A/N: No kinky in this chapter.

I'm glad to know I have followers. It would be greatly appreciated to have reviews. It is gratifying to see the numbers rise. I do hope everyone continues to enjoy this.

Chapter Two

Forbidden Desires

Sonny's POV

Sun greets me as I step out onto the cracked sidewalk. Libby is waiting with a small cup of coffee, hash brown and Egg McMuffin she bought from the golden arches. This is our ritual on our collection days. Libby has a mothering tendency. It is her goal in life to try to feed the world. She can barely feed herself.

"Libby, I appreciate the food and coffee but you shouldn't be spending your money on me. You should be saving for a place to live," I say through a muffled mouth filled with hot muffin and sausage. I don't protest too much as my stomach is so empty it thinks I cut my throat. I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday and that was only the crackers I had left with the last of my jelly.

"What, you want me to live in a luxury condo like you do? Why, whatever would the gang say? They'd think I'd put on airs of grandeur," she laughs as she prances up and down with one hand on her hip and the other bent at the wrist. The actress is in full swing today.

"Seriously though Libby, I hate you having to live in that abandoned warehouse. I'd let you stay with me but the asshole who owns this luxurious piece of real estate would charge me extra. When Teddy got married his rent went up $100." Teddy's place does have a separate bedroom and a bathroom with a sink and toilet. I have one room with no bathing facilities or toilet. I share the bath down the hall with the other four apartments on this floor.

This building was once an elegant single family home. There are rumors some big hotshot bought the block so he can level the houses and build high-rises with apartments and condos selling in the neighborhood of $1,000,000 or more. Where the people will go is anyone's guess. Me, I'll be back sleeping wherever I can find a safe spot at night to lay my head. Reclamation of the neighborhoods is all well and good but what about the displaced people?

"All this chit chat isn't making us money. Finish your breakfast so we can hit the pavement. I have a feeling today is going to be a stellar day for collecting," Libby says, ever the optimist.

Four hours later Libbby's smug look is irritating but I can't resist grinning back as we split the $40 we earned from all our cans, glass and plastic bottles. Praise God for lazy careless slobs who don't know what a trashcan is for or if they do don't care enough about the piddley few coins they'd get if they recycled.

It's not enough for my rent but it will buy me some food. To celebrate this windfall I invite Libby over for pizza. I cross my fingers that the oven decides tonight is one of the times it will work. It's a crap shoot in this dump whether something works or not.

In the winter we have to use kerosene heaters because the boiler breaks down and doesn't get fixed right away if at all. A month of last winter it remained cold and useless.

I swear I've seen rats as big as Chihuahuas. Don't get me started on the roaches. I think they could be saddled and ridden around the city. Maybe I should capture a few of the critters roaming around and train them to pull our shopping cart. Let them pay for their keep like the rest of us. They sure do eat enough of my food if I'm not careful.

Letters to the owner are met with cold replies speaking about the high cost of maintenance and the low return on rent. The threat of raising our rent was enough to silence any further complaints. Everyone toughed it out. I felt like a living Popsicle.

We can't go collecting every day as there are too many of us doing that to make it worthwhile on a daily basis. We all agreed to split the days so one or two make the rounds each day. Keeps the weaker ones from getting their collection stolen, most of the time anyway. There are always people invading our turf, desperate people from other neighborhoods.

There are ten of us in our gang as the guys like to refer to us but I prefer family as we've been together for half our lives. We call ourselves The Avengers. Matt saw the movie and now everything is about comic book heroes. Beats the hell out of reality. If he wants to believe there are heroes out there then who am I to disabuse him? The guy is eighteen but acts about twelve. His development was hampered when his dad and mom beat the living shit out of him then left him in Seattle all alone because they were afraid of going to jail.

Lucky for him we found him and not one of those creepy perverts preying on young boys and girls. Once they get their vile hands on a child the journey into hell begins in earnest. Drugs, sex, making porn movies and so many other sickening things happen to those poor children. Apathy keeps most people here silent. For others it is fear of retaliation as some of those perverted freaks have some heavy muscle and gun power backing them up. Me, I am overwhelmed with a need to do something but feel powerless to help.

