Chapter Text
Her right knee keeps bouncing against the car floor. Her hands wrapped tight around her old, rusty backpack. She doesn’t carry much with herself, only a toothbrush and a few belongings she managed to collect over the years, constantly moving from one place to another.
The third placement of the year, this is. It’s fucking August and she has already managed to screw it up, again.
It’s not totally her fault, if she’s being honest. It has become some sort of game by now; her caseworker will find a new place for her, she’ll switch schools just for the sake of being less of a burden to whoever chooses to take her in, she manages to fuck things up (as always) and ends up leaving. Of course, there are some things she’s skipping. Like the constant yelling, the locked fridges, sometimes even the beating up. She doesn’t say any of those things out loud, though.
She’s not weak. She can take it.
Grayson looks at her through the rearview mirror, silently watching her demeanor. She hasn’t said anything since she picked Vi up from her last placement (house, not home), only focusing on the road ahead. Around 20 minutes into the awkward silence, Grayson speaks up:
“I’ve been doing a few calls.” She states it, neutral as ever. Vi only hums, half-listening to what she has to say. “There’s this man I’ve known for quite some time, his name is Vander. He only takes emergency cases. He agreed to take you in for now, until I can find something stable for you.”
She scoffs, “Good luck with that.”
Grayson doesn’t snap at her the way other people have done in the past, being accustomed to Vi’s attitude.
“He doesn’t live that far away from here, you’d be able to visit any friends you’d made in the past few months,” they both know she hasn’t interacted with anybody in a friendly way in ages, but neither of them points it out, “you’ll still need to change schools, but I don’t think that’s much of a problem for now. Let’s wait until you settle in and then we’ll talk about going back to school, okay?”
She snorts but there’s no humor behind it.
She hasn’t looked at herself in the mirror yet, not wanting to see her reflection, the obvious display of weakness in her bruised face. She had told Grayson it was from a fight at school, but she knows her lie doesn’t reach its audience. It never has. This time, it only took one look at her neck and she was out of the Johnsons’ house in a matter of minutes, same old backpack secured in place with promise of finding somewhere better for her.
Sometimes, she deserves it. She’s snarky and has poorly manners that has anybody around her wincing. She swears a lot, which most foster parents don’t find appealing at all, when it comes to fostering a teenager. Her rudeness and lack of ‘respect for her elders’ had started to play her a bad round, only being accepted at group homes or placements where the people were not… nice.
Anyways, she knows how to defend herself, she doesn’t need anybody to watch her back because now she’s old enough to do it herself. So, foster parents start being shitty (borderline neglectful), and she takes it like a pro. She finds ways to steal food without them noticing, she escapes the furious fist that come at her. She bites, screams, hits, and twists when someone that could easily overpower her tries to do so. Easy enough.
Her last placement with the Johnsons had been quite the experience. She had been caught stealing food or money from time to time (which, let’s be honest, isn’t the worst she could be doing), which had resulted on Mr. Johnson trying to choke her up. Literally.
So, now she’s in the back of Grayson’s car. Her neck still hurts, purple and green mixing into her skin. She doesn’t speak about what has happened, mostly out of shame because of her own incapacity to fucking fight back, but Grayson seems to get the idea. In her defense, she knows Grayson is trying everything in her power to find some sort of stability for Vi’s life, but still, there’s nothing she can do against a lost cause.
Incorrigible. That’s what one of her teachers had called her when she started picking up fights with the other kids, just for the sake of it. She had looked it in the dictionary that same afternoon. Not being able to improve, that’s what it meant. At that moment, the idea of not being able to get fixed had seemed impossible; she was still a 9 year old, she had plenty of time to improve. By now, 15 and still growing, she had started to accept the idea that her teacher might’ve been right.
The engine stops.
“We’re here.”
Her backpack hangs awkwardly against her sore shoulder, still recovering from Mr. Johnson’s foot stepping on her. That hadn’t been fair, she was still in the ground, and he was a lot bigger than her. Vi had felt herself frozen in fear as the sharp pain started running through her body, she had suddenly felt like a small child again.
A tall man around his 50’s opens the door, quietly greeting Grayson before locking his gaze on Vi.
“You must be Vi.” His voice is softer than she had expected. She still doesn’t answer him, looking him dead in the eye until he feels uncomfortable enough to look the other way. That’s it, start by marking her territory, her limits. This time, she won’t be getting hurt. Not again.
“Come in, I’m sure you’re hungry.” She perks up at that. Hungry, yes. That she is.
