A/N This is a fan fiction in response to BubbleTea4Me's challenge. I decided to add my own spin to this fiction. The loveable quality about Newsies is that it was a musical. I will add lyrics to, hopefully common songs, as a part of the story to hopefully get depth. This is a trial chapter because I'm not 100 sure on the concept. So let me know if you hate it or love it. Based on reviews, I'll see if I continue or not.
Suffocating. The air was thin, filled with a heaviness that couldn't be explained. Breathing was difficult.
Annabelle Danvers sat at the lavishly decorated dinner table. The surrounding people were laughing in their arrogant way as they sipped their wine and feasted on their dinner. To them, she was the pink of perfection. Her posture was perfect. Her gown was beautiful and styled to the time. Her chocolate colored hair was piled in curls atop her head and though her dark gray eyes were focused on her hands that lay in her lap, there was no reason to suspect she wasn't in high spirits.
Annabelle choked on her breath as her heart sank. She couldn't stop her racing mind. She felt trapped. Uncomfortable. Her skin was too tight and it itched. Her legs were trembling as she stood and excused herself from the table.
She walked quickly, dodging the many party guests until she burst into the kitchen. The cooks and servants stared at her in confusion, but she ignored them. Her body hurt and her eyes stung with restrained tears. Hatred coursed through her as the door to the kitchen swung open and a tall man with dark eyes and dark hair entered.
"Dearest, whatever is the matter?" he asked as he approached her. He took her small hands into his and held them. "Are you feeling ill?" Annabelle only nodded. She couldn't trust her own voice. It would deceive her. She was never good at lying. "Come then, I will have my driver take you home. Would you like me to escort you?" Annabelle shook her head and allowed the man to usher her back into the dining room. "Guests," he said in a loud voice so everyone stopped their chattering and turned to him. "I'm afraid dear Annabelle is feeling ill so she will be retiring for the evening. She gives her sincerest apologies but wishes all of you to continue to enjoy your evening.
Her words were spoken for her. She no longer had the ability to voice what she thought and if she had, she would have told the guests to choke on their mutton. She hated them. All of them. They were idiotic and had no personality. They flaunted their money and fawned over themselves. Each of them considered themselves the most important person in the world. It was the ego in the room that suffocated her.
Their lifestyle was forced on her since birth. It enclosed her in a prison with no semblance of a hope to escape. No escape in life.
It was a cold night. The edge of winter still lingered in the air and the man wrapped Annabelle's shall around her shoulders as they stood on the stoop of the elegant five story manor. He leaned in to kiss her but she turned and his lips pressed against her cheek. He sighed and brushed a strand of her hair out of her face.
"Goodnight sweet Annabelle, I will call on you in the afternoon tomorrow to see if you are feeling better," he said and helped her into the coach that was led by a team of four black horses. She stared out the window silently as it sped through the streets of New York.
Tears poured out of her eyes. She let them fall freely now that she was alone. Her heart ached as though it was tearing down the middle. Annabelle covered her mouth in hopes of muffling her scream. Her body shook with her sobs. No hope of ever really living. I'm so alone. Something is missing in my heart.
As the coach turned a corner her eye caught something out the window. There was the answer to her problems. Looming in the distance.
"Stop!" Annabelle screamed as soon as the thought entered her mind. The coach came to a screeching halt and Annabelle quickly stumbled out of the cab.
"Everything alright?" the driver asked her. Annabelle discreetly wiped the tears from her eyes and composed herself as much as possible.
"I need a bit of fresh air. Will you circle the block and meet me back here in about twenty minutes?" She asked in the sweetest voice she could muster. The driver looked as though he would protest but Annabelle fixed him with a hard stare. Her request became an order. He nodded and flicked the reins and the horses sped off.
As soon as the coach was out of sight, Annabelle broke into a run. Her feet pounded the pavement and her tears once again streamed down her face.
"Please, please forgive me, but I won't be home again. Maybe someday you'll look up, and, barely conscious, you'll say to no one: "Isn't something missing? You won't cry for my absence, I know -You forgot me long ago. Am I that unimportant...? Am I so insignificant...?Isn't something missing? Isn't someone missing me?"
Annabelle collapsed against the metal pole. Beyond it lay the Brooklyn bridge. Her salvation. It was late in the night. The streets were nearly empty and Annabelle slowly walked along the sidewalk. She felt the night wrap around her and for the first time in her life she began to feel free in her solitude. Though she was unaware of the pair of eyes watching her.
"Even though I'm the sacrifice, You won't try for me, not now. Though I'd die to know you love me, I'm all alone. Isn't someone missing me?"
