Author's Note: Thank you guys for reviewing and being intrigued by the possibilities of this fic.
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You are the music while the music lasts.
-T.S Eliot
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Miss Henry's class room was stark white with framed professional certificates hanging on the walls and wild cactus plants and potted flowers lining the windowsills.
"Those boys are bad news, they're not the sort of boys someone like you should be-"the teacher began, showing Lacey a neat little wooden seat in the front of the class. Gingerly, she sat down and crossed her legs scooting to the edge of the seat in case there was a need for her to escape her new bright white haven. Miss Henry leaned against the maple wood bookcase stuffed horizontally with books, drumming her pencil against the wood.
The hammering noise was grating as Lacey cupped her hands over her knee, shoulders hunched and belly pressed on her lap to keep her books in place.
"Someone like me?" She asked, her eyes narrowed and running down Ellen Henry's ill-fitting long paisley dress. The teacher moved closer, her voice a peal as she pulled a chair next to Lacey.
"You have-issues Lacey... and," she smiled reaching out to touch her hand, the sunlight skittering across her freckled skin. "If you need to talk, I'm here"
Hearing the judgement in her voice, Lacey felt the heat rush into her cheeks "What, did they demote you to school counsellor now?
"You should ask for a raise if you have to listen to all the shit the students spew on a daily bases" she shot to her feet, burning holes into Miss Henry's blue eyes.
"You're hurting about Rita aren't you?"
"What the fuck do you know about Rita?" her chest tightened, her heart hammering inside her ribcage.
"I know she was your friend and I know that she didn't deserve what happened to her." Her voice grew softer in an attempt to pacify Lacey.
"Lacey, it's not too late to change your circumstances, you don't need to be this…thing…this-"
"Fuck you, "she spat back, her knuckles white around her books and her boots digging into the worn floorboards. "Miss Henry, you think you know me? Lady you don't know shit. This is Quincy Adams and K.O.S runs this show"
"Lacey-Miss Porter"
She yelled as Lacey barrelled out of the classroom, jaw clenched tight, breath hitching as she stifled back the tears. Judy Porter's cupcakes couldn't fix the mess her life had become now. Her mother and her sister had become innate objects in her life now, things she had long since discarded in her head. They hardly spoke, save for the occasional grunt when passing each other in the hallway.
She wasn't Lacy Porter she was Puppet and the only person who could relate to her pain, to the monster shit of her life was gone. Rita was dead.
She shut her eyes, tasting a tear that had trailed its way inside her dry mouth. Everything felt epic and airless as the shudder of panic swept through her. She did her counts picturing the swinging pendulum in Dr Ashton's office, she did her counts but the panic rose and curled inside her belly barrelling toward her chest and grasping around her throat.
Lacey remembered her emergency pills, something her doctor was wary of since she was prone to overdose. He had diagnosed her as a danger to herself. Rummaging through her small satchel for the tablets, something in her chest locked and twisted as her knees gave way beneath her. She collapsed on the hallway just next to the honours cabinet with all those glittering cups and medals for students whose clubs she could never join.
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It was said that California had the most beautiful sunsets, something about the smog making everything so fucking pink and so damn beautiful. Danny Desai wasn't so sure about that, San Fernando Valley was a sass pool but after two years in juvie, he'd take that sass pool over the grey walls of a stifling damp and dank prison cell.
A part of him was glad to be back in the valley; a part of him hated every ounce of the mountain ringed zone, the greasy ink tar, corner seven-eleven and palm trees lining the boulevards. A part of him knew that this place for him was Paradise, or the only paradise that he'd ever know.
Welcome back to Suburbia Danny boy, he thought standing in line at the bus top. He figured he was already late for his first date back to Quincy Adams but he didn't care even though his probation officer would probably care, so he feigned a care and checked his new watch. It was a welcome back gift from his mother, a big silver monstrosity that Danny had no use for. Prison changed your proprieties, it changed your chemical system, heck it even changed your hair. He ran a hand through his messy dark curls grinning at the tatted up rocker chick standing a few feet away from him. Danny was lucky to still have his hair. It had always been the one come on he had for pretty girls, that and his whisky brown eyes set against a smooth swarthy skin. That had always been his package, his game and so now he checked for her reaction to his demeanour, he checked for her tell.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing, so either he was losing his charm or things had changed drastically on the outside since his two year stint in juvie.
He looked up at the great big cerulean sky and grinned like a Cheshire cat. Danny Desai was happy to be alive and he was happy to be back.
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