Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING! (see author's note for more details)
Title: Violence Recovery
Author: Buttons
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13 (subject to change)
Summary: 'There is only so far you can go before you've had enough. I guess for me, it was when my brother died. Not everything in life is certain, but some things definitely are: the feeling of needing to survive and of needing to get by ring clear.' The story of life after fleeing home and the support a stranger and friends can give you. They may not be perfect, but life isn't as hard anymore. Things will get better.
A/n: a shelter, like the one in the story, called LOVE, inspired this story. It is for teens suffering from domestic abuse, and the like. Please read and review. Plus, everyone says 'Buttons always writes short chapters!' well, this shows them! Three thousand-plus words! Muahahahahaha!
"I change the world; the world changes me...everything you do comes back to you. When you affect a situation, you are also affected." –Virginia Doyle, A Great and Terrible Beauty
Chapter 1—The InvitationThere comes the moment in everyone's life when they just wish to die.
Not die of embarrassment: when the coolest girl in school turns you down. Or even of shame: when you have that dream about forgetting your pants, except it's not a dream this time. Eventually you will forget these things. They will fade away, only to be remembered when skimming through your high school yearbook, or at your ten-year reunion. What I mean is more memorable. You'll never forget it. No matter what you do, there will always be the nagging plea for death.
0o0o0o0
Things at my home were always rocky. My mother couldn't settle down. She'd flitter from one man to the next in a pattern I could not decipher. She would stay with the worst ones the longest, leaving those who treated her (and us) the best. She pushed away everyone who was ever good to her, like she didn't deserve them.
Fine for me to say, all of this. I ran away after all.
But I had to.
My brother was dead. The asshole killed him and went for me.
The sight of him dead on the floor made me sick to my stomach. His fresh blood, his bruised skin, his open, blank and staring eyes. That's when I knew I wanted to die.
My brother's name was Lucas. My younger brother. My eight-year-old brother. He'd be nine now, I am sixteen and not sure what I'm doing.
Where did I run? Shelters, hostels, street corners. You never think about what it would be like, sitting on the corner with an old McDonalds cup, begging for change.
This has lasted for three months. It is October, threatening with the ever-close winter season.
"How would you like a warm bed and some food?" asks a passer-by.
I stare at him. He is middle-aged and thin, sparse hair, but still full of colour. His cheeks are pink and his breath forms a cloud between us.
I know we're always taught not to go with strangers, but there's nothing bad that could happen that hasn't already. I stand up and follow him.
0o0o0o0
He takes me to a large house on the outskirts of New York City.
The man owns it. His name is Bryan Denton.
"Welcome to the Violence Recovery Centre for Teens. Just say VRCT, for short."
The furniture is sparse, but that walls are covered in tacked-up photographs.
To the left of the entrance it a wooden staircase and to the right is a narrow hallway, also lined with photos.
There is a boy sitting on the steps when I come in. His eyes search my face before he stands up and steps towards me.
"I'm Jack," he says, offering his hand.
My fingers are cold, the tips of them numb, but I shake his hand and manage a weak smile.
"Jack," says Denton, removing his jacket and hanging it up, "go get the others, I want them to meet..."
He looks to me.
"Oh, it's Simon," I say quickly.
"I want them to meet Simon."
Then he leads me down the narrow hall and into a kitchen, which is colourful and spicy. There are three kids sitting at a table playing cards. They are quiet. The girl shifts here cards and sighs. The boys look up.
"Skittery, Andra, David, this is Simon."
Skittery smiles. He has brown-blonde hair that is to his chin. His eyes are large and green, and he has a gleaming pink scar under his left eye. When he stands, I see that he is very tall, his legs taking up most of his six-foot-plus height.
"I'll get the others," he offers.
"No, that's OK," says Mr. Denton, opening a can of soup and slopping it into a pot, "Jack's already gone."
Andra is shuffling her cards around again. Beneath her torn cargo pants and oversized t-shirt she looks tiny. Her brown hair is gleaming, reaching her shoulders and flipping out in a sixties style. Her eyes are dark and empty against her pale skin. She sniffs and wipes her nose on her sleeve. I can see bruises on her neck, purple and yellow.
The other boy, David, has opened a book beside him. His bright blue eyes dart across the page. His brown hair is curly and tight against his head. His shoulders are broad under his worn t-shirt.
I clench my hands together.
The boy called Jack enters the kitchen.
"They're coming," he tells us.
Mr. Denton stirs the soup. "I think we'll meet in the rec room. There'll be more room for us to sit."
The soup begins to simmer, sending the smell of broth and beef around the house. Mr. Denton looks to me.
"You're not allergic to anything, are you?" he asks.
I shake my head. I just want some soup. All I've eaten the last week is an apple, a couple bagels and a cup of coffee every morning. He pours the soup into a bowl and hands it to me along with a spoon.
Mr. Denton, Jack, Skittery, Andra, David and I leave to the hall and off to a larger room. It is painted with very white walls and bright lighting. There is an old pool table in the centre of it and a television surrounded by chairs and a couch to the side. The walls are covered in childish writing in blue, red and yellow.
