1.
I stared open mouthed at the boy who staggered across the workroom floor. His back was bleeding from the gaping wound, his shirt torn and bloody. They'd whipped him again. For what, no one knew but him. He limped around the boys and girls who lay on the floor toward his own bed. He was one of the elder boys (in that, he'd been here for a long time) so he had claims on a bed. Everyone who didn't claim a bed slept on the floor with a small blanket or, in most cases, no blanket at all. I had a blanket for myself…sometimes. If kids got downstairs before someone with a blanket did, they'd claim it. They wouldn't claim a bed though. It was an unspoken rule that no one questioned.
As I clutched the blanket I claimed tonight I watched the boy of thirteen or fourteen walk around the nearly hundred sleeping kids. His face was covered in dirt, clean streaks falling down his face from the tears. He looked down at me slightly as he passed by. I stared up at him and clutched the rough blanket. His dark eyes swept over me, sending shivers down my spine.
As he stumbled around the other kids, I couldn't help but rush back to the day I'd first met him; when I first fell for him.
Two years ago I was brought to the workhouse. I'd been orphaned at birth. I liked to believe my parents had died. It was a better outlook than if they'd given me up. However, I knew that was the case. I was raised in a small orphanage with around twenty other kids. When I was twelve the orphanage went bankrupt and sent the children still living there to assorted workhouses throughout London.
It was my third night when I met him. I hadn't eaten much the past few days. Being new and small for my age I wasn't very good at standing up for myself so I got in fights a lot. This led to no food and, if it kept up, whippings. I hadn't gotten beaten yet but the other kids seemed bent on seeing it happen sooner or later.
I was lying on my side, facing the wall. I held my aching stomach and shivered from the cold. I heard the other children talking as they readied themselves for bed. I wished for more than anything to be like them and have friends. I had friends in the orphanage but they had been sent away to another workhouse. I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to block out the slight laughter I heard from behind me.
I scrunched up my face when I heard a girl whisper my name in a mocking tone. However, as I did, I heard something hard fall to the ground beside my head and something drape itself across my torso. Sitting up I found a piece of slightly moldy, but still edible, bread lying lopsided on the floor beside me. My newly acquired blanket lay on my waist, already warming me. I looked around and saw a boy my age, maybe a year older, walking back to his bed around ten yards away.
I stared at the bread for a while. The other kids hadn't noticed what the boy had done so they didn't see the bread. Taking bread from upstairs was grounds for whipping. I knew that and I knew the boy knew it as well. However, he had given the bread to me. I stared over at him, amazed by this act of kindness but he was lying so all I saw was a head of messy black hair.
Finally, hunger overtook me. I snatched the roll and ate it thankfully, chewing quickly, barely tasting it. Suddenly, I heard a voice whisper, "Food!" Turning in fear, I saw a wave of boys and girls launch themselves at me, hunger in their eyes. I screamed and blocked the bread with my body but it did little. I felt the bread being pulled relentlessly from my grasps and I cried out. As I watched the bread be ripped to pieces, I began to cry. Tears that I'd been holding back for three days finally fell, over something as little as a roll of bread. I hugged my legs and stared at my hands, closing my eyes in sadness and defeat.
Suddenly, I heard someone yell above the fighting. "Stop! Stop it!" I looked up and found the boy who'd given me the bread standing in front of me. The kids didn't end their brawl however.
They didn't stop until another voice cried out, "Shut up and stand at attention!" A whip cracked against the floor as the voice ordered the command. Obeying, everyone quickly stood and filed into two straight lines. I stood and joined the left one. I leaned forward trying to find the source of the voice. My eyes finally landed on the doorway.
Standing there was Headmaster. We didn't call him anything else; we didn't even know his real name. He had a tall stature, and strong arms and legs. His skin was an olive shade and he had dark short hair. He held a long thin whip by his thigh. He walked up and down the rows of children, looking into our eyes but we didn't meet his gaze.
Finally, once he had his back turned, I reached down and picked up one of the larger crumbs of bread. However, he turned and saw me do it. He chuckled softly and smiled at my wide terrified eyes.
