BE PREPARED: SPOT AND SPOTETTE…UMMM...WELL YOU KNOW…
CHAPTER 11: CHANCE'S.
NOT 'CHANCES'.
THIRD PERSON:
Spot was trembling in his sleep, again. It made Spotette nervous, to see Spot so out of shape, as if he could see something bad coming. It wasn't even midnight, but because all of the sleep Spot had been missing, he fell asleep quickly.
"Spot, wake up." The girl whispered in her boyfriend's ear.
Spot groaned and turned over, still half asleep. The blonde girl next to him sensed something was going to happen, just as much as he did. And they both didn't like it.
Spotette decided it was now or never, and leaned over and kissed his chin all the way up to his temple, awakening Spot a little more.
"Hey," he said, his voice confused.
"Spot, I love you." Spotette said, arching herself towards him, ever so softly, and Spot, who finally caught her drift, was fully awake. Their child, Sean was staying in Manhattan with the girls, a precaution from the war, so they had the room to themselves.
So for the first time, the two tangled themselves together and 'made love'. And Spot's dreams were nightmare-free, as well as Spotette's.
NEXT AFTERNOON…
The couple was walking down the sidewalk, holding hands and thinking. Spot was involved in his war, and it was a lot of stress for the boy.
"Chance is planning something, it's too quiet." Spot said.
"Yeah, I guess," Spotette answered, thinking Spot may just be paranoid, but then again, she had a feeling of loneliness surrounding her, and trying to understand that, she pulled herself closer to Spot.
Spotette had never really met the infamous Chance, but Spot described him as a large boy, strong, but weak at the same time, with streaking grizzly-bear brown hair that was chin level and dark black eyes.
Spot and Spotette had been inseparable for a while now, and they were walking towards the Lodging House when a young Newsie named Hoist was seen by the two being taken away from four boys obviously from Harlem.
They had his arms and legs, carrying him to some unknown destination. Spot immediately took off, Spotette following, and pushed the guys out of his way, ordering Spotette to take Hoist back to the Lodging House.
She looked around, confused and slightly scared, and ran with Hoist quickly back to their home, and sprinted back to through Brooklyn, looking down all the roads for the fight that for sure had broken out.
Spotette found herself on the edge of the docks, and gasped at the sight. A small but strong sized boy with piercing blue eyes was being tossed into the Brooklyn waters by a two unknown boys. And Chance.
What she didn't see when she collapsed onto the ground unconsciously from being hit from behind, was how Spot hadn't even hit the water, that he was as safe and healthy as he could be with Harlem and Chance, that he hadn't really just been drowned.
In Chance's crazed mind, killing Spot would cause more suffering to the girl then Spot, because after he died he was, well, dead. So he had another plan, one that would put them both through a lot of suffering.
When Spotette finally came to, it only took seconds for everything to sink in, and she ran full speed to the end of the docks, looking for the love of her life. She began shedding her clothes, down to her cami and boy-shorts, and jumped in searching frantically for someone who wasn't down there.
She came up again, and again, and again, and went down again, and again, and again. By the time she had given up, she hauled her soaking wet and freezing body onto the docks, and sat there bawling.
Her hands covered her eyes, and she cried so hard her whole body literally shook. Her face was smeared with dirt that hadn't come off in the water. She just sat there, legs bent up against her, rocking back and forth, crying and shivering and shaking.
Meanwhile, from behind a row of shrubs, trees, and other plants, Chance snickered masochistically as he forced his capture to watch. He patted the head of a tied up Spot Conlon, who was watching broken-heartedly as his girl bawled over him. He hated Chance for making Spotette go through that, and making him watch her.
She would eventually go home, and tell everyone, Midtown, the Bronx, and Manhattan, that he was dead, and Harlem would win the war. Spot could have taken the four boys bugging Hoist, but from the shadows had come six more, a very uneven fight.
He felt sick. He wanted to run to Spotette and tell her he was okay; he wanted to die because he couldn't. He hated, hated seeing her so extremely broken, and felt it was up to him to fix her.
When was he going to get free? No one would look for him if they thought he was dead.
What would Spotette do? What about Sean? Would Chance make him watch her suffering? What about his funeral?
Chance was messed up. Why would he want to hurt these two people so much?
Chance leaned over, and whispered in Spot's ear, "It's okay; you'll be seeing Spotette 24/7. You'll watch her break, cry, and whimper in pain over her dead partner. You'll go to your own funeral; you'll watch Harlem over come Brooklyn—but not right away."
Yards away, Spotette felt herself breaking. Cracking; drying up; being blown apart but compacted ever so tightly at the same time. She got herself so she was sitting cross-legged, her back hunched over her knees; still crying.
About half an hour later, she was still there, still crying, when Burnin found her. Keep her safe, Spot pleaded as he watched Burnin carry off the limp, broken body of the love of his life.
Watching Spotette crumple over him, he finally saw how much he loved her, and how much she loved him. He knew now more than he ever did; more than when he saw her again after two years in Trenton, more than when they were together on his bed last night.
Spot only let one, single tear run down his cheek. He wouldn't let Chance see him cry; even though he was sure he was dyeing inside. "You should cry, boy. You're the one making her cry, remember? You are the one causing her to crumble, weep. Not me…you."
His words stung Spot, because in a sick, twisted way, Chance was right.
Could you guys even imagine the pain they must both be in? Because I can't. I'm writing it as best I can, but still.
I don't like this chapter; it makes me UBER sad.
And murderous towards Chance. MURDEROUS.
Well, it is my story..Hmmm.
REVIEW! I NEED YOU GUYS!
THIS IS A REALLY HARD TIME FOR ME *BLOWS NOSE IN TISSUE*