Vander and Grayson talk quietly about some arrangements such as Vi’s schedule for school (which she won’t be returning to at least for a few days), chores in the house, etc. She doesn’t listen to any of it, too focused on devouring the single piece of meatloaf that had been gently put on in front of her. She chews loudly with her mouth open; Vander doesn’t seem to mind. Good.
When Grayson leaves, she keeps eating only that more alert to her surroundings. Now, she’s in a foreign place with this dude who’s probably 3 times bigger than her, who could be able to hurt her if she’s not wary enough. The man seems oblivious about her panic, sitting across the table from her, crossing his arms in a comfortable position.
“Is it any good?” he gestures vaguely with his hand to the plate in front of her.
She nods, not entirely sure where this conversation is going. There were foster parents who would go crazy over her eating, saying that she needed to stop eating so much, sometimes taking the food away from her. This dude seems stupid enough to comment on her eating habits just after she finished her meal. There’s nothing to take way from her now, she wants to say.
The man nods, oddly satisfied with her answer. That’s a new one.
“There’s more on the microwave if you’re still hungry, just wait for a few minutes before starting again. Don’t want you to feel sick afterwards.”
She nods, only half-assured.
She has her own bedroom, which is nice. Sort of.
The man, Vander, isn’t married and doesn’t have any other foster kids running around the house, which allows her to breath, just for a little bit. She’s growing tired of group homes and the constant yelling and chaos.
Vander tells her he doesn’t have much, but the room she’s presented with is probably more than Vi has ever had in her life. It’s pretty basic; four white walls, a single bed and a desk. She doesn’t have any bed sheets in her backpack so it’s kind of nice that he bothered to put some on in the bed. The door also has a lock, which startles her at first (in a good way).
She doesn’t actually sleep the first night, too worried he will burst through the door and try to hurt her. It has happened in the past, so she’s not being paranoic, only cautious. Still, he doesn’t, and at some point, around 5 a.m., her eyes close against her will. Only for a few minutes, she tells herself.
The bed is probably the nicest she’s ever slept on, which is why she doesn’t answer to the constant knocking on her door, too immersed in her sleep to realize someone is waiting for her to reply.
“Vi? You okay in there?” right, that’s Vander. She had forgotten about him.
“Yeah.” Her hoarse voice says. She hesitant to open the door, waiting for Vander to explain why the sudden need to talk to her.
“I’m sorry if I woke you up, I just wanted to check if you wanted to eat lunch. I made pasta.” His voice comes gently from the other side of the door and Vi can see his shadow moving. She checks the hour. 13:45 p.m. Damn, she hadn’t meant to get that comfortable.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen, just come out when you’re ready.” His footsteps start to dissipate as he walks away.
She learns a few things about Vander the following weeks.
For example, he likes to cook. A lot.
Vi is mostly accustomed to leftovers or frozen meals (or not eating at all), so she’s pleasantly surprised when the things Vander cooks for her actually taste like food. He sticks to basic things such as vegetables or meat, the kind of meals she has seen in sitcoms and thought only existed to sell the typical American lifestyle. Still, he lets her eat all she wants and doesn’t restrict any of the cabinets or the fridge, so she’s not complaining about how cheesy it may seem.
He also seems awfully caring for someone his size. For a man the size of a bear, he sure as hell is gentle when he asks permission to see the bruises in her neck. He doesn’t ask how she got them, so she doesn’t tell, but the way his hands apply the lotion or put a band aid in the raw cut that’s still healing in her right eyebrow is sort of nice. She doesn’t usually let people get that close to her, but she’ll allow it this time. After he checks all the damage in her face, he goes out to buy her a popsicle. In return, she gives what she considers to be a thankful smile that mostly ends up coming as some sort of snark, but she thinks he gets it when he smiles back at her.
She learns that he works at a bar called The Last Drop, not far from his house, which could be useless information for her, except for the fact that he tells her to call him if she needs him and he’ll be back within the next few minutes, so it’s nice. Most of her foster parents worked a lot of hours and very far away from their home, so it became kind of lonely for her, being on her own for 14 hours every day, in a house that was not her own to breath in.
Around the third week of living with him, she starts to consider the option of just… staying for a little bit more. It’s always temporary for her, but if she could stay a month or two, she would be very lucky. And well-fed. And cared about, sort of.
Grayson calls her one afternoon, explaining how she found another placement for her, a family of two kids that were looking to foster teenage kids. She knows she’s waiting for a reply, but the way her breath catches in her throat won’t let her, because the things is, she wants to stay here. She knows the whole arrangement was meant to only be for a few weeks (as every aspect in her life is; short, sentenced to end), but she’s not ready to let go of this specific living situation.
