Title: "An Afternoon at the Mall"
Author: Pamala Characters: Jesse Pinkman POV with thoughts on Walt Category: Gen Rating: PG for harsh language Disclaimer: I know they're not mine. I'm old and tired so, PTB, please don't slap me around for playing with your toys.
Summary: A stop at the mall, immediately following events in the season one finale, has Jesse pondering his destructive relationship with Mr. White. Authors notes: Bet you're getting tired of me writing Jesse, huh? I'm trying to tap into Walt but so far he simply won't talk to me.
Thanks: To Ilurvemv for the quick and masterful beta. To all those who read this because I love writing for this show and sharing it with others is pure joy to me.
While I've got no clue exactly why it is I'm sitting in the food court at Cottonwood sucking down on a triple thick vanilla DQ shake, I suppose it's not hard to guess.
It's as good as any place at the moment (and frankly a whole hell of a lot better than hanging back at the old homestead, with all those deeds and demons gnawing away at my brain).
A little hiding out at the mall?
Why the hell not!
I had to go somewhere after the junkyard. And this little move had just the right touch of irony to cap off yet another thoroughly messed up day.
Sitting near the edge of the row of tables, slouched and reclined as best as I can in a stupid mesh metal chair that bites into my ass and thighs (for the proper cool points and nothing more), I'm able to see a good distance down the storefront's packed hall: three guys with their hoodies up, trying to look casual (but not quite pulling it off) as they trade shopping bags filled with shit I know ain't Cottonwood purchases.
I watch them and I know every move as the deal goes down.
They do their business discreetly and turn to walk away without a single eye - other than my own - paying them the least bit of attention.
Just one more all-American drug deal with a trendy American Eagle window display as a neat backdrop.
Transaction completed, I laugh quietly to myself and turn to my left ...
... turn toward *him,* the ' I told you so! ' written all over a knowing smirk and victorious shake of the head, until it hits me that no matter how much I've gotten used to him and trust him, he's not there now, nor ever there when you get right down to it.
As the players disappearing around the corner and out of sight, my thoughts shift fully to him.
Casting my eyes down to the cool cup that's become damp with sweat from my hands' suddenly heated grip, I find myself pondering this wicked turn in my life called Mr. White…no matter how much I strive to focus my mind elsewhere.
This thing is completely out of control already.
I'm racing full speed at a brick wall with nothing to slow me down.
Rocketing full throttle toward destruction and I can't make myself grab hold of the wheel because my brain's warped by what's supposed to be right and wrong. Warped by the thought that the guy next to me, the one with his foot on the gas, is supposed to be someone I can trust to do the right thing.
Running my thumb over the beads of water rolling down the cardboard cup, I can't help but wonder if maybe this is what it's like for those kids that end up all messed up after being molested by those creepy ass church dudes Ma and Pa told them they could always trust.
I'm not a kid.
This ain't no church...
... but I sure as hell know what it's liked to get fucked by an authority figure.