I own Twiggy (the newsie, not the model), and other characters that may appear in this story. I do not, however, own Spot Conlon (sigh). Hope you enjoy, and Please review!
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It was the kind of love with secrets that, besides the two lovers, were whispered only to the blackest streets of Brooklyn. The kind of love you couldn't measure in dates, months, or in kisses. You couldn't fathom it unless you could actually felt it eating its way into your soul. It was impossible to know how and when it happened, but you knew somehow that this time, it was different; a piece of chocolate so sweet it made you sick to your stomach, a love so great even pain could not touch it. And after a while, they could not recognize the difference between the tears shed from their eyes and the blood shed from their skin.
My arm throbbed as scarlet droplets delicately rained onto the dirty white paper.
Dear Boy,
I just want tell you that a rat ate your bread. I would give you some of mine, but the same thing just happened to me.
Twiggy
I reached my thin arm between the bars, dropping the letter on the dirt floor into the cell of the boy next to me. I had secretly fallen in love with him; the way he sang sad tunes to himself like he was living a tragic life, the way he looked when he was in a peaceful sleep. I watched carefully for a few moments until the boy woke up, and seeing the letter, he read it. I ducked under and sat against the stone so that he could not see me watching him, and I backed away slowly. I waited a few seconds and heard him scribbling something. Suddenly, I felt a piece of paper drop on my head. He had written on the same paper, and I read it carefully.
Twiggy,
Better him than us. It was all moldy.
Spot
Spot? My head shot up from the paper. Spot Conlon? I had heard so any things about him – just as many good things as bad, but they had come from so many different sources. But I had no idea that that was Spot Conlon!
I turned around, slowly rising up until I could see into his cell.
"Thanks for tellin' me. I woulda ate it," I smirked.
"Wouldn't hoit ya," I heard a soft masculine voice from the cell next to me.
"You'se could use some meet on ya bones."
I frowned and looked down. I sighed and reached my gaze back at him again. " You'se is Spot Conlon?" I heard a small chuckle come from his cell, and I saw him get up and sit as close as my cell as he could.
"What is ya gonna do if I am?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Squeeze through these bars an' show ya how every goil newsie would feel about bein' in a jail cell next ta Spot Conlon."
Spot rested his chin on his hand and smiled. "Where ya from?" He asked.
"Queens," I said matter-of-factly.
"So, Twiggy from Queens, what is a goil like you'se doin' in here?"
I looked at Spot and laughed. "What every othah newsie is doin' in here," I told him. "The rally. 'Dey only caught a few a us, an' I guess you, for plannin' the whole thing."
Spot cringed and looked down. "I din't know there was more 'a them in here. I guess I jist haven't noticed 'cause we'se is in the lowest level of the buildin'."
I looked around, suddenly realizing they were the only two down there.
"So why'd they put me wid' you?" I wondered aloud.
"'Dey probably ran outta room. Still, 'dey shouldnta put a lady in 'da coldest an' dirtiest place. 'Dat ain't right."
I shrugged it off. "When is ya gettin' out?" I inquired, still sitting right at the bars.
"Dunno," he answered. I suddenly almost got lost in his sea-blue eyes and thick lashes that seemed to hint at a dangerous past – in a very sexy way.
"So is you 'da only goil newsie in Queens?" He asked.
"Yeah, 'dey don't like goils stayin' wid' them, 'cause they think we'se smell different an' all. But for some reason 'dey let me in."
Spot chuckled. "Probably 'cause you're prettier than all a the other goils."
I tried to cool my body temperature so my embarrassment wouldn't show in my cheeks.
"So y'know Link?" Spot asked, and I nodded. "He's a good friend a' mine."
Just as I was about to speak, someone broke through the doors to the basement, and Spot and I both separated from the conjoined bars to our cells and pretended to be sleeping. I could hear is footsteps on the cold cobblestone and was terrified the man was going to do something to me. I did, however, hear him open the steel doors to Spot's cell.
"Alright, Conlon, either you give me names, or you'se is gonna be in here for the rest of your life, ya hear me?"
"I ain't telling ya nothin'," Spot said in his low, deep voice.
"Conlon, I'm warnin' you!" The man began to raise his voice. "Who worked wid' you on this, huh?"
Spot kept silent, and I raised my head up to watch what was going on.
"I'm givin' you one last chance ta redeem yourself, Conlon. Who else was involved?"
"I ain't tellin' ya nothin'," Spot repeated. suddenly I saw the man's leg jolt back, forcefully kicking Spot's stomach, and the muffled moan escape Spot's mouth as he tried to keep quiet.
"Ya good for nothin' street rat!" The man yelled powerfully at him while Spot lay still on the ground. I quickly returned to my sleeping position and shut my eyes, clenching my fists to the hay I was laying on and praying that he didn't come in and do the same to me. I heard his footsteps disappear up the steps and slam the door behind him, and I jumped up to the bars.
"Spot!" I called. His eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth clenched, his hand grabbing onto the nearest bar to rid the pain other than screaming out.
I held onto the bars, wanting to just rip them apart so I could be closer to him. I wanted to put my hand is his so I could feel the pain he was feeling.
"Yeah," he answered, his speech faltering by the pain.
"Spot," I whispered, so close to tears that he must have heard me. He got up and stumbled over to me, his hands tightening their grip on the bars just below my hands.
I felt immensely vulnerable as tears ran down my cheeks, biting my bottom lip as to try and stop them before I started to weep.
"It's a'ight, I'm fine," he persisted, sliding his hands up on the bars so they touched mine. I shivered and blinked at him.
"I wanna get outta here," I told him, in between gasps and tears. "I'm scared."
His hands moved to completely cover mine, his eyes not moving from mine.
"Listen ta me. Everything'll be fine. B'lieve me. Jist get some sleep, ok?
"I can't sleep now," I whispered, looking down at the cold, gray floor.
"Why?" He asked.
"It's too cold," I said, still talking in just a whisper.
"Don' worry. I'll stay up an' make sure nothin' happens to ya."
My eyebrows furrowed together. "But you gotta sleep too."
He shook his head. "Not tonight. I'm too awake, anyways. Jist rest."
I slowly walked back to where my sleeping spot was and curled up into a ball, my long wavy brown hair brushing against my eyelashes, and I shivered. I saw him get up from his spot and pick up something.
"Here, take this," he said, feeding it through the bars. I could just reach it from where I was laying down.
"What is it?" I asked.
"My favorite shirt," he answered. "Keep it."
I smiled and lay back down into the hay, covered in the cream plaid that I imagined would keep me warm for many more cold, long nights.
