Chapter Text
Martin Blackwood awoke one morning to the ringing of his alarm clock. 6:30, early as always; Martin was working 7 different jobs in order to support his mum’s crack habits. He was always very tired in our days, not only from those 7 jobs but also from the secret 8th job of actually looking after her.
He pulled on his baby blue jumper, it was baggy on him, shapeless almost, and tied his mousy hair into a messy bun with a scrunchie.
“MARTIN!” He heard his mum shout from the living room.
Great , he thought to himself, She slept on the couch again.
“MARTIN COME DOWN NOW!”
He filed quickly out of his bedroom, bed unmade.
He found his mother sat on the couch in their small living room. He thought that she was actually her best clothes today (a floral print sundress), which he found very odd. As he approached he could also pick up the faint scent of the perfume she only kept for special occasions.
“Mum?” He said, tentatively.
“Martin, finally,” she muttered, despite her attempt to appear put together there was still a jittery air to her. She rang her hands together almost continuously, “I need you to meet Mr Bouchard. He’s your new owner.”
Martin blinked in shock.
A man walked into the room, he wore a navy suit, pinstriped and tailored. His dark brown hair was slicked back and he wore tiny spectacles on the tip of his nose. Though he looked maybe only a few years older than Martin himself, he carried himself with the composure of someone older. That pair of green eyes piercing the space between him and Martin.
“Hello, Martin,” he said, “You will be pleased to know that I have just signed all of the necessary paperwork and that you are now my personal property.”
Martin’s mouth hung open.
He turned to his mother.
“You sold me to buy crack?!” He whispered ferociously.
“I’m sorry, I had to.”
“Now Ms Blackwood,” the man continued, “Unless you have any more people you wish to sell me we shall be off.”
“I’m sorry, my son.” She said, already lighting a crack pipe.
Martin was escorted from the room by Mr Bouchard. He followed quietly not daring to look his mum in the eye. How could she do something like this?