Aᴘʀɪʟ 13, 2020.
"Why am I here?" Alessia asks, at which Petro's lips stretch into a thin smile.
He rebuts with a question, "Do you know who you are?"
The girl purses her chapped lips, staring at him blankly, an answer already at the tip of her tongue. "Of course. . ." She needs not to overthink to know what she is in her own eyes. "Nothing." Her eyes seem to gleam through her bangs, piercing into his own. "I exist, I'm neither dead nor alive. I was born with monsters—"
"Well, there's your answer." Petro cuts her out quickly, dragging a hand down his face and letting out a nervous breath. That's. . . intense.
Her head tilts to the left. "I don't get it."
"Alexa—"
"Alessia." She corrects, causing him to give her a stern look.
He continues, "You're here, because in this foundation, I give kids like you a reason."
Adhere to everything that she's been through, Alessia doesn't question him on anything else, automatically accepting that this is where life has lead her. The least she can do now, is try to adjust. She turns from both men and peers out the glass window, mumbling, "I don't want a mere reason. What do I do to achieve a purpose?"
Petro who has been giving hand signals to Micheal, to browse information on the girl so that he can read it later, clears his throat. "Basically, you and everyone else here belongs to me. This is my foundation, you follow my orders. Your reason will continue to change, but your purpose me."
"Okay."
His eyebrows lift at her simplicity, before he huffs, "Good." Then, he rises from his seat and exits the room, slightly chilled from his first encounter with the girl. He tugs at the white collar of his undershirt, loosening a button for air as Micheal follows behind him like the tail he is.
Petro wastes no time, sitting heavily in his office chair after entering his private space and he takes the tablet, scrolling through the gathered info on his newest student. Slowly, he takes in the news of the death of her mother, how it happened. He indulges in her years of abuse and neglect; years with her own parent and then, a year with her dead mother's ex-boyfriend who will soon lead his gang of Hispanic fools to their demise. Petro feels a heavy weight on his chest, putting the tablet aside. Thinking, his eyes jitter all over his office, before he pushes up and out of his chair, getting the need to personally train this little girl, plus she's already at the back of the class.
He barges into the room she's in, couped up in bed and she doesn't even jump. He feels the weight of her dead stare even though he can't see her eyes. Her face is shadowed and neutral, reminding him of an inescapable void. For a moment, he's trapped, faltering in his steps, before he clears his throat, adjusting his blazer.
"Get up, Alexa," he states, "and come to me."
"My name's—"
"Alexa." And, that's final. She lowers her gaze and gets up.