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Aimless
When I woke, it was too dark to see anything past my hand that I held up in front of my face. For a minute, I couldn't figure out exactly where I was. The boy's home, where I'd lain awake almost every night, crying into a pillow or staring blankly up at the ceiling in the dark, praying that I could go home soon? The hellhole, listening to Rita cry in the room next door, or to the asshole in the kitchen, drinking and swearing and yelling at whoever dared enter the room? Then I remembered. The bus. The girl in the alley. James. I was on James' couch. Groaning and rolling over, I looked around for a clock and didn't find one. Reaching under the couch, I found the bag, then dropped my arm, head resting on the sofa. I felt wrong...like my body wasn't used to the time difference.
I'd dreamed about Lianne...her and Rita both. He'd hurt both of them, just in different ways. I'd done my best to stop him...to help them. It hadn't always worked, and more often than not he'd take it out on me, but at least he'd leave them alone. Sometimes. Every week he'd go to Rita's room at least once, and one night after the social worker had brought me back to the house, warning me not to try and contact her again, I'd gotten out of bed. The other guys I shared that room with hadn't noticed or cared when I left the room in the night. I'd slipped into Rita's bedroom, grabbing the asshole from where he'd stood at the foot of her bed, decking him in the face and knowing I was going to pay for it. He'd just about killed me, but for that night at least, he'd left my foster sister alone.
In my dream, I was in their room, my back against Rita's bed. She never really spoke to me, but I knew she was grateful. I think she was too embarrassed to even acknowledge, but Lianne had. "One of these days he might settle for you." She'd told me one day on our way to school. Sometimes we walked to school together. Most days, actually, but she always stayed after, studying at the school library as long as she could almost every day.
I'd thought about that before...I just prayed it never actually happened. It was the only thought that made me hesitate every time I snuck into the girls' room and slept on the floor. "He ever bug you?" I'd asked, too ashamed to ask what I really wanted to. I knew what he was doing to Rita and figured he'd probably done it to Li too. She'd smiled a little, shaking her head, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Nah. I can handle myself." She'd told me, all false bravado and smirks, but I didn't believe her.
In the dream, he'd been beating on the door, the girls sobbing behind me in their beds, and I knew I couldn't fight him off. Not this time. I wanted to kill him. I mean, I'd wanted that before, but this time I held my switchblade in my clenched fist, hands slick as I tried to open it. I'd kill him before I'd let him hurt them...but why hadn't I tried to save Lianne? Because there were so many guys there? Police officers and old greasers...what chance had I had against them? But at least I could have tried! I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. If I kept thinking about it, I'd never get off the sofa.
The only light in the room came from a window by the door, the curtains letting in just enough to make out a lamp and a chair in the corner after my eyes adjusted. Sitting up and running a hand through my hair, I rubbed my eyes and squinted in the dark to get a better look, to no avail. I couldn't hear anyone else in the apartment, so I pulled myself to my feet, flipping on the lamp on the table beside the couch. The light didn't do much good...the dim bulb just showed me that I'd been sleeping on a ratty green couch and that the sofa and chair, along with the table that held the phone and one of the two lamps, were the only things in the room.
I moved into the kitchen, which had a card table and two folding chairs shoved in the corner, an icebox, and a stove surrounded by greenish cabinets. The countertops were dirty, caked on food covering the stove, and a moldy loaf of bread sat on the corner counter. I thought back to the loaf in my bag but decided to keep it to myself. I was starving, and I figured I'd better not start off my visit with this guy by eating his food. Besides, a quick search of his cabinets showed a bag of pretzels, and in the fridge, a half empty bottle of ketchup and a case of beer, none of which looked all that appetizing. I wanted a shower, but I didn't want to go snooping around his house any more than I already had, and I was still exhausted, so I dropped back onto the couch, trying to go back to sleep and ignoring my empty stomach.
The door slammed shut a few hours later, jarring me from a semi-sound and thankfully dreamless sleep. I blinked in the dark, flinching a little when the light was suddenly switched on. James stumbled in, pausing in the middle of the living room to stare at me. "The hell...oh...Dally's kid." He mumbled, rolling his eyes. I didn't dare correct him and only met his eyes for about a millisecond before dropping them back to my lap, glancing up at him occasionally as he spoke. "Bathroom's that way. Don't go in my bedroom. There's no food in the kitchen, so you're on your own." He seemed to think for a minute, then nodded. "Night." He disappeared down the short hall then, slamming the door behind him, and I grabbed the duffel bag Dally had given me, heading into the bathroom to take a shower.
Glancing down at my side in the shower, I flinched a little at the dried blood around the cut which I'd almost forgotten about. That knife hadn't cut me too deep, but I figured I'd better put some of that alcohol on it...and that I'd better get some more alcohol. The hot water stung my face, but I scrubbed it anyway, trying not to look at my arms too close. The blisters still stung, but when I dried off, I just dumped some alcohol onto a rag and practically bathed in it, rubbing it up and down my arms, over the cut on my side, then on my face, using the last of the gauze on my side.