She knows Vander must be waiting for the second he gets the chance to get rid of her, only taking her in in the first place as a favor for Grayson, but there’s this voice inside of her begging to not be let go of yet. She’s not ready to go back to shitty places, not now that she knows what heaven tastes like (and now she actually knows it; it tastes like warm, homemade meals and aloe vera lotions gently applied in sore skin).
“I— I don’t want to go.” She whispers, weakly. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud but whatever. Too late now.
There’s silence on the other line, “What do you mean?” Grayson sounds confused, startled by Vi’s sudden statement.
She hesitates, not sure how to word her own thoughts, “Vander’s nice.” That’s what ends up coming out of the mouth, which doesn’t make sense at all, Grayson wouldn’t understand what she means by that.
Except she does, “He is, isn’t he?” she doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, “but he’s not suited to foster kids for a prolonged time, he’s only meant to take kids in case of emergencies, Vi. We don’t know if he wants to continue fostering you, i contacted him at an urgent situation, this is no longer that.”
Her throat closes, the sudden need to cry making its appearance, “Right. I’ll notify him.”
Grayson sighs, “Okay. Ask him to call me so we can arrange when I can pick you up.”
She feels lightheaded while coming down the stairs, the kitchen light radiates the kind of warm she’s not feeling right now. Vander is sitting in ‘his’ chair, the one close to the stove so he can check the pasta when he’s cooking, when Vi appears through the door. He smiles at her, warmly.
“Hey, everything alright?” he greets her, his gaze focused on the newspaper in his hands. He loves to solve the little quizzes that come in the end, the one Vi’s not interested at all to do. She knows this one is harder than usual because he has his glasses on, a sign of a focused mind.
She hums in agreement, sitting next to him until she’s at his eye level. He’s unaware of the way her heart’s beating against her chest, the clock on the wall tics slower.
“Grayson called.” She finds her voice to say it, neutral as possible.
“Hm. How’s she doing?”
“Good.” She focuses her gaze on the kitchen table, not wanting to see the expression of content in his face now that there’s a chance to be alone again, no pink-haired girl invading his space. “She said she found a new placement for me.”
He stills, now looking at her, “Oh,” he seems to gather her demeanor now, more conscious of the wave of sadness that’s flooding her body, “that’s good, isn’t it?”
She nods, not trusting her voice not to break if she tries speaking again. He watches her silently.
“You’re not happy about it?” he asks softly, the way he tends to speak when he notices she’s having a tough time.
She shakes her head, still looking down. He doesn’t ask why, but she tells him anyway, she trusts him enough to be honest about it, “I wanted to stay with you.”
It’s the most transparent she has been since staying here, she’s not keen on having heart to heart conversations with people that only take her in for the money the government provides, but right now she’s having a nice time getting a break from all the constant chaos her life is, and she doesn’t want to let it go just when she’s letting herself enjoy it.
“Oh, Vi.” He whispers, getting up in a slow motion to not scare her, kneeling next to her so he can see her face, “Why didn’t you tell me that? We can talk with Grayson, arrange for you to stay with me a little longer if that’s what you want.”
“She said you only take emergencies; I’m not supposed to stay here.” Her voice comes out wobbly, no longer managing to hide the few tears that threaten to spill.
He seems to consider his answer for a few seconds, “Well, that’s true, but most kids look forward to finding a placement they can settle in. You’re the first one that tells me they want to stay here.”
She doesn’t buy it, “It’s not your responsibility to take me in. Grayson already said that.”
“You’re right, it’s not. But I want to.” He tells her softly, squeezing her arm in a comforting way.
“I don’t want to burden you. I’ve already had more than what I’m used to.” She whispers. He shakes his head.
“You’re not a burden, Vi, I’d love to have you here for as long as you want.” He keeps caressing her shoulder, trying to calm her down. “You’re not a bad kid and you even help me with the dishes. You know how hard it is to make kids your age eat what I cook? You’re the perfect guest!” he teases lightly, making Vi laugh softly.
“To be fair, your cooking is amazing.” She replies, the heavy weight in her chest no longer aching the way it should be.
“That’s true, kiddo.” He nods, proud, “Tell you what, you stay here until you can manage some table manners, deal?” he teases.
“I may have to stay here forever.” She meant it as a joke, but her voice comes out way more serious than she had intended to. There’s a light hope in it, the feeling of want invading her body.