She stood at the center of the bridge. Her face was wet with tears as she stepped onto the railing. Slowly, she pulled her dress up and swung one leg over the railing, then the other. Her heart beat wildly against her chest as she turned her back to the railing, her hands gripping it on either side of her. The East river raged below her.
"Please, please forgive me, but I won't be home again. Maybe someday you'll look up, And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one: "Isn't something missing? Even though I'm the sacrifice, You won't try for me, not now. Though I'd die to know you love me, I'm all alone. Isn't someone missing me?"
Images of her mother and father flashed across her mind. She remembered the way they smelled, she could hear their voices in her mind. Telling her they loved her, but she was too young to know what love was. Then she saw the matching black coffins. The white roses. The portrait in the hall. She had smashed it. It was a pointless object that only reminded her of the life she should have had.
"And if I bleed, I'll bleed, knowing you don't care. And if I sleep just to dream of you. I'll wake without you there, isn't something missing? Isn't something..." She took a deep breath and began to let go.
"I wouldn't do that if I was you," a deep male voice broke through the fog of Annabelle's mind. She gasped and instinctively tightened her grip on the railing. She turned her head to see a boy a little older that she was standing behind her.
"Go away!" she said, her voice cracking. Her throat became suddenly dry and she couldn't catch her breath.
"Come on now, let me help ya over the railin' and back on solid ground," the boy said and he took a step toward her.
"Stop, get back!" she yelled. "I'm jumping and you can't stop me. Just go away!" she could hear the frenzy in her voice, but ignored it. Her body was shaking with adrenaline. The boy ignored her protest however and took another step toward her. She turned her head as far as she could to see him. "Stop!" he did. He patted his pockets until he found what he was looking for. He removed a pack of cigarettes and placed one in his mouth. Annabelle didn't notice he was slowly edging toward her.
"Want one?" he asked as he extended his arm and held the packet out. She shook her head and looked down at the water below. "Why not, scared they'll kill ya?" the boy asked with a chuckle.
"Are you making fun of me?" Annabelle asked as she snapped her head toward him. It was then she noticed he was leaning against the railing a few feet from her. He struck a match, lit the cigarette and blew out a puff before speaking.
"Nah, just jokin in general. Besides, if I was about ta jump off a bridge, I'd want a cig before I died. Calm the noives," he answered. "Sides, I'd need ta calm my noives before killin myself in such a painful way. Yous must got guts ta do it like this."
"What do you mean?" Annabelle asked keeping her eyes focused on the strange boy. "Painful how?" The boy turned and leaned his back against the railing and folded his arms across his chest.
"Well," he began, "it aint like you'd be dead when ya hit the water so smackin against it would be like divin head foist into the ground. Hard enough to break some bones, ya know? Then, yous ganna sink into the ice cold water."
"Cold?" Annabelle asked. The boy nodded, took another drag of his cigarette, and tossed it over the edge and they both watched the red spark vanish below them.
"Ya, real cold. Its like needles stabbin ya all over ya body. You can't swim 'cause of the impact of the fall. Then your lungs begin ta burn as you sink deeper and deeper into the dark. Then, if yous don't pass out soon enough yous ganna feel your lung explode in ya chest, and ya body writhe in pain before ya finally drown." The boy looked at her as she starred at the water below. "So, if yous ask my opinion, it aint no way for a goil as pretty as yous ta be dyin. So why don't ya let me help you back over the railin now."
"No," Annabelle said as she began to cry again. "I don't care how painful it is, its worth it to escape them." The boy sighed and subtly moved toward her. He was almost in arms reach, then, even if she did jump, he'd catch her.
"Escape who, doll? Who's got ya so upset that ya ganna kill yaself?" He needed to keep her talking. Keep her focused on him and not on jumping. He moved closer. Almost there.
"Everyone! Their fake smiles, their fake sympathy. I hate them. I hate everyone. I feel so trapped. So alone. I just want to die!"
"Aint you got someone that ya care about? I bet there are lots 'a people that care about you," he said and moved closer. He was finally in arms reach. He was close enough to see her shaking, close enough to hear the chatter of her teeth as she shivered.
"No, you don't understand there is no one. No one cares about me, the real me, they just control me and parade me around. They just want me for my money and my name. I'm alone," her voice dropped to a whisper. He was losing her.
