Chapter Text
In some ways, Tommy might say he’s having a normal day. He’s eating lunch in a cafeteria, just trying to enjoy his undercooked, unsatisfying meal in peace. As he stabs into a wet, soggy noodle, he spots movement across the room, where a group of older guys taunts him, calling him out for sitting alone. Tommy shrugs to himself and goes back to eating. That’s something that Tommy’s lived with his whole life. Dealing with a few bullies is pretty normal for him.
What’s different about today is that this isn’t just a typical Tuesday afternoon at school. This isn’t a situation where he can just walk away and avoid the confrontation that’s surely inevitable if he stays.
Tommy’s in juvie.
And in juvie, you do what you’re told, and you go where they tell you to go. There is no walking away from a fight when there are guards blocking every exit, preventing anyone from escaping.
As the boys get up and cross the floor with an arrogant swagger, Tommy prepares for the inevitable ass-kicking that’s coming.
Maybe on a normal day, he might defend himself. Maybe he should stand up for himself and tell those dickheads off for interrupting his meal. Maybe then he can actually enjoy his last day in juvie.
Or maybe, instead of risking his release date by fighting on his last day in juvie, he should just keep his mouth shut and take the hits.
He’s already made up his mind as soon as the boys stop in front of his table. He’s not going to fight them, but it’s not going to be fun.
Tommy doesn’t know any of the boys’ names, but he’s met them before, and he’s even given them all their very own personal nick-names.
Asshole is the leader of the group, and he speaks first. “How’s our favorite loser doing today? Enjoying your meal?” He snips, snickering like he’s just said the most clever thing ever. His 2 companions snicker back, and they’re clearly just as stupid as he is.
Tommy looks up briefly but doesn’t answer. He just goes right back to eating his cold food and ignoring the bullies. He knows it won’t stop them from bothering him, but if he provokes them in any way, it could be considered his fault for fighting.
Asshole’s short friend, Bitchface, leans against the table and swipes Tommy’s tray across the tabletop, sending it splattering onto the ground. He howls like a hyena, enjoying his moment while the others laugh along with him. “What are you gonna eat now, huh?” he taunts, and Tommy thinks these 3 are the stupidest people alive. They probably share one brain cell between them. They’re not intimidating, and they’re certainly not clever with their remarks.
The third member, Dipshit, lifts one corner of his mouth in a devious smirk. He addresses his friends, turning to look over his shoulder as he asks, “Seems like such a waste to leave perfectly good food on the ground, doesn’t it?” Out of all the boys, Tommy hates him the most. He’s the smartest of the group, which isn’t saying much, but he’s the one with all the ideas. Without him, the boys wouldn’t be nearly as eager to get physically aggressive with Tommy. He’s the mastermind behind all of their horrible ideas.
“It does seem like a waste,” Asshole agrees. He circles the table like a vulture scouting out a meal and picks up a handful of dirty, soggy food, then presents it to Tommy. “You have to eat all your food before you get up from the table. Didn’t your mommy ever teach you that?”
She didn’t, actually , he thinks moments before the food is shoved into his face. He scrunches his eyes shut and holds his breath as Asshole smears the remnants of his own meal into his face. The slimy texture and repulsive smell nearly make Tommy gag, but he focuses on the sounds of the 3 hyena’s laughs as a distraction.
As soon as the food falls, splattering into his lap, he wipes the juice from his eyes and opens them to find Asshole and Dipshit still howling in laughter. He wonders where Bitchface went, but the shuffling of feet behind him clues him in immediately.
Before he can even turn his head around, the flat, metal food tray smashes into the back of his head, sending him toppling forward. For a moment, he’s slumped against the table, feeling stunned and dizzy, and he imagines how great it would be to just pass out here and now. Then he wouldn't have to deal with any more of this bullshit fight.
It’s not even a fight, really. He’s just letting them beat the shit out of him.
As he accepts his fate, still collapsed over the table, he hears the pained sounds of one of the boys, and he looks up to see Bitchface getting tackled by a guard. The metal tray he was holding goes flying and skids across the floor, surprising a few of the people sitting nearby.
Asshole and Dipshit immediately stop. The smiles are wiped off their faces, and they stand stiffly at attention as the officer cuffs their fallen friend.
The guard stands, dragging the boy to his feet, and points angrily at everyone around the table. “Which one of you started it?”
Asshole immediately throws his arm out, pointing accusingly at Tommy. “He threatened us, sir.”
The guard chuckles coldly to himself and shakes his head. “Come with me, all of you.”
Tommy lets the guard handcuff him, as well, and he’s taken back to his cell while the others are sent off to be questioned. He washes his face and lays down, his spine pressed into the firm mattress as he waits for his turn.
Even if he knew that fight was going to happen, it didn’t suck any less.
++++++++
“Get up, Thomas. The Warden wants to see you.”
Tommy sits up slowly, his back aching from the worn-down mattress. He places his feet flat on the ground, feeling the cool, hard concrete through his socks, and as he stands up, his body cracks and pops uncomfortably with the effort.
He lifts his arms up obediently and the guard shackles his wrists, leading him away from his cell and down the long hallway to the Warden’s office. The walk is far too slow, leaving Tommy’s imagination to run wild, and he feels nothing but anxiety at this moment.
He was told recently that he was supposed to be released in the following week, but after the lunchroom fiasco, he wasn’t sure what the Warden was thinking. Tommy’s release date could be pushed back for a fight like that, even if he wasn’t the instigator.
The guard yanks on the chain connected to his handcuffs, signaling for him to stop, and he does. They’re at the end of the hallway, where the walls are bare and the door on their left has nothing but the number 111 printed and plastered on it.