“Forever it is, then.” And she knows he means it.
Their routine doesn’t change that much. Vander keeps cooking and telling awful jokes, Vi keeps eating and laughing.
She had been nervous about calling Grayson, fearing that she wouldn’t accept to let Vi stay. Vander and her had talked for almost an hour before he came in through the kitchen telling Vi to not pack her bags. They weren’t in the hugging stage yet, but Vi breaks it just for that moment. Vander meets the embrace with the same fierceness.
She still has to start in her new school, but Vander tells her not to rush about it and that she can take as long as she needs before going back. She doesn’t complain.
In this new, peaceful environment, she goes back to her one hobby: drawing. Vander observes it from a distance, letting her space to do whatever she wants in her free time, he sometimes takes peaks at what she’s drawing, people, animals, machinery, and so on. Around the third time he catches her struggling to use the little pencil she has left, he disappears in the middle of the day only to return with a full set of drawing things; pencils, sketchbooks, paintbrushes. She feels lightheaded when thanking him, overwhelmed over the sudden excitement her passions are met with.
Around the end of the second month living with him, she tells him she’s ready to go back to school. He nods, newspaper in hand, and tells her to start listing the things she’ll need before going back.
School is… boring. Mostly.
Kids are loud and superficial, only focusing on things like crushes or prom, which is totally what Vi’s not thinking about right now. She’s more worried about being sent back into the system (Vander keeps repeating her that’s not going to happen, but she worries anyway) for her behavioral issues and... shitty attitude in general. She knows he wouldn't do that, but it's hard to believe him when it has happened in the past.
History is hard, math too, her teachers keep insisting that she should find a tutor, but she knows how much they cost, so she won’t. She’s fine.
Right now, at this exact moment, her biggest problem is the girl sitting next to her; perfect student, clearly loved by all the teachers (not too popular among the kids, though). She’s the perfect picture of everything Vi despises and it’s driving her crazy.
“You wrote it wrong.” The voice next to her snaps her out of her mind. The blue-haired girl is looking at the paper sheet.
“What?”
“You wrote ‘imformation’ instead of ‘information’, do you see it?”
She doesn’t see the mistake; the word looks fine in her notebook. She doesn’t point it out, though.
“Right, thanks.” She doesn’t sound convinced. The girl keeps looking at her and it’s making Vi furious, couldn’t she mind her own business?
“You’re still not correcting it.” She points out and Vi snaps.
“What the fuck is your problem? Do you point out every person’s mistakes for a living?” sarcasm dripping her voice. The girl seems taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. Vi doesn’t feel guilty about it.
“No, I— sorry.” She lowers her voice, looking down her own paper sheet. She resumes her writing without bothering Vi again. Good.
It wouldn’t be such a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that every other table in the classroom is already occupied and clearly no one is open about letting some random kid with pink hair and bloody knuckles sit next to them. So, the following week she sits next to the only other person who’s as lonely as she is.
She’s been going to school for almost two weeks now and it’s only on Wednesdays that she must share space with the blue-haired girl. It can’t be that bad, can it?
It is that bad, in fact.
It’s not the worst bank mate she’s ever had; when she was 10, she used to sit next to a boy who would constantly try to put gum in her hair, so this is 100 times better than that, but still.
The girl, Caitlyn, keeps correcting every single mistake Vi makes in her homework. The first few times after their little encounter is mostly just Caitlyn looking silently at her side of the table until Vi grows too tired and asks her what she did wrong.
“That sentence should be on past tense.”
“You’re supposed to put an ‘p’, not a ‘j’.”
“The result of that multiplication is 125, not 70.”
She’s not exactly known for being patient, but mostly she just sticks to correcting her mistakes without a second glance Caitlyn’s way. The girl doesn’t ask for a thank you, so Vi doesn’t bother.
Around the third Wednesday, her curiosity gets the better of her and she asks:
“Don’t you have any friends to bother them about their spelling mistakes?”
The blue-haired’s expression falls, something close to sadness crossing her face. Vi convinces herself she doesn’t feel bad about it.
“I suppose people don’t like to talk to me because of who I am.” She states, quietly.
In Vi’s head, it doesn’t make any sense, she scoffs “And who are you? The Queen of fucking England?”
“I’m—” something like recognition passes her face, she stops herself before settling with: “No one.”
Vi hums, half-listening, “Right.”
“And she constantly points out the things I do wrong in my tests.”
Vander hums, listening to her rambling. He’s making meatloaf again, Vi loves it.
