November 16 1904
Violet wakes up tired, pale, and cold. She shivers beneath the blankets and brings her knees up to her chest to keep warm. She starts biting on one of her fingernails, a bad habit that she has tried to break.
Her black hair lays in tangles around her neck and collar and she breathes in the scent of her pillow. As she closes her eyes again to drift off to sleep before she has to get up, she remembers the night before.
Violet, Georgia, and Clementine made their way down to Irving Hall under the cover of the night. When they reached the bright and noisy building, they immediately spotted their old friends, Jack Kelly, David Jacobs, Racetrack Higgins, and Mush Meyers.
Kid Blink was nowhere in sight. Violet worried about this briefly but dismissed it. He was probably drinking again. Silently she cursed her brother.
They sauntered over to where Jack, David, Race, and Mush stood. Violet poked Jack in the ribs to get his attention. When he looked down and saw her, his face broke into a smile, and he reached out an arm to hug her.
"Where you been?" he asked her, after pulling her into his warm arms.
"Around," she said, inhaling the scent of his shirt before pulling away painfully. "We haven't had much of a chance to get out lately. The nuns have been really suspicious."
Jack rolls his eyes and smiles. "You should drop out."
Violet snorts. "Yeah, right," she says. "My parents would only murder me."
Violet looks at her friends. Georgia and Clementine are talking to the others, but Violet has Jack all to herself, and that is just the way she likes it.
He has an infectious personality, and Violet has always wanted to be near him. He's six years older than her, but she can remember even when she was really young wanting to be around Jack.
On school holidays, when she was home, she would struggle out of her mother's firm grasp and walk all the way to Manhattan, her hair specially braided, and her shoes shined, to see Jack.
He was always happy, and willing, to see her, even when he was busy. He'd always lay aside his papers, take her hand in his, and walk around with her instead.
She didn't know how it started out that she wanted to see more of his smile, or that she liked the swagger in his step, or that she couldn't wait to hear the New York lilt in his voice.
But somewhere, between all their little inside jokes, and the days that they spent together, and the lunches that he always insisted on paying for even though she was from one of the richest families in town, somewhere, between all that, Violet had fallen in love with Jack.
Unfortunately, story book endings don't happen in real life, and if they do, it's rare. Jack Kelly saw Violet as a little sister, and forever ingrained in his mind is the little girl with pigtail braids, dirty fingernails, and shoe polish all over her saddle shoes because at seven years old, it's damn hard to shine your shoes.
Even though Violet eventually had to outgrow her saddle shoes, and pigtail braids, and moved on to more sophisticated and older styles, Jack couldn't see past the second-grader that he used to know, and that is the Violet that he sees every time they meet.
"Run away then," Jack said, his smile faltering. "Come to Santa Fe." He took a swig out of the bottle he was holding. "Me and Sarah could adopt you."
Violet's nostrils flared involuntarily. She hated Sarah. "You have to be married to adopt, buck."
Jack was taking another drink, but at this he choked on the beverage and coughed loudly.
Violet pounded him on the back. "Sorry," she said when he could breathe again.
He started to laugh. It started out as a little chuckle in the bottom of his stomach, the best kind, but turned into an contagious and hearty, fully-blown laughter.
Violet laughed too, her tinkling voice joining his baritone.
Soon, though, Jack was distracted by the cooing voice of that red-headed showstopper, Medda. Violet despised Medda, but told no one. In fact, Medda had always been charitable to Violet, Georgia, and Clementine.
For the kind of woman that she was, the kind that sold herself to the crowd every evening, she was also very intuitive. She knew the emotions of young girls, having been one herself and educated a few after that. But even better than girls, Medda knew men. And she knew Jack Kelly.
Medda knew, in her heart, that there was a special place in Jack reserved only for Violet. She knew however, that Jack's love for Violet was only that of an older brother. A protective older brother.
Though Medda was quite fond of Jack and his friends, his over-protectiveness toward Violet angered her. She didn't think that Jack realized what he was doing, playing the hero, was actually driving Violet crazy with desires, but still. The fact that he could do this to her and not realize it just proved why she hadn't kissed a man twice in at least a decade.