Once I'd cleaned up and changed, I realized I didn't have a toothbrush...or enough food to last me, and the money I'd brought wasn't going to last long. I needed to find a way to make some money. Dally had told me that I might find a job here...that no one would ask too many questions. I figured I'd be okay for a while though if I was careful. Give things down south some time to die down. Job, money, food, toothbrush...my head was spinning and I couldn't quite get a grip on my thoughts. I needed to focus on one thing at a time, but it was too late to go out. Deciding I'd deal with everything later, I headed back to the living room.
When I lay back down, I realized how hot it was in the apartment. That was good, I guessed since I had no idea where any extra blankets were. I'd probably have to figure that out eventually, but for the moment I decided to go back to sleep. There wasn't much to do in an empty apartment that didn't even have a TV, and the third time, I managed to sleep for a solid...well, who knows really. It was daylight outside when I woke, so I decided to get up for good.
There was no audible movement in James's room, so I assumed he was still asleep...or gone. I needed a toothbrush...and food. The food was more pressing since my stomach was cramping with hunger pains. I tried to remember the last time I'd eaten and failed. Probably on the bus. Reaching into my bag, I grabbed the bread and bologna and threw together a sandwich that I scarfed down. I was almost out of bologna, and only had a few pieces of bread left, so I'd have to find some more food. And a toothbrush. That was important too. Grimacing at the taste in my mouth, I went into the bathroom and stole a dab of his toothpaste, swishing it around my mouth with my finger, then rinsing out my mouth.
Since that was the best I could do, I headed back into the living room, checking my wallet and shoving my duffel bag under the sofa. Once it was hidden, I thought about writing a note but remembered what he'd said about babysitting. James didn't care what I did or, most likely, what happened to me. It wasn't a nice thought. I remembered wishing that Darry didn't care quite so much what I got up to and wished I could take all those times back. Heck, I didn't even care that he'd hit me. He hadn't meant to, and besides, I knew now what it was like to be beat up on the regular by the person you lived with. I'd take Darry any time. He hadn't even hit me that hard, and he'd been real sorry.
Making sure to shut the door behind me, I looked around, trying to figure out what time it was. The streets were still busy, cars and bicycles driving back and forth, but mostly it was people that clogged the roads and sidewalks. Greasers, or whatever they called them in New York, and girls in heels and homeless guys in rags...they all walked together, shoulder to shoulder as they fought to get where there were going. I needed to find a grocery store or something, but I had no idea which way to go. Deciding to just start walking and making sure I had the paper with Dally's number in my pocket, I started walking, hoping to find a pay phone soon. I didn't know if he'd be around, but I could try calling.
I found a payphone outside of the first gas station I saw and headed over, slipping a dime into the slot and dialing his number. For a minute, I thought about calling my house. More than anything I wanted to talk to my brothers...but I had no idea what Dally had told them, so I didn't dare. Did they even know I was missing yet? I assumed so, but then again, I didn't know what they would have told them. Did the foster father talk to them? Tell them I was nothing but trouble? Would they believe it? I hoped not.
"Hello," Dally answered, and I took a deep breath, not realizing how relieved I would be to talk to him. I hadn't honestly thought he would answer.
"Hey, Dally."
"Hey, kid. You alright? James giving you any trouble?"
"Nah, I'm alright." No need to mention the fact that James didn't speak to me any more than strictly necessary.
"You...you holding up okay?" He asked hesitantly, and I nodded before I realized how stupid that was.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. How are Darry and Sodapop? They okay? Do they know…"
"Yeah, they know. Cops came by on Tuesday...they didn't report you missing until Monday night, so you've got a head start. They're looking around that bar...and uh...the cops came by again last night. To your house. They found Lianne." I closed my eyes, leaning against the metal above the phone. I couldn't start crying...not here. Not now. Still, I was choking on my words when I managed to talk.
"I didn't do anything."
"Kid, if you'd done anything, you'd be in the ground with her." He reminded me, not unkindly. I sighed.
"Yeah," I mumbled, trying to push the thoughts away. "You...you tell my brothers anything?"
It was his turn to take a deep breath, sighing softly. "When the cops came by...Darry and Soda were freaked, kid. After the cops told 'em about your foster sister. I told 'em I'd looked you up...told 'em about driving you home that day. Your big brother's got a hell of a right hook, kid." He snorted a little, and I had to laugh, not even needing to ask which brother he was referring to.
"Sorry, Dal."
"Don't worry about it. I deserved it."
"No, you didn't. You saved my life."
"Hardly." He snorted. I disagreed, but I wasn't about to argue with him. "Give it a week or two, kid, and I'll figure out how to tell them. Then you can call them, alright?"
"Yeah, okay." He must have known I was dying to talk to them. "I'll let you go, Dal. Thanks again."