"Those are our feelings," explains David softly when he notices me looking at them.
The scrawl reads different poems and words. Hate, longing, fear, mistrust, judgment.
Mr. Denton stands in front of the TV and the rest of us sit on the seats provided. I hear a clamouring from upstairs. The first one in the room is a short girl. She has dark, wild frizzy hair and brown eyes. Her skin is pale and freckled. Around her thin neck she has tied a polka-dotted scarf and she is wearing jeans and a solid red shirt. She walks slowly to the seating area and sinks into the couch beside Andra. She eyes me carefully before talking.
"Autumn won't leave her room," she says very quietly.
Mr. Denton sighs and rubs his head. "Andra, will you get her please?"
Andra stands up shakily and proceeds to the door. On her way she brushes past another boy. The first thing I notice is his eye patch. It is brown and suede, the strap obvious against his blondish hair. He doesn't smile. He sits down gingerly on the edge of a chair and looks to Denton.
I sip my soup, relishing the smooth taste. It warms me up right to my stomach. I wolf it down. Upstairs I hear crying.
A tall woman appears at the door. She has wild red hair and wide green eyes. She looks distressed.
"Bryan, Autumn's done it again," she says.
Denton swears under his breath and rushes from the room. "Introduce yourselves. Simon, you'll meet the rest tomorrow and you'll room with Blink tonight. ."
Then he leaves, rushing towards the crying girl.
Jack looks around. "Well," he says slowly, "I'm Jack."
I nod. I knew that.
"And this is Skittery, we're the youth planners. Skittery is nineteen and I'm twenty. We're past sufferers of domestic violence."
Skittery smiles wanly.
Jack looks around. "Anyone else?"
David sighs. "I'm David. Sixteen."
The girl with the polka-dotted scarf speaks next. "Coin, also sixteen." She doesn't meet my eye.
The boy with the eye patch is Kid Blink, he's seventeen years old.
Jack checks the watch on his wrist. "It's getting late guys. Blink, show Simon the room, will you? I've got to get to bed early."
"How old are you Simon?" Blink asks me as we walk to the kitchen so I can put my bowl away.
"Sixteen," I say.
There's not a lot of talking here. Things are slow and delicate. I'm afraid to tell people what happened. Maybe they'll judge me. Maybe they won't care. Maybe everyone here is just hiding from what happened to them, afraid to face the real world.
Our room is small, only the size of a large walk-in closet. There are two twin-sized beds on either wall, with a window between them. At the ends are identical dressers with mirrors. Blink's side has photographs pinned up on it, just like the hallway downstairs. His dresser is littered with papers and a camera. Each bed is made with a thick quilt with red and yellow fabrics.
"That's your side," says Blink, pointing to the bed.
I sit down on it. He sits down across from me, on his.
"Dinner is at six-thirty," he tells me, "lunch is at twelve and breakfast is at seven-thirty on weekdays and at eight-thirty on weekends. We eat downstairs in the dining room. It's bigger than the kitchen, there's too many of us to eat in there."
"How many kids are there?" I ask.
"Including Denton, Medda, Skittery and Jack, there's almost twenty of us."
I look around. "And we can all fit in here?"
Blink shrugs. "Yeah, almost everyone shares a room. Denton and Medda's offices double as theirs."
My mouth forms an 'O'.
The eye that isn't hidden behind an eye patch is electric blue. He spots me looking at it.
"Wondering what happened?" he asks awkwardly.
I shrug. "I guess, kinda."
"School fight," he says. "Not that big of a deal for me really. A kid brought a gun to school. My best friend was shot right in front of me." His voice doesn't quaver.
I'm surprised he tells me this so readily.
"Don't worry. I can talk about it. Denton and Medda help us with that kind of thing. What happened to you?" He stares at me, scoping me for injuries and the like.
I swallow and choke over my story. He told me, I feel it's my duty to tell him. "My mom's boyfriend beat my brother and me. He beat Lucas to death."
Saying Lucas's name brings a chill to my spine. It's like I can only remember it all now. It floods back in. All the memories.
Out of his drawers Blink pulls a pair of pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt. "They're a bit big, but it will do for now," he says, handing them to me.
I change in the corner and then crawl into bed. Blink turns the light out. "You'll meet everyone else tomorrow," he tells me.
I nod and shut my eyes. Sleep comes easily and when it does, so do the nightmares.
0o0o0o0
In the morning the room is bright. My nightmare ebbs away, leaving me with my thoughts.
Blink is still sleeping. His eye patch is still on and I feel a Pandora's box sensation, curious to know what's under it.
The clock on Blink's dresser reads seven in the morning. I'm not sure what day of the week it is, I haven't been keeping track. The nights on the street corner seemed endless.
I climb out of bed and pull on my pants, which are well worn and covered in grime. It strikes me that I haven't changed, or even bathed, since I ran away.