Libby and I do what we can. Any lone child we see we make it our mission to get them to a safe place. Several churches have open door policies, meaning you can come in out of the cold and get a meal and sleep in a warm bed. Nothing fancy but better than the alternative. It's a shame they have a limited space as so many get turned away. It is things like this that anger me and brings out my resentment for all those who have wealth in abundance but do nothing to help those less fortunate.

The following week I'm grumpy as nothing is working in this fucking building. The water is now only a trickle. My stove has no working burners and no oven. Sparks came out of the outlet I plugged mu toaster in. I'm wearing my last clean pair of jeans and the washer takes a buck and a quarter to wash one tiny load and fifty cents to dry. It doesn't dry very well. If I blew on my clothes they might be dryer than using that dratted worthless piece of crap in the basement.

How I wish I lived in a fairytale where the handsome prince comes riding in to save the day. My days of believing in fairytales are long gone. No one is going to come save me. This is all there is and the day I accepted my lot in life is the day I could stop looking for my Mr. Right. I don't even have a Mr. Right Now.

Libby kind of likes Matt even though she's a couple years older than him and he is sort of challenged mentally. He is a handsome fellow. Dark brown hair with waves women pay hundreds of dollars to achieve frame his face. His warm brown eyes remind me of the eyes of the deer I see in the denser part of the park. If you are quiet and sit very still they will pass by close enough to touch. Just looking at those magnificent creatures is enough.

Knowledge can be found in the world around us and also in books. The library is not only a source of entertainment and learning, it also is a safe warm place to spend the day. Not having attended school since I left home at twelve, I try to read as much as I can. Not having a particular interest in any one thing my reading habits are eclectic. If knowledge is power then I want all the knowledge the world has to offer.

I've even researched tenant/landlord disagreements trying to find answers to the dilemma that is fast approaching us. The other tenants and I have tried to form a committee but no one wants to be the leader. The risk of losing our home is too great so no one wants any focus on them when our letters are mailed. We sign everything simply, "from concerned tenants". That's innocuous enough.

If we create too much friction this place gets condemned and we're out on the streets. In my opinion that's what the owner is hoping for. That way, he looks good in the press as he got everyone out of this shitty place.

He gets deniability as this place was a dump long before he bought it. On paper I can see how it wouldn't be worth pouring money into this bottomless pit but try to explain the bottom line to a family with small children with no food in their bellies or roof over their heads. Every person having an overabundance of money should be required to spend one night, just one frigging night in a place like this. See if their attitude adjusts or not.

A week later my life took an unexpected turn when I laid eyes on Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome. Tom, one of our youngest members, heard about the opening of a new restaurant, The Breeze. It's supposed to be some tropical themed place that goes along with the new hotel built last year, The Palms Court. This is the same person buying up real estate all over Seattle.

Trying to envision what this greedy money monger looks like I come up with a man in his late fifties, slack jawed with evidence of overindulgence in food and drink by his overweight figure. He'll have rings on every finger, possibly studs in his ears. Some slinky model or actress will be clinging to his arm pretending not to be repulsed by his less than attractive appearance. They say love is blinding. I think money is often the blinders put on by humanity so the harsh realities are not seen.

Do I feel like a hypocrite when I come begging from rich people? No I do not. I din't sign up for any of this but it's what I have to deal with so I deal. There are supposed to be some local celebrities and perhaps some film and music personalities here tonight. That means money, especially if we catch them on the way out after a night of inebriation and good food.

Collecting recyclables is only slightly less degrading than panhandling. I hate the looks I get as I stand begging for a handout. Approaching those cold people isn't easy. Many prefer to ignore us even when we speak directly to them.

On occasion some make rude suggestions how we can make larger amounts of money. Politely we refuse with a smile all the while mentally kicking them in a place that would bring them to their knees. It scares me at times when I can see me hurting someone in a violent way. The things my mind conjures up is unsettling.

Needing to bring in some cash we all took up spots along the wall trying to look as if we belonged and not succeeding. Our clothes are too shabby and we don't look like we spend thousands of dollars on our hair, manicures and pedicures. Half the guys trim their hair with a knife that they also use on finger nails and toenails. Let's see one of those fancy mannequins try that and come away with all their appendages intact. Now that's some crazy skills.

Libby, being the extrovert, sees nothing wrong in going up to complete strangers to make some comment about their attire, jewelry or their general appearance. Not many are able to resist her charm. Her reward is always more than ours.

