"Hopeless"
Follows "Run"
After he runs away from his father, Carrie finds raising young Dave more of a challenge then she expected.
PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't sue, that makes me a *saaaad* panda.
Lyrics: "Unkind" by Tabitha's Secret (it's sort of an early version of Matchbox 20, same guy singing and writing the song, ect)
Spoilers: None
Ramblings: Wow... You wanted another sequel, so I wrote one... Sorry if I was a little slow, in short I've had to practice for the variety show, so my friends and I can embarrass ourselves with a little ditty I like to call "The Fancy Pants Song". Then I wrote a slash fic for Lord of the Rings. (Oh don't act so shocked).
Anyway... You like me, you really like me. *wipes tear away from eye* Thank yous go out to Jacinda, She Devil, Anger Towards Society, and everyone I can't remember at this moment, for giving me ideas. So anyway, um, I hope this fic doesn't disappoint you, and I wasn't too slow.
Finally, one last note, there's a time lapse in here somewhere... try and guess where it is. (Hint: It takes place before Dave goes to see Sister Nina)
_______________________________
Bring it on baby, whatcha getting into?
Is living on pain the thing that's getting to you?
You can write my name, pin it up my picture
And say it's the only thing, cuz I'm not around to be around
____________________________
~*Memory*~
"Please tell me again why I have to dress like this?" Dave spun around, dodging his aunt who was trying to perform an amazing feat: trying to tame his bed hair with a flimsy plastic comb and ordinary tap water.
"Catholic school. Dress code, kiddo," Carrie answered, speaking in fragments like she usually did when she was preoccupied.
"Mind telling my why I have to switch schools in the first place?"
"It's close, it's cheap, it's nice. Your old school is an hour away, not counting morning traffic and afternoon rush."
"So from now on, every day, the only thing I'll wear is a blue shirt and khaki pants?"
"Or navy blue pants and a white shirt when you feeling festive. Which reminds me, I have to stop by your dad's to pick up some of your clothes. Are they all as beat up the ones you were wearing?"
Dave shrugged. "I'm not coming, though."
"I was planning to do this while you were in school, anyway."
He looking in the mirror, staring into his eyes while his nervous aunt smoothed his shirt and pants. He shuddered; he didn't look like himself at all. Very nerdy.
"I'm not even Catholic."
"Yes you are."
"I can't run in these shoes."
"Why would you need to run?"
"This shirt is too tight."
His aunt stepped back and laughed. "Not much of a morning person, are you, David?"
"Dave."
"David."
"Dave."
"Whatever." He couldn't help but smile. "Give this to, uh, who is it they want you to go to?"
"Sister Ursula?"
"Yeah, one of the nuns. It's a card with emergency information." She walked to the back of her room, where her desk was. Under a pile of unfinished tax returns and forlorn memos, she managed to dig up a small white slip.
Dave grabbed it and inspected her handiwork. "Why is Dad's number on it?"
Carrie's face fell and she gently set her coffee down.
"Well, they request two emergency phone numbers."
"So why'd you put his?" Dave asked, anger rising in his voice.
"If something happens to you, he has a right to know."
"I told you before, he doesn't care about me."
_____________________________
I'm beaten and battered and if my dreams get shattered then
Pain gives me the right to be unkind
_____________________________
Carrie bit her lip and placed one hand on her hip. "Tell you what, we're leaving in oh, say, fifteen minutes. I'll give you 'til then to find a substitute."
"Grandma?"
"Grandma lives in Albany, honey."
"Okay... What about Ted?"
She chewed her lip. "I'd feel uncomfortable, he's my boyfriend. You've only met him twice."
Dave thought for a moment, drumming his stubby fingernails on the table. "Can we just put one number?"
"No, because sometimes I moonlight in the emergency room. And when that happens I'm practically unreachable."
Dave sighed. "Fine then," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, and not loud enough to admit to himself that he had been defeated.
*~End Memory~*
_____________________________
Bring it on baby, with sudden devotion
I'd trade a river of tears for just a little emotion
____________________________
"Hey you, kid who never talks!"
The angry words of the team captain caused his train of thought to disintegrate.
"That ball was yours!"
He nodded, and resumed playing his half awake game of defense. Jesus, it was cold out. The October had been unusually chilly, and instead of resuming their soccer tournaments inside, the gym teachers were convinced a little cold would do them good, and the students were told to bring their coats outside with them. The morning class got to stay inside. Lucky.
Yet watching a soccer ball fly back and forth across a muddy field made him sleepy somehow. What was he doing before Mitch yelled at him? Thinking about how he got here. Maybe he should have stayed with his dad. Shut up and swallowed his beating like a good little boy. It was a nice alternative to being shunned and tormented here. At home, he'd only have to put up with it for a little while, for a few hours, a few insults, a few bruises, instead of for eight hours with his fellow classmates. His grades still sucked, but at least he had friends back home. His father would only demand he keep quiet and stay locked in his room, but there always seemed to be something wrong with him here at school.
Thus it was best not to allow anything to *be* wrong.
So he shut his mouth.
A sharp whistle cut through the morning air, and his team marched back inside the building.
"We lost again, Malucci." Some girl who was on his soccer team, calling him by what was written on his gym shirt. Most likely she had never bothered to learn his first name. "You realize we'd do better if we didn't have a walking cadaver on defense."
He hung his head.
*Just two more classes, a few more hours...*
___________________________
You can curse my name, pin it up my picture
And say it's the last time I'll be around, be around
____________________________
He walked aimlessly down the halls, toward the direction of the library. He chose to sit at his usual secluded table, away from all the other Study Hall kids.