He then snatched the bread from my hands and threw it down at the floor. Smirking he bent over slightly to meet my height and said, "Bend over and pick it up!" He dropped the end of the whip so it hung, seemingly innocent, limply by my head. Gulping, I bit my lips and bent over. I didn't grab the bread because I knew I was going to be whipped. Tears began to fall down my face, anticipating what was coming. Humiliated, my sobs broke through the quiet sleeping quarters.
I looked up slightly to see the boy who'd given me the bread and blanket in the first place. Even at the untimely moment, I took in his features. His face was round, sitting atop his tall and gangly body. His hair was a dark black, ruffling around his ears. It hung around his forehead and ears, long and limp from the lack of a cut or a wash. His light hazel eyes were wide with shock. He couldn't believe I wasn't ratting him out for giving me the bread.
I held my breath, waiting for the whip to crack and for my back to explode in pain. However it never did. "Wait, please. Stop!" I looked up, tears dripping off my nose. The boy was speaking up, pleading with Headmaster. "I brought the bread down here. I stole it, not her! Please! Punish me, not her!"
Everyone stared at him in disbelief. "Tobias, stop," Headmaster growled. He then stalked over to the boy, who backed up slightly. Headmaster then reached an arm around Tobias's shoulder, who looked repulsed by his touch. "Now, Tobias. Did this lady speak out when I was going to whip her?" When he didn't answer I saw Headmaster clench his fist on Toby's shoulder. Wincing at the grip, the boy shook his head. "Well then, she obviously wants it more than you think. I think, one gentleman to another, we should abide by her wishes. Right?" Tobias stared at him, not answering. "Right?" Headmaster yelled, digging his nails into Toby's neck.
Gasping, he nodded. "Right," he muttered.
Headmaster nodded, and walked back to me. Suddenly, without warning, he sent the whip crashing down on my back. I had thought I would've been able to bottle up the pain. Sending it out through blood and tears but I was wrong. The first second the barbed whip touched my back I screamed and fell to the ground. As the beatings continued so did my screams. Finally, as he did the last few lashes, he said as he did them: "We. Do. Not. Steal. Food." He then rested the whip on his leg and screamed, "UNDERSTOOD?" A murmur of agreements came from the kids, who were all still standing in their two rows.
Headmaster nodded and began to walk away. He stopped halfway, however, and walked back to me. "Almost forgot," he said, dropping a small bottle of liquid at my knees. "Have a nice night." With that, he walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him. As if it were a signal, everyone scattered to their beds. I didn't move. Someone would've taken my blanket by now, I knew. I eventually moved into a sitting position, still shaking from the pain.
I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. Since it was inches away from a wound, I gasped at the touch. "Sorry," I heard a voice whisper. I looked into the corner of my eyes and found Toby kneeling beside me. He grabbed the bottle and began to push it away. My eyes widened in annoyance and confusion. "Don't worry, you don't want it."
"Why?" I muttered, biting back pain.
"It's probably the worst ale he has," he explained, laughing slightly. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a swig from it. His face scrunched up in such a funny expression of disgust that I couldn't help but smile. "Yup," Toby gasped, coughing. "That's some rotten stuff there." He stood and grabbed his pillow from his bed and brought it back to me. "Here," he said, looking around before handing me a second bottle of what I guessed was ale. When he saw me question it he smiled. "Drink it. It'll help you sleep." I nodded and took a drag from the bottle.
The taste was bitter, burning my throat and making me cough. However, I took another sip a few minutes later. "Thank you," I whispered to Toby, who'd been watching me the whole time.
"What are you thanking me for?" He demanded, appalled. "It's me who should be thanking you for not…" he paused, staring at the floor. Finally he muttered, "Thank you."
I nodded and an awkward silence passed between us. Finally he asked, "What's your name?"
Staring at him, I took another drink of ale and said, "Jesse." He nodded and smiled.
"Tobias Raggs," he said, putting out his hand to shake mine. I nodded and shook it. Another awkward silence passed for a second as we passed the bottle back and forth. Suddenly, he sat up and asked, "So, are your parents alive?" I choked slightly from a sudden throb of pain and from the question I'd been desperate to avoid.