During a lull of customers a black Mercedes pulls up. Out comes this gorgeous man wearing a tux that I guess cost enough to feed and house the gang for a month. I caught a flash of a watch that I assume is something along the lines of a Rolex. Light hits diamond studded cufflinks at his wrist. Those shoes are probably specially made by little tiny elfin cobblers he keeps locked in cages. I like to joke when I get nervous.

He is sporting a fashionable light scruffy beard that looks perpetually like a day's growth. Black glossy hair is mussed so it looks as if he just got out of bed. I can only imagine that look costs him enough that he should feel shame when he looks at himself in a mirror.

All we get from him is a cold glare that even stops Libby in her tracks. The dark haired woman at his side curls her lips in disgust as she catches sight of us. We are not a welcome addition to the opening if that cold glare and disdain from both of them is an indication of our reception.

Our eyes collide. For a few heart stopping seconds, I cannot breathe. I feel captured and held by his eyes alone. This must be what women in those vampire books feel, the unspoken command to surrender to his mastery. Before I make the colossal mistake of actually taking a step in his direction he looks me up and down then turns away dismissing me without so much as a word. I've been put in my place and it isn't anywhere within miles of Mr. Iceman. I feel a chill run through my entire body. I feel as if I've been possessed then abandoned with something left unfinished. Thinking like that is the road to disappointment.

As the evening wears on our take is enough so I can give Harry a few bucks toward what I owe on rent. It is only a small dent in the amount I still owe. He still gets paid a paltry salary whether we pay or not. If the owner ever caught wind of how poorly Harry runs his property, well, we'd not be seeing Harry again. That's what's wrong with being so wealthy; you have so much it's hard to keep track of it all.

Everyone wants to get some pizza from Dino's. I'm hungry but I want to stay so I can catch another glimpse of Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome. I am having fun thinking up names for his different personalities. How many will there be?

Telling everyone to go on ahead I wait to see my mystery man. It's stupid to think he'll even notice me other than in that same disdainful way he did earlier. It doesn't matter. I have to see him. It feels that if I don't I won't really be alive until I am in his presence again.

It is useless for me to recite all the reasons any type of relationship between us is ridiculous, I am smitten and I don't want to see reason. I want to fly into the sun and feel the heat of passion if only in my mind. The real thing would scare the daylights out of me. I shudder as dark memories return to chill me to the bone.

There is pain, lots of pain. A menacing shadowy figure hovers over me. Then there is blood, so much blood. Then there is only running. My lungs freeze as fear overtakes me. He isn't here Sonja, he can't hurt you. Never again will he touch you.

As badly as I want to see my mystery man the terror my memories instill in me overpower all other emotions. I feel helpless now just as I did then. Is there anything worse than not being able to control the world around you? If I could I'd control every aspect of my life. I'd live in a bubble, a sterile bubble.

Forcing those terrifying memories back where they belong I ignore the more sensible part of my brain and stay so I can get at least another glimpse of him. If I were ever to have a Prince Charming, he would be mine.

When he finally comes out I wish I'd gone home. Standing on the curb waiting for his car to arrive I am blessed with a floorshow, one rated XXX.

They don't kiss. He grabs her roughly around the waist and pulls her tightly against him, her back to his front. Brazen as can be he inserts his hand inside the top of her dress. Not to be outdone in the brazen department his lady friend reaches down and grabs his crotch.

Shrinking up against the wall I try to make myself as small as possible so I won't be seen. I'll die if he sees me. He does see me and I don't die.

I'm not sure but when he spies me it seems like a calculating look comes over his face. I wasn't shocked by the breast thing or the crotch grabbing. Not much anyway. Lord above when he pulls her dress up and puts his hand in her barely there thong underwear my whole system shuts down.

Strange as it may be, I feel hurt and something like betrayal. Dumb assed emotions, they'll get you every time.

Now I want to run but can't move a muscle. I am forced to watch as he mauls another woman. If his car hadn't pulled up just then I wonder if they'd have dropped to the sidewalk and gone at it like rabbits. Now I don't know how rabbits do it but it's a point of reference. It is a measure of my disgust and disappointment.

Just before he enters the car he tosses me a look that curls my toes. That smoldering look kept me warm all the way home. I think that look was meant to put me in my place not set my hormones raging out of control.