He took out a notebook, staring at a blank page. Everyone thought he was working on something important and didn't bother him. In actuality, he was drawing a flower pot.
"Can I sit here?"
Dave looked up. In front of him stood a short, freckled redheaded boy, who was smiling apologetically.
"All the other seats are taken."
Dave shrugged.
"I'm Peter. You're that kid who never talks. David something or another, right? I remember now."
Dave went back to his drawing, and Peter craned his neck.
"Do you like to draw?"
He shrugged again.
"There are a lot of doodles on your notebook."
"..."
"I swear to God, you're impossible. Can you *not* talk at all, or do you just not want to?"
Dave flipped to a fresh page in his notebook, scribbling his answer down. *Don't want to*
"Why not?"
*Don't feel like it*
"Why not?"
He hesitated. *no one to talk with*
"Do you talk at home, then?"
*Yes. To the cat, mostly*
Peter smiled. "What does he say?"
*not much. SHE's not much of a talker*
"I can see where you have so much in common."
*Not funny*
"Sorry." Peter said uncomfortably, going back to his homework.
Dave sighed wistfully, staring out the window. The bare skeletons of the trees stretched against the gray October sky. Little droplets of water fell to the window sill.
Dave took a deep breath, licked his lips, and began slowly:
"Hey look. It's raining."
____________________________
Oh well I'm torn and tattered
So the thoughts in my head, they get scattered
____________________________
He trudged up the stairs to his aunt's apartment, reaching deep in the pockets of his pants for the key. The carpet was a dingy gray-brown, and the windows were covered with yellowed lace. There was even a crack in the wall where the rotted wood had finally given way, big enough for him to stick a bony fist through.
Inside of Carrie's apartment, it was still freezing, but at least the stench of decaying building was gone. Dave pulled a quilt around him and switched on the space heater, waiting for it to heat up the room.
He unpacked a dirty math book from his book bag and chewed on the eraser to his pencil. He hadn't even bothered to take off his coat.
"Hey Dave. How long have you been here?" asked his aunt quietly. "Let's get some more light in here. You wanna ruin your eyes?" She looked tired, washed out... gray. Lacking somehow. She looked away from him, staring at the dirty window with a wistful look in her eyes. Her face was frozen in a half grimace.
"So how's Dad?"
"Huh?" Soft confusion.
"I know you saw him today. You said you were going to pick my stuff up."
"He's gone," she said, her voice a strained whisper.
"What?"
"Sweet heart, he's just..." she shook her head, strands of black hair coming undone from her loose ponytail. "I went to his apartment, the door was unlocked, and Dave, I'm telling you, there was nothing there. Just some old furniture and your clothes packed in a box. That was it."
Dave edged closer to her, and she placed her arm around his shoulder, bringing him near.
She sighed sadly. "I just wish I knew what I did wrong."
______________________________
Pain gives me the right to be unkind...

(And it sets me here)
______________________________
The guidance office was a dead zone. Oh sure, they tried to conceal it with brightly colored pictures, but somehow those just made it seem all the more unnerving. It was one big cold spot. The vents that were supposed to pump in fresh air brought in the frigid temperatures as an added bonus. And in the spring, nothing said comfort like the hum of an overworked air conditioner, positioned almost directly behind the office. Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust.
Rumor had it this used to be a closet.
Dave fidgeted in the stiff leather chair, and it made a crackling noise that seemed to boom across the already tense room. He coughed politely as Sister Nina gave him an incredibly wise (and equally fake) grin.
"So, David..." she paused as if to remember his name. "Can you tell me why you're here?"
His eyes flashed and he dared not move a muscle. She stared down at him with the anticipation of a snake hunting her prey.
"Take your time. No hurry."
Fine. She had the whole day, he'd give her the whole day. The staring contest had only just begun.
"Or you can come in after school. You don't even have to talk, you can just, uh, wash desks." She picked up a trinket from her desk, a small, ceramic Jesus, inspected it, then placed it back down with spidery fingers. Her attitude was like that of a chess champion placing the winning move.
"Checkmate," she seemed to say.
"Checkmate," agreed the Baby Jesus.
He had no choice. "I got in a fight."
"About what?" she asked, dragging out the words.
"About whether or not to call a foul."
"Can you tell me what happened from there?" she flipped through a clipboard, which probably contained information about him, report cards, permanent record, ect. She did so with such nonchalant-ness it made him want to strangle her.
"It got physical," he shrugged.
"Mm hm... why?"
"Because Dan Bollen is a jerk."
"I can tell we've made real progress--"
"He wouldn't listen! He knows that I blocked the ball with my hands so it wouldn't hit my face! He's just upset because he's losing!"
"But what could posses you to strike him?"
"He wasn't listening!"
"So you hit him." Silence. "I think, David, as one gets older, they learn others are often biased to their own opinions. But tell me about yourself."
He stared at the woman in front of him for a moment. Her hawk eyes peered out at him from under her frizzy, chestnut brown bangs. The rest of her hair was stuck in a puffy clump running down her back. Carefree attitudes were left at the door here, only the hopeless entered this room. Sister Nina wasn't joking.
"What are your goals for the future? Sooner or later you'll be out of this place.
"Med school, maybe. Possibly cancer research, emergency medicine..."
"You'll have to work harder, you know. Your records from your other school say that you're a C and D student, with one A in Foreign Language. Honestly, it's less then impressing."
"I'm doing this better this year, though." The freedom from nervous tension had done wonders for his mind. Ever since his conversation with Peter in the library he had been talking more, and had found everyone dropped their snobbish attitudes for amazement. Dave had a voice. He could talk. He was funny. Things got better. "Is my