She's at least six hundred years old, thinks Georgia as Medda twirls around onstage, kicking her legs up gaily. Maybe seven.
Violet's lip curls as Medda breaks into her newest dance. Violet and her friends, and Jack and his, are standing atop the balcony overlooking the stage. They have a perfect view of Medda's antics and gallivanting.
Clementine rolls her eyes in Violet's direction and Violet twitches her head toward the stairs, motioning for Clementine to follow her as she walks toward the stairwell. Violet considers telling Jack that she will be back in a moment, but she decides against it. They walk away through the chattering people and Jack doesn't turn around once.
There is no way for them to hear each other out here, what with the obnoxiously loud people and Medda's ridiculous singing, but once they are in the enclose staircase, they can easily carry on a conversation.
"I've never been up here before," mutters Clementine.
"Neither have I," says Violet. "What do you think's up there?"
"No idea," Clementine says. "Care to find out?" She giggles and offers Violet her arm.
Violet links arms with her and the two of them head jauntily up the stairs.
"To tea!" they say in unison. It is their old joke.
When they reach the top of the stairs, they realize that on their right is the performers' quarters, and to their left is the office of Irving Hall, which is dark and probably closed for the evening.
The gold-painted hallway to their right is lined with doors of pink, purple, and blue. The performers' names are painted on them, and the carpet is stained and threadbare on top of the beaten wood floor.
Violet and Clementine's clothes make a soft hush, hush as they walk toward the end of the hall in silence. They are still linking arms and both are holding back grins from the other; espionage is their favorite pastime.
"Georgie probably wants to know where we are," whispers Clementine.
Violet shrugs. "Oh well."
When they reach Medda's door, they look at each other as if calculating whether or not they should enter. Finally, Violet takes a step forward. She pushes the door open cautiously.
When they peer inside, they are shocked by the explosion of sickening pink. It's everywhere; on the walls, the carpet, the clothes that are scattered hither and thither.
"Oh, Mother of God," Clementine breaths in disgust. "What was she smoking?"
"Who knows," mutters Violet, taking another cautious step forward. She walks over to the dressing table, a wooden desk painted pink and laden with hundreds of small bottles, compacts, and tubes.
There are hair serums, cosmetics, jewelry boxes…Violet opens one of them, a glitzy one bedazzled with rubies, and takes a look inside. She is shocked to find that it is filled to the brim with sparklingly white powder.
Violet grins at Clementine. "Well, who would've known?" she says delightedly. "Our own Medda, a drug fiend."
Clementine comes over to the table and peers over Violet's shoulder. "I'll be damned," she whispers.
"Finders, keepers," Violet trills and Clementine looks at her, shocked.
"You're taking it?"
"Of course I am. I can't just leave this laying around, can I?" Clementine doesn't look convinced, so Violet continues. "Spot's been hankering for a fix. Now I don't have to spend my money, I get reimbursed by him, and Medda loses her stash. It's what we call a 'win-win-lose.'"
Clementine laughs, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Violet look around the room with my hands on my hips. "We just need something to carry it with."
Her eyes fall on a small green velvet bag with a cinch tie. It's small enough to fit in her pocket and it's big enough for all the goods. Violet scoops up some of the precious powder and pours it carefully into the bag.
When it's all inside, a good fit, Violet takes it and puts it down her shirt. She tucks it carefully into her brassiere and adjusts her corset and other shirts so that it looks natural.
Violet and Clementine look around the room some more, but don't find anything. There is a bit of cash, but they don't take this because it would be too suspicious, and plus, when have either of them been short for cash?
They sneak back downstairs and blend into the crowd again, relieved at their luck. They smile at each other and wink at Georgia when they find her again.
"Time to go," says Violet into Georgia's ear, clamping her fingers around Georgia's wrist and pulling at her arm. Georgia looks dismayed but Violet gives her a look and she obliges, touching one of the boys' backs to let them know she's leaving.
Violet looks back at Jack but he's still not looking at her. She feels a desperation then, but ignores it, as he shrinks from her view.
They are back on the streets which are now wet and glistening with wetness and aren't crowded as usual because of the cold rain that came down a while ago.