“Maybe she wants to help you get better grades.” He washes his hands before looking for something inside the fridge. She scoffs.
“Why would she want that? She just likes to remind me how smart she is and how stupid I am for not knowing what a fucking proverb is, or whatever.”
He keeps looking at the stove, “Or maybe she wants to be your friend.”
She rolls her eyes, Vander’s too innocent about teenagers, he truly believes they have good intentions about everything they do. They don’t.
“Yeah, sure. The only reason she talks to me in the first place is probably because of the fact that she’s lonelier than I am.” He raises a single eyebrow at her, “It’s true! She doesn’t talk to anybody at school except for the teachers and I’ve seen her sitting alone during lunch.”
“And who do you sit with during lunch?”
She stops. “Nobody.”
“Well, it seems like you two are perfect for each other.”
Vi ignores him, focusing on her sketchbook. She’s been drawing dragons lately, they’re fucking cool creatures.
She doesn’t need friends. She’s better on her own, anyway. And she has Vander now, too, so. She doesn’t want no one else.
“Friend or not, I’m sure she means no harm.” Vander proceeds, catching her attention, “As long as she doesn’t cause you any trouble, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
She hums, “Yeah, she’s okay, and if she ever tries to do so, I’ll make sure to let her know what I think.” She threatens. The girl is a bit taller than her, but she doesn’t have the experience Vi has. She could take her down in the blink of an eye. Vander doesn’t seem to approve of her thinking.
“Let’s try to stay out of trouble, okay?” he says softly.
“Okay” she nods. “But I still don’t like her, she’s a pain in the ass.”
Vander snorts loudly.
Their little dispute ends up in a truce. Caitlyn’s idea.
They agree to stay out of each other’s business, Caitlyn keeps correcting her grammar mistakes and Vi accepts it, mostly. Neither of them points out the fact that they have no one else to talk to. Vi ignores her during lunch and Caitlyn does the same, so they’re fine.
What it’s not fine is the fact that she’s trying to use the bathroom in peace when multiple voices start arguing. Right there, in the bathroom of all places.
“Do you even plan on getting that tooth-gap fixed?” a girl’s fake laugh fills the air.
“I—” Oh. That sounded like Caitlyn.
“All that money and you can’t fix the one thing that ruins your face,” girl number 2 lets out a loud laugh, “your parents truly are something else.”
Vi would really like to not be disturbed right now, but it seems like that won’t be the case today, so she flushes the toilet and comes out of her stall.
“Hey!”
Two girls look her way, their perfect hair matching their perfect shitty attitude. The third girl, Caitlyn, seems startled by Vi’s presence.
“Who are you?” one of the girls snorts, like she’s looking at a rat.
“Nobody, just leave her alone. Get a hobby.” She doesn’t need to be threatening, her looks are enough to scare them away, too disgusted by being intercept by a kid who seems like she went to juvie. She didn’t. Grayson managed to save her ass that one time.
“Whatever, let’s just go.” They don’t look at Caitlyn on their way out.
Finally, she’s alone again. Mostly. Caitlyn is still there, looking at her.
“What?” she snaps. Caitlyn’s eyes widen.
“Nothing, I— thank you.” Caitlyn looks like she wants to say more. Vi’s not interested in listening.
“Yeah, whatever.”
That evening, she tells Vander about the little encounter. He smiles at her, warmly, and Vi doesn’t know what to do with it.
She’s sitting at her table during lunch next Monday when a flash of blue hair comes at her.
“What do you want?” she chews loudly, Caitlyn winces but doesn’t comment on it.
“May I sit with you?” she has a little bag with something that she probably bought from the cafeteria. Vi doesn’t. Vander prepares her meals. They taste way better.
She keeps a tight grip on the plastic bag with both hands, probably in a nervous gesture. Vi thinks it’s kind of cute (she doesn’t admit it to herself).
“Why?”
“I wanted to thank you about what you did the other day.”
Vi dismisses her with her hand, “It was nothing.” She focuses on a piece of carrot, chewing absently.
Caitlyn doesn’t accept it, “It meant something for me. Here,” she opens the plastic bag, pulling out a candy bar, “consider this a thank you.”
She takes the candy bar, muttering a low thank you before eating it in a span of 2 minutes. Caitlyn watches her, hesitantly. Vi raises her eyebrows.
“I asked if I could sit with you. You haven’t answered my question.”
She’s stubborn enough, Vi will give her that. She nods and Caitlyn gives her a little smile before sitting in front of her.
For the first time, lunch at school doesn’t feel as lonely as she’s used to.