"Then you're lettin them win," he said suddenly. He was changing tactics. "If you jump, then they get ya money without a fight. Ya can't let what other people do control ya! Ya gatta stand up for yaself and fight back!" This seemed to be working. He could see her breathing even and her mind begin to race. "Come on, if ya stick around, ya can show all a them jerks that yous stronger than they give ya credit for." Annabelle sniffled. "Come on," he said gently. Annabelle took in a sharp breath as he whispered in her ear. She hadn't realized he was that close. "Give me your hand." She looked down at his calloused hand as he held it in front of her.
He gently took her left hand into his right and she slowly turned to face him. Annabelle felt her heart skip a beat as her dark gray eyes met his silvery blue ones.
"What's ya name?" he asked in a soft tone. Annabelle had to force her mind to understand his question as a million thoughts raced obtrusively.
"Annabelle, Annabelle Danvers," she said taking a deep breath. The boy grinned and Annabelle felt she may never be able to look away.
"Nice ta meet ya Annabelle, I'm Spot Conlon." She smiled. Not a fake smile, not a forced smile, a real genuine smile. "Come on now, it'll be a nicer conversation if both our feet are on solid ground." Annabelle chuckled despite the situation. She put her hand on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her waist and began lifting her over the railing. Just as she was halfway over, he felt her slipping from his arms.
"Spot!" she screamed as she slipped farther down. The hem of her dress was caught on the lower part of the railing and the more she struggled the farther she fell.
"I got ya," he said and held onto her tighter. She clung to him as he pulled her back. Annabelle whimpered as the fabric refused to give. "Hold on to me," he said and removed a knife from his pocket. She gasped as the silver blade caught the moonlight. "Trust me," he said holding her eyes. She nodded and he cut away at the fabric. It ripped and Annabelle toppled over the railing on top of Spot. Her body shook and he wrapped his arms around her. "Its ok, I got ya now," he whispered as she laid her head on his chest.
"Are you alright?" she asked as she met his eyes. He grinned again and Annabelle became aware of the precarious position they were in. "Oh, I'm sorry," she nearly cried as she rolled off of him. He jumped up quickly and helped her to her feet. Her legs were still trembling and she fell into his embrace.
"No problem," he said looking down at her. He took a moment to study her. She was beautiful. Her dark gray eyes were still red and puffy, her cheeks were flushed, and her chocolate colored hair was flowing wildly around her face. He brushed a strand out of her eyes and wiped a tear from under her eye. He felt her shiver in his arms and he quickly removed his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Where can I walk you to?" he asked.
"Oh," Annabelle said and for the first time she felt incredibly embarrassed. "That's not necessary." Spot looked sternly at her and she quickly adverted her gaze. "I'm sure I can find my own way."
"Ya, so ya can get mugged on ya way home. I think I may have given ya the wrong impression of New York. Not everyone is as nice as I am, doll." Annabelle couldn't help but laugh and Spot took her arm and linked it with his. "Come on, then."
Annabelle felt better once they were off the bridge and slowly making their way through Manhattan toward her home. Annabelle wasn't entirely sure of the way to her house, but Spot seemed to know the streets like the back of his hand. She told him the neighborhood and he grinned as he took the lead.
They walked in silence for a long time and Annabelle began to feel nervous around Spot. He was nearly a head taller than her and she could tell by holding his arm that he was strong. A key hung from a piece of string around his neck, and a gold tipped cane was stuck in his belt loop. His dark blonde hair fell over his silver eyes and made him look almost regal in the moonlight.
"Do I got somethin on my face?" he asked keeping his gaze straight ahead. Annabelle blushed and looked away.
"No, sorry," she mumbled and Spot laughed. They were rapidly approaching her house and Annabelle felt the familiar tightness of her skin and the sinking of her heart. "Is your name really Spot?" she asked suddenly.
"Yes," he said nonchalantly. "Is your name really Annabelle?" She would have thought his comment rude, had he not looked down at her with smiling eyes. They stood in front of a tall Victorian style house made of dark red bricks and ivory stone. Spot Whistled as he took it in. "Nice digs." Annabelle couldn't manage to smile at his jest.
"I hate it," she said to herself but Spot overheard. He stood in front of her between her and the large house.
"So I gatta ask," he said, his tone taking a more serious tone. "What did these people do to ya that made ya wanna die?" Annabelle momentarily felt angry at his intrusive question.
"You wouldn't understand," she said softly. Spot stopped her as she was about to walk around him. He took her hand in his and she looked up at him.
"Try me," he insisted. Annabelle sighed and removed her hand from his. She took a step away from him and crossed her arms.
"My whole world is controlled. Every morning I wake up and my day is planned for me. I have no say on whether I sit or stand. I'm not allowed to think for myself, speak for myself. I'm in a prison. I just want to scream!" Annabelle shouted, her words becoming angrier and angrier.
