Disclaimer: Do not own Newsies

Part 5

Nicks POV age-17

I felt warm arms wrap around me, hugging tightly as fresh, fiery tears escape from closed lids. How could someone be driven to commit such an act? Were my feelings worth so little to him that they weren't even considered? Did he even spare a passing thought of me to be thrown away with any self worth I had once possessed? Obviously he hadn't cared that I would end up with hurt aching through my entire body. My need to hate him weighing down on my shoulders as my heart reached and longed for him to tell me it had never happened.

One of the strong arms uncoiled from around my body and I felt the warmth of my companion pull away slightly. I opened my eyes to look up at Spot and ducked my head down to avoid his gaze on my tear streaked face preferring to soak his shirt with them instead. He softly caught my chin with a gentle hand and nudged it back up. Ink stained hands dried my tears.

The brief safety I found within his eyes was lost again-- torn from me in a trembling that started deep within the shreds of my heart. Everything was completely incomprehensible again. He had hurt me. The scene played over and over again in my mind. I kept trying to think of ways to make it better. Anything to assuage the hurt. I grabbed back onto Spot and buried my face into his chest. He accepted my actions simply by holding me. For every ounce of comfort I demanded of him I found given to me without qualm. Small soothing sounds issued from somewhere above my head and a hand came up to softly stroke my hair.

My Spot, the little dot in my life that grounded me in the great expanse of nothingness we lived through- the one person that was there at the end no matter how things began. The period at the end of my psychotic run-on-sentence.

The scene started over again. My breath suddenly seemed shallow and insufficient- short, clipped sobs weren't enough. My vision blackened around the edges. Everything was so hard. I wasn't strong enough and felt far too tried. I'd been tried and failed and now everything was wrong. I just couldn't handle it anymore and let myself go. No need to hold on anymore.

The encompassing arms repositioned so that one was around my shoulder and the other had found my hand. The soft wind chilled my tear ridden cheeks as the cotton of his shirt pulled away. I made a small movement to return to its comfort. The slight tilt of my head was ignored as he began to lead me forward. My unseeing eyes didn't register the passage of space. The world was a bleak collage of black, brown and grey. Every now and then an intense, red streak of betrayal passed across my vision. My breath would hitch, my foot would stumble and for a single moment I would feel. The pain was a thousand times worse than the numbness.

He must have assumed that I was in no state to attempt stairs and cradled me into his arms. I wouldn't have noticed if his arms hadn't suddenly become a warm, soothing cloud. I burrowed into his shirt allowing it to catch my fear and pain while I allowed the world to pass simply around me.

At some point the strength and relief I received from him was gone. A flat pillow under my head and a scratchy wool blanket over me gave little comfort in his absence.

I mourned the loss of his reassuring presence.

A boy older than myself with fiery red hair spoke to me in one of my more lucid moments. He insisted I eat and tried to assure me Spot would come back. I didn't believe him. Spot had left me too. The comfort he had provided the night before began to feel like a lie.

Twilight descended on Brooklyn and the usually rowdy lodging house seemed quiet and eerie. The weight in my chest shifted from sorrow of ache to a sorrow of deficiency. My silent, numb world was suffocating me. I shed the blanket abruptly and stumbled down the stairs toward the open air of the street.

Down the Brooklyn cobblestones he walked with an even gait as a tall, lean, swaggering figure. Blood trickled from his swollen lip and street light illuminated the night colored bruises on his chest. He wore no shirt but carried a torn rag that had once been tear-stained. Chilly grey eyes met mine once they were close enough. I jumped the last few steps and threw my arms around him.

Open arms took me in and held me safe. Safe despite the turbulent emotions filtering through and opening up my numbed senses. Had I really loved him? Had my feeling been real or the notion that I needed to have someone? Everyone had someone. Had I just been following the crowd? Had I been blinded by lust and physical need to have someone to hold me? Were the simple 'I love you's all my imagination?

I hated him so much in that moment. Hated that he had done this to me. Made me question every little feeling running through my fatigued heart. I couldn't stand how much I just wanted to cry again. I hated how much he made me hate myself. So I clung to Spot. I didn't know what else to do anymore.

I looked up into his cool grey eyes. Cold and unfeeling some people called the eyes of Brooklyn himself. As our gazes connected all I could see was love and compassion. Those stormy eyes stole my heart away where he would keep it safe as long as I wanted him to.

I realized in that moment that it didn't matter. I had my best friend there to help me through it. I knew for a fact that I loved him and that's all that matter. I loved Spot Conlon. He'd been fighting for my heart since before Skittery had shredded it and was would wait for me while it healed. He could hold my hand and help me navigate till I was ready to give him everything I had thought I wanted to give Skittery.

Well in a sudden bout of need to continue my old stories I've decided to rewrite or creatively edit them starting here. Now I wrote the beginning of this story four years ago when I was fourteen and a much less mature writer and had some strange ideas about what fourteen and fifteen year olds should be up to. I'll probably edit more than just the writing style in this which is why I've decided to post the rewritten version as a completely separate story. This version will probably have more depth to it but will still be hopelessly romantic.