"Sure thing. Talk to you later." I hung up the phone, turning and walking down the road once more, keeping an eye out for a grocery store. Finally finding one about a mile away, I slipped inside, glancing around as I grabbed a basket. No one paid any attention to me. A few women were around with toddlers attached to their hands, hurrying to shove food into their baskets, a few of the kids yelling or throwing fits, but they just tugged them along. Everyone was in a hurry here. I dropped my head a little, trying to make myself invisible as I walked down the aisles, grabbing a few boxes of spaghetti and some jars of pasta sauce. Chicken was too expensive, but I grabbed bologna and more bread, then some peanut butter. I started to grab some jelly, but jelly reminded me of Sodapop...it was how he ate his eggs. I left the jelly on the shelf, grabbing a bag of beans instead, and a bag of frozen mixed vegetables, thinking of Darry as I did.
A carton of eggs and a box of cereal for breakfast, a carton of milk, and a bag of rice finished out my food, and after I grabbed a toothbrush and toothpaste, I stood in the middle of the aisle, trying to remember if I'd forgotten anything. I'd never had to do all the shopping for myself. Darry had usually had a list if I'd been doing any shopping at all, and as I stared down into my basket I was reminded once more that I needed a job, but at the moment I had no idea how to go about getting one. Deciding that I would worry about one thing at a time, I headed up to the checkout counter, reluctantly handing over the money they asked for and carrying the bags back to the apartment where I put the food away and stood still in the middle of the room, listening for movement but not hearing any. I had no idea if James was home or not, but I figured if he wanted to talk, he'd let me know. From what I'd seen so far, I doubted he would want to talk.
The front door was thrown open with a crash and I jumped, backing against the counter and trying to glance into the living room, but not having any luck. It didn't matter in the end though, because the guy who'd come crashing into the apartment stormed into the kitchen, pausing when he saw me. It wasn't James. This guy was a good head shorter than James, even a little shorter than me, with hair so blond it was almost white and with dark green eyes that stared at me in confusion. "The hell are you?" He asked, apparently distracted from whatever had brought him here.
"Po...Mike." I managed to remember to use my middle name at the last second. He didn't seem to catch it.
The guy stared at me, narrow-eyed for a second, then shook his head. "James!" He yelled, knocking hard on the wall, and I wondered if he was going to dent it. "James! Get out here! I know you're home!"
James came stumbling out of the bedroom, apparently drunk, and rubbed his hand over his face. "What?" He snapped, glancing at me. "What are you doing here, man?
"Who's the kid?"
"That's Mike." I was glad he remembered to use my middle name.
"Yeah, I got that. What's he doing here?"
"None of your business. Now, what are you doing here?" The guy glanced at me again and James rolled his eyes. "Beat it, kid." He ordered, and I nodded slowly.
"Right...see ya." I mumbled, slipping around the guy in the kitchen and hoping they didn't eat any of the food I'd bought. Not pausing to eavesdrop, I closed the door behind me, hurrying down the steps. Whatever it was James was involved in, I didn't even want to know. I had enough to worry about.
Back on the street, I wondered where I was supposed to go. I mean, it was nothing new...getting kicked out of the place I was living. As a matter of a fact, I wondered what it would feel like not getting shooed off anytime the people I lived with wanted me out. Darry and Soda had never done that...never kicked me out of the house. I pushed that thought away quick. I couldn't think about my brothers.
Heading the opposite direction I'd gone earlier, I started walking, hands in my pockets, glancing around at the shops and businesses that lined the streets. Mostly it was just apartment buildings and the occasional filling station or corner shop. No one paid me any mind, and I didn't see any socs around, thankfully. The only guys my age were dressed pretty much like me, worn out jeans and t-shirts that had been washed too many times, and they all ignored me. The cut on my face still hurt, but I hoped it made me look tough enough that they'd leave me alone for good. It was going to leave an awful scar, I was sure. I remembered getting it...the broken beer bottle coming down on my face and the blinding pain that had followed. I was just glad it had missed my eye. I'd managed to land a punch on the guy holding me, slipping away as his knife grazed my side enough to bleed but not enough to do ay permanent damage. The cut on my side was minor next to the one on my face. He'd grabbed my sleeve, and I'd slipped out of the jacket, leaving it behind and taking off.
I walked aimlessly, making sure to keep track of where I was going. The city was like a maze, the alleys full of guys fighting or drinking, and on almost every corner was a guy sitting against a building, their hat upside-down in front of them, some full of coins, some empty. I tried not to make eye contact...with anyone. I thought about going back to that gas station...seeing if that nice guy was still there, but it was a dumb idea. No reason to make myself more memorable than I had to. I needed to lie low, and if people came looking, hopefully, there was no one around who could ID me. Then again, I figured it couldn't hurt to disguise myself, at least a little. Ducking into another corner market and keeping my head down, I scoured the aisles until I found the peroxide.
Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