Violet and Clementine explain everything to Georgia who bursts out laughing. "That's just fantastic," she proclaims joyfully. "When are you giving it to him?"
"Tonight," says Violet and the other two whip their heads around to look at her. "You both go back to the dorms and I'll just take a little trip to Brooklyn. I'll be back before you know it."
"Are you sure you want to do that?" says Georgia, drawing her arms around her middle. "It's pretty dangerous out on the streets."
Clementine gives her a worrisome look. "I'm not sure it's the best idea…"
"Listen, girls," says Violet with authority. "Nothing'll happen. Promise."
They aren't convinced but they won't be able to talk her out of it. So they split up in front of the school, Georgia and Clementine sneaking back in through their window and Violet making her journey out onto the glistening streets.
In Brooklyn, Spot Conlon lies awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the night. He is bathed in a cool sweat and his eyes are bloodshot. He can't sleep, he decides, and rolls over twitchily.
Just then, when he is resigned to spending the whole day awake, there is a tap on the window next to him, like a clawed hand out of a nightmare. His thoughts race to the worst and he curses his heart for beating so fast as he stands and looks out the window.
Violet is standing there, looking pale and pallid through the window. There are bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes and her lips stand out, red, against her face.
"What you got?" he asks as he wrenches the window open and she grins, climbing inside lithely.
"Score," she says, standing in front of him. It is warm in the room, though there is no fire blazing.
He looks her up and down. "Really?" he says suspiciously.
She grins and reaches into her shirt. Spot's eyes follow her hands, jealously. He takes a step closer and breathes onto her neck. "What you got in there?"
"The stuff of your dreams, Spot, old boy," she whispers into his ear, her lips dancing on his skin.
She extracts the green bag and presents it to him. He holds it in his palm and wraps his fingers around it; it is still warm from the home of her flesh. He opens the bag and sits down in amazement.
"Where'd you get all this?" he asks and she gives him an impish grin. He looks at her. "You stole all of it? I never knew you had it in you."
Her eyesight is bathed in burgundy red as she looks at him. His eyes look radioactively bright and there is a maroon glint in hers. She smiles back at him, her teeth pulling at her lips.
"I wouldn't say stole," she says seductively, leaning down to him and placing a hand on either side of his body. "Acquired creatively is more like it."
He chuckles to himself, and when he does she notices the points of his teeth. She is within kissing distance of him.
He pulls out a broken mirror, dirty with grime and age. He pours some of the powder onto it and extracts a shiny razorblade from his pocket, balancing the mirror shard on his knee. He divides the drug into lines and snorts it. Violet watches him hungrily.
Her lips meet his chest and then, without knowing what happened, Violet sees blood, bright red, surge from his skin. He throws back his head, either in pleasure or pain and moans.
"That's right," he sighs and she, without knowledge of it, tastes the metallic flavor of his blood. She feels a coolness on her arm and sees a glint of metal.
He slides the instrument on her flesh, and a searing pain comes to her, but for some reason it doesn't bother her. In fact, she finds, it feels magical. She looks at her arm, and at his hand, which still holds the silvery razorblade.
He brings his mouth to her skin and drinks of the lifeblood that is pooling on her body. His lips are warm and poetic, and somehow, wicked. She kisses him on the mouth, tasting her own blood.
Violet shakes herself from her memory and finds herself in her bed. Her eyes feel bruised, although they aren't, but there are little half-moons of tiredness underneath them. Her cold fingers find her arm and trace the long cut from the razorblade.
The blood surging beneath the thin membrane is hot, and the skin around the wound is warm and red. She fingers it, knowing it wasn't a dream, and picks at the laceration, the mark of the blade, and a little droplet drips out from it.
Her heart beats a little more emptily and somehow it is hollow and echoes, and suddenly she remembers something that she learned years ago, "He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, dwelleth in me and I in him."
~Author's Note:
Thanks to cailin baire conlon for the review…yeah, I realize it WAS a little confusing and part of that was on purpose but I could've done it better so sorry bout that. I really just wanted to show different points of view. This chapter was more one-sided and streamlined, though, so hopefully it was better. Anywho, thanks.
Julianna.~