Nothing will come of it. Even though I am not homeless as he likely assumes, he and I couldn't have an intimate relationship, shit, we couldn't have any relationship. I'm so fucked up it would take years of therapy just to get me to a place I could accept his hand on me. If he kissed me I might run him through with my knife. I'm a cheap low class nobody and he's solid gold.

It's good to know I can daydream and fantasize about doing intimate things even if the reality is those things are lost to me. Any sexual desire got killed off long ago. I'll never be more than half a woman. I envy those women he keeps company with and all the ways he makes love to them. Even the taste of a lover's lips is denied me. I want all those things I just know it isn't possible. The wounds are too deep.

Depressing as it is that's my reality. My one ace in the hole is my daily visits to The Devlin Tower. That place is to me like Mecca is to the Muslims. Each day I go, I sit on the ledge, I come back. The day I don't come back is the day I've had enough of this half life I am cursed to live. I could stand the poverty if I at least had what makes being a woman worthwhile.

Libby has a go at me when I am in one of these moods feeling worthless. She can make me see sense usually. The feeling of worth only lasts until I see a couple sharing the closeness denied me or parents with their children. I'll never hold a child, my child in my arms let alone feel it growing inside me.

That cut I think is the deepest of all. It is my belief a child would be my savior. Loving a child would of necessity drive all the inner hatred from me leaving a wealth of love behind. Now, there is mostly hatred. Contrary to what the medical community believes I know I will never do to anyone let alone a child what was done to me.

I dismiss Libby's arguments that I am so willing to give my last piece of bread to someone who is hungry while I suffer the gnawing pangs of hunger. Food is easier to give than emotion. I could love my child, at least I hope so. I haven't been shown what love is or how people show it to each other. All I see is sexual fondling and lovemaking turned into something depraved. That isn't love at all.

Going about my routine I force any lingering ideas about that man from my mind. That road leads to a dead end. The two times he looked at me I felt as if an Arctic wind blasted into me. I'm lucky to not have suffered frost bite.

The day after setting eyes on him Libby comes over so we can plot out our route for collections. Looking at headlines is a good way to find out where the largest crowds have been or will be. Lots of people mean lots of trash. Their trash is our treasure.

The headline is in big bold letters about the plans for developing my neighborhood. The developer, one Mr. Marcus Devlin will not confirm or deny the truth in the rumors concerning his plans. Libby's arrival prevents me from reading the whole article or catching a glimpse of the great man himself. I'll look later unless we recycle the paper as well. If we find enough newspapers we turn them into cash too.

"So, Sonny, did you dream about him?" Libby asks in a deceptively innocent tone.

"Dream about who?" I also can be deceptive. My strategy is to play dumb.

Smacking my arm playfully she says, "Sonja Donatella, don't give me that crap. You know very well who I mean."

"Oh, so now you can read my mind. I'm an open book am I?" If I keep avoiding an answer I know from past conversations she will lose interest in a matter of minutes. Her attention span is shorter than a playful puppy.

"Sonny, why don't you like to be called Sonja? What is the origin of your name?" she asks just as if we haven't had this discussion before either. Like I said, short attention span. She also doesn't pay attention long enough to listen to answers to her questions. She'd try the patience of a saint but I love her.

"As I told you before," I stress each word, "Sonja comes from my Russian mother. The Donatella comes from my…my Italian father." My mouth feels dirty claiming out loud he is connected to me.

Sensing my changing mood Libby a puts comforting hand on my shoulder. If things were different Libby would be a wonderful counselor. When listening to others release some inner pain she gives her full attention. Most of the time some pearl of wisdom manages to leave her usually smiling lips. When she gets all serious she looks years older.

There are times when I think Libby is more intelligent than she shows outwardly. She always seems to have money, food, and adequate clothing, nothing elaborate, always just enough.

If someone is in need Libby gives all she can. Libby has rubbed off on me. Her version is I've rubbed off on her. The two of us are willing to share what we have.

Not wanting to spoil our day I shake off my gloomy mood. The sun is shining, the lock on my front door actually worked and I'm with my best friend, what more do I need?

Is asking for a toilet that flushes without running over too much to hope for? I ask myself this, just moments after thinking I didn't need anything more than my good friend Libby.

Okay, Libby and a working toilet and my life is good.