Looking down, I placed the bottle on the floor and said, running my hand over my face from fatigue, "Um, I guess. They…they gave me up. When I was born I guess. I don't remember them. My first memory was in the orphanage where I grew up. Then it…it closed down and I was sent here."
He nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I've been here since I was born."
Suddenly, my back seized up with pain and I gasped, nearly dropping the bottle. Toby looked away, his face a mask of pain and sorrow. "I'm so sorry," he muttered.
I shook my head, blinded by pain to say anything. Finally, he took a last sip of ale and offered me some. Tears fell down my face as I took a final sip. He took the half empty bottle back to his bed and let me lay back, the alcohol finally kicking in. I saw him look back once or twice, his mouth open as if to say something more but every time he just turned and continued walking to his bed. My head was heavy and sleepy from the ale.
However, as I slowly slipped from pained fill conscious to dreams I couldn't help but wonder why I hadn't told on him. Was it because I couldn't bear seeing him be whipped because of me? Partly, I thought. Maybe I thought Headmaster would whip me no matter what. However, despite the intense pain I was feeling now I knew if I had spoken up I wouldn't have the mutual friendship I now had. And with that comforting thought, I let the alcohol take hold and I fell asleep.
These memories passed through my head as I watched him fall into his bed, his back still bleeding. I clawed at the floor, my heart beating faster. I loved him so much it sent an ache running through my chest. He was so sweet and funny. He was my only friend in this hell hole, and except for some occasional exceptions, I was his. I wondered if he saw how perfect we were for each other or how much I loved him.
Suddenly, I heard retching noises coming from his bed. Gasping, I watched as he began to throw up onto the floor on the other side of his bed. Rushing over to him, I pulled the small water basin from the mantel over the fireplace. "Here we are," I whispered as the remains of his meager dinner fell into the bucket.
Finally, the retching fell to coughing and the coughing turned to silence. He laid back and fell asleep immediately. I stared at his sleeping figure and smiled. I couldn't help it. He looked so peaceful and happy in his sleep. As he slept, I took the blanket I had fought so hard for and used it to mop up the vomit off the other side of his bed.
Our sleeping quarters was actually the basement of the workhouse. Freezing in the winter but bearable in the summer, the windows just reached ground level. There was one small window on each side of the large rectangular room, barred without glass. Two of them looked out to the street outside the front of the workhouse, one to the alley behind and one to the garden the cook kept.
I reached through that particular window and found myself lucky to find a small herb reach my hand. Crushing it and spreading around his bed, it turned the reeking vomit smell to a wonderful mint.
Suddenly, Toby sat up. He turned and stared at me, still disoriented from sleep. "What?" He muttered, rubbing his eyes and gasping from the pain.
"You were throwing up after getting whipped. Then you fell asleep," I told him. He stared at me and then smelled the mint.
"What did you do?" He asked, a hint of anger in his voice.
I didn't understand. "Tobias, I'm sorry. You threw up on the floor so I cleaned it up. I tried to make it smell better. Why are you mad?"
He rolled his eyes. "Jeez, Jesse," he muttered. "Why are you always looking out for me?"
Because I love you, I thought. However, at the look he gave me, I realized I hadn't just thought it.
"Jesse," he nearly whispered, grabbing my hands. I blushed. "Do you really?"
I stared at him, getting lost in his pale hazel eyes, and nodded. "Yes," I said, smiling. More blush rose in my cheeks.
"Jesse," he said again, a little louder. "I love you too. I didn't know you felt the same way."
Laughing from nerves I shrugged. "Well, I do," I said lamely. He shared in my laughing.
"Well then come on," he said, pulling me into his bed and I let him.
"Toby," I began, but he stopped me.
"Just sleep," he told me. "We'll just sleep."
I nodded and allowed him to pull the blanket over both of us. "But your back," I pointed out as he winced.
"It'll be fine. I've had worse. Besides, the worst of its over," he admitted. I stared at the dried blood soaked into his covers and didn't say anything. Finally, taking my hand from under -the covers, he said, "Someday we'll get out of here." He paused then and stared into my eyes. "This is hell, Jesse," he whispered. "But who says there aren't angels in hell." And with those words we shared our first kiss of many.