"Easy there," Spot said placing his hands on her shoulders. "I got it." Annabelle tensed and sat down on the curb. Spot sat next to her and watched as a tear rolled down her pale cheek. "Ya talked to ya parents about this?"
"I don't have parents," she said quietly. "They died when I was five." Spot grimaced. "In a fire, it was a long time ago. I don't really remember them. I miss them though; I miss the idea of having parents. Do you have parents?"
"No, mine died a long time ago too." Spot had never told anyone that before. He wondered what had made him say it now. Maybe it was that this girl had been vulnerable with him, or maybe it was that he felt strangely comfortable around her. He wished he didn't. He had never let anyone get close to him. It was a weakness that he couldn't afford to show. "Come on," he said standing up and extending a hand to her. She took it and he noticed she was limping slightly. "What's wrong?" he asked. He helped her sit on the front stair and knelt in front of her. He looked up at her for permission and she nodded. He lifted the hem of her dress and slid it up her leg. Her left knee was skinned and bleeding.
"Ouch," she said as he began pulling her stocking down. His thumb grazed the smooth skin of her calf and Annabelle inadvertently shivered. Spot grinned as he saw the small Goosebumps appear and he took the handkerchief she was handing him. He dabbed at her knee and she winced. Spot gently blew on it sending a new wave of shivers through her. "Thank you." She said as he looked up at her.
"Anytime," he said with a smile. "I guess you should be going inside now. Someone will be looking for you." Annabelle nodded but her heart was constricting.
"Will I see you again?" Spot was surprised by her question. Her eyes pleaded with him. The door to the house suddenly burst opened. The tall, dark-haired man from before stood in the open doorway with a scowl on his face.
" Annabelle, where have you been? I was worried about you…what's going on?" he asked and jogged down the few steps. He saw a strange boy dressed like a Newsie with his hands on Annabelle's knee.
"James," Annabelle said standing up. "I-uh, we, um." Annabelle turned to look at Spot who was starring down James. "I needed some air and stopped the coach. I slipped and skinned my knee. Mr. Conlon was good enough to help me home." Spot looked at Annabelle with surprise and Annabelle gave him a look that begged him to play along.
"Ya, you uh might wanna clean that cut. It looked pretty bad." James stepped between Annabelle and Spot.
"Well then Mr. Conlon, I have you to thank for returning my fiancé," James said extending a hand to Spot. He looked at Annabelle but her eyes were on the ground. He shook James's hand, both fighting for the stronger grip. "Go inside dearest. There is a bath prepared for you." Annabelle was about to protest but James gave her a stern look. "Dearest, it's late." Annabelle nodded.
"Goodnight Mr. Conlon, thank you for your assistance." She curtsied and walked into the house. At the doorway she turned and gave Spot a genuine smile. He nodded to her.
"Indeed, goodnight Mr. Conlon. I'm sure you need your rest to sell the morning addition." Spot gave a bitter chuckle and nodded before turning and walking down the street. He looked over his shoulder as James entered the house closing the door behind him. He ducked in the alley next to Annabelle's house and waited.
Ten minutes passed and there was no sound from inside. Time ticked by at a deathly slow pace.
Twenty minutes later, James emerged in his coat and hat. He entered a coach that was parked out front and a driver steered the horses down the street in the opposite direction.
Another ten minutes later and the lights in the house went dark. Still he waited. A light on the third story turned on and he heard a window scrape open. Above him he heard footsteps on the fire escape. He pulled the ladder down and helped Annabelle as she climbed down.
"I wasn't sure if you'd still be here," she said in a slightly breathless voice. He chuckled and leaned against the wall.
"I had ta, you still got my coat." Annabelle blushed and looked back up at the lit window.
"I forgot it in my room," she said feeling guilty that she had not brought it back. Spot grinned and shrugged.
"Tell ya what; ya can give it back ta me tomorrow." Annabelle's face lit up. "We's ganna work on this you not makin decisions for yaself. So tomorrow, ya ganna meet me at Central Park aroun two. Ya got it?"
"I'll try," she said. Spot gave her a stern look. "I'll be there, then." She corrected herself and Spot grinned again.
"Have a good night, Annabelle. I'll see ya tomorrow at two." Annabelle nodded, turned to the fire escape, then back to Spot. She smiled one last time before climbing back up. Spot waited until she was safely inside her room and the light was extinguished before he began the long walk back to Brooklyn. "What a night," he chuckled shaking his head.
A/N 'Something Missing' by Evanescence.