The guard knocks on the door, giving the wooden frame a few solid raps, and Tommy listens as papers are shuffled frantically on the other side of the wall.
“Come in,” says the Warden. The guard quickly opens the door and practically shoves Tommy inside, closing the door behind him. Tommy is left to face the Warden while the guard stands outside.
“Sit down, Thomas.”
He sits before the Warden, the man that now has control over his life, who could choose to keep him here or release him. If he has any chance of getting out of here anytime soon, he has to be on his best behavior.
The Warden folds his hands over the top of his desk and stares at Tommy. He lets out a short sigh before finally addressing the situation. “I’m under the assumption that you started a fight in the cafeteria today.”
Tommy swallows nervously, his whole body practically trembling with anxiety. He struggles to sit still, but he spends most of his energy appearing calm for the Warden as he focuses on proving his innocence. “With all due respect, sir, I didn’t start the fight.”
The Warden nods. “I know, Thomas.”
Tommy’s head jerks up in surprise. He’s never spoken to the Warden before, but he assumed that the man was cold and menacing. Maybe his previous assumption might be wrong.
The Warden removes his round, thin glasses and sets them on the stack of papers beside him. His demeanor remains calm, and Tommy wonders why he doesn’t seem angry or upset at the situation.
“I reviewed the camera footage,” the Warden simply said. “I know you didn’t start the fight. Those boys have been nothing but trouble for as long as they have been in here, but you had every right to defend yourself, and you didn’t.” The Warden narrows his eyes as he assesses Tommy. “Why didn’t you fight back?” It was an honest question, and Tommy has no reason to lie about the answer.
“I want to get out of here. Good behavior’s what’s gonna get me out of here,” he replies, followed hastily with an added “sir.”
The Warden nods and glances briefly at the papers before returning his attention to Tommy. “Smart kid.” He drags the stack of mysterious papers into the center of the desk and skims over the top page. “My advice to you would be to avoid any more fights in the future, and you’ll never end up here again.”
Tommy’s face goes red, and he ducks his head down at the memory of the last time he fought with someone. Not the petty fight between a bunch of idiots in a juvie, but his last real fight. He wishes it had never happened, but the second-best outcome would be to never let himself do something that stupid ever again. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not, Thomas,” he warns, and Tommy shakes his head vigorously in agreement.
“No, sir, never again.”
“Good. You’re scheduled to be released tomorrow. I’ve already called your case worker, and she’ll pick you up at noon.”
He locks eyes with the Warden. “Seriously?” He asks in disbelief. Was he really being set free?
“Yes, I’m serious, now get out of my office,” the Warden barks, but the corners of his mouth lifting give away his amusement. The Warden seems genuine and real, unlike Tommy’s previous experience with the adults in his life, and he almost feels bad for assuming the worst from him.
Tommy is led back to his cell and told to scrounge up whatever possessions he has for tomorrow. He spends the next 30 minutes slowly picking apart the cell for anything he might want to keep, but the only thing he really owns is a single pack of cigarettes.
He doesn’t even smoke.
Still, those cigarettes have value, and he’s going to keep them.
++++++++
When it’s time for Tommy to leave, they bring him a set of clothes to change into. They aren’t the clothes he had before, but they weren’t sentimental to him, anyway. He shrugs off the ugly orange jumpsuit and trades it out for a baggy pair of jeans and a faded gray T-shirt. It’s not his usual style, but he doesn’t mind. Anything is better than that hideous prison garb.
He shoves his single pack of cigarettes into his pocket and paces the floor until an officer comes to get him. He’s escorted from his cell all the way to the front gate, where a dark blue minivan is already waiting for him.
He nods his thanks to the guard and hikes up his pants as he walks toward the minivan. He yanks the passenger door open and quickly ducks into the vehicle.
Beside him, in the driver’s seat, sits his case worker Mrs. Parkson. She’s nice enough, with graying hair and the energy of a nervous child, and she is absolutely terrible at her job.
“God, Thomas, it’s like you’re not even trying!” That’s the first thing she utters when he plops down into his seat.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. He doesn’t really know what to say, since he’d never meant to wind up in juvie in the first place.
“It’s…it’s fine,” she huffs, taking a dramatic breath. She always seemed so exasperated with Tommy, and he never really knew why. It was hard to figure out what she was thinking sometimes, and that often led to a lot of miscommunication between them.
Tommy knows she wants to tell him something, but she fell silent as she drove. Maybe she’s waiting until they get back to the group home?
So, he waits. Mrs. Parkson drives them all the way back in tense silence, but when she parks the car, she reaches for Tommy’s hand before he can escape.
He flinches at the contact, but he turns to face her, waiting for her to say something.
She sniffs and clears her throat. “Thomas,” she begins softly. “You’re a very lucky kid.”
He wants to bite back and tell her that being an orphan doesn’t qualify him to be a “lucky kid,” but he bites his tongue and lets her continue.
“Not everyone gets to walk away from jail, you know. If you…if something happens, and you end up in there again, you might not get a second chance.” Mrs. Parkson stares him down, her tone deathly serious. “Do not mess up this time.”
His voice catches in the back of his throat, but he nods tensely. He understands how fortunate he is to get out of juvie so easily. He feels the weight of the situation more heavily than Mrs. Parkson does, he’s sure of it. Being out of jail is liberating. It’s like taking a breath of fresh air after drowning for months. It’s like finally getting away from a toxic family that he thought he was going to be stuck with forever.
But at the same time, he realizes that in some ways, juvie isn’t much different than some of the previous foster homes he’s been in. If he could tolerate some of the worst foster homes in the past, then he could survive a few months of juvie again, if he had to.
Being in juvie wasn’t the first time he’d felt like a prisoner, and it probably won’t be the last.