I find my way downstairs and to the kitchen where Mr. Denton is sitting at the table reading the newspaper. The coffee pot is on, filling the room with its comforting aroma. He smiles when he sees me.
"Simon, there's fruit and yoghurt in the fridge or you can make a bagel or some toast."
My mouth waters. I swallow. "No, that's OK. Can I just take a shower?" I can't believe that I'm so calm. Like nothing's wrong at all.
Denton stands up and leads me down the hall. As we go, he talks.
"The boys' bathroom is on the second floor and the girls' is on the third," he opens the door to a closet and pulls out a clean towel. "Later today I'll be taking you out to get clothes. The others will be in classes with Medda and the boys' teacher, Mr. Seitz."
We climb the stairs and pass many more doors, all shut. Some of them read names: Crutchy, Boots, Jack, Skittery.
The bathroom is at the end of the hall, just past a staircase, which I presume leads to the girls' rooms. The house is very tall and very long.
The bathroom is painted navy blue and has three sinks on a long counter, a toilet, and a shower stall. Mr. Denton shows me where the soap and shampoo are, gives me a toothbrush, and shuts the door after he leaves.
There are plastic cups along the counter. Two blue ones, a green one, three red ones, and two yellow ones. Some of them have razors in them and they all have names. Jack, Skittery, Kid Blink, David, Crutchy, Boots, Racetrack.
I turn the shower on and let the steam fill the room. When I step in I feel the shock of the warmth hitting my flesh, but suddenly my skin is breathing again and open. I turn the water off and towel and dress myself. Then I squeeze the tube of toothpaste onto my toothbrush and scrub at my teeth. I spit and stare at myself in the mirror. Large blue eyes stare back, blinking strongly. My hair looks lighter, longer than before. It hangs in clumps, the beginnings of dreadlocks. My jaw bone is more defined and a shadowing of hair grows on my cheeks and upper lip.
I sigh and rinse my toothbrush off, leaving it at the side of the sink.
When I finally open the door I find someone waiting. I bump into them.
It is a tall boy. He has purple bags under his brown eyes. His hair is cut close and there is stubble growing on the chin of his dark-skinned face.
"Sorry to take so long," I say, suddenly embarrassed.
He shrugs and steps in the door.
Downstairs I hear a clattering of dishes. A smell wafts upwards. It is an aroma I haven't smelt in the longest time. The smell of bacon and eggs, toast, juice. All of it. I follow my nose to the basement and into a dining room. There are six girls and six boys, all still in their pyjamas, which are plaid pants and shirts. Many of them I don't know. I stand in the door, waiting to be introduced. Jack's the one who sees me.
"Simon, hi, come take a seat," he says cheerfully.
I sit down beside him, Denton sees me and grins.
"OK guys, introduce yourselves to Simon, will you? Please try to make him feel comfortable."
Simultaneously, they all lean inwards and look to me. Skittery, Jack, David and Coin all introduce themselves again.
"I'm Sapphy," says one girl, who is surprisingly cheerful compared to everyone else around here. She has straight blonde hair, which hangs to her back. Her face is very pale and looks short from where I view her, though that could be only because she is sitting. Her eyes are very blue, an obvious state that jumps out at me immediately, as through they're a force.
The next to introduce himself is a boy named Crutchy. He sits on the end of the table with a wooden crutch propped up on the table's wooden edge. He has curly brown hair and a long crooked nose. His upper body is narrow and tall. He smiles. Together Sapphy and he throw me off the impression I'd gotten about this place. They're cheerful and outgoing. The others seem withdrawn and depressed, as would be expected.
Then there's Ele, who is wearing a sweater over her t-shirt. She has choppy brown hair, cut randomly in a way that leads me to suspect she did it herself. Her eyes were blank as she said her name, she sipped at her orange juice.
"I'm Racetrack," says a short boy who has deep bags under his eyes. His hair is dark brown and greasy, his nose narrow and his face round.
Meanwhile the boy who I held up the bathroom from has entered. "Yeah, I'm Boots," he says, sitting down beside a thin, pale girl with wild and curly auburn hair.
"And I'm Charley," she says reluctantly. I can't make eye contact with her, she scowls.
The last girl doesn't introduce herself, Sapphy has to instead. "That's Autumn," she tells me.
Autumn doesn't look up. She has dark blue hair, obviously dyed, which is wavy and long, covering most of her face, but I can see one light brown, almost hazel eye. She wears two leather wristbands, which are worn and fading.
"And I'm Medda," says the red-haired woman I saw last night. She is wearing all purple and has her hair piled on top of her head and secured with chopsticks.
I look around slowly. Medda scoops eggs onto my plate. The others dig in.
End ChapterI got really excited about this story and that's why I posted so fast. I will probably not update again for two weeks, but nothing's certain, I may get excited again. It all depends, really.
I would like to thank Coin, Inquisitive, Nakaia Aidan-Sun, C.M. Higgins, Sapphy, Dreamer110, Utopia Today and Shooter O'Brien for providing me with characters.