in time.
However, his victory was short-lived.
He turned around to face forty or so faces staring at him and judging him, unable to look away until they found another distraction.
And in a time span of less than a second, he was on the verge of tears again, with a pit-like feeling at the bottom of his stomach, clinging to the strings of his new backpack for the sake of his dear life with his scarred, picked, plucked, pinched, pink fingertips like an awkward, unperfect, brace-less, khaki-wearing, uncomfortable, about-throw-up, ashamed, newly-in-fifth-grade, ten and a quarter, completely, and deeply conflicted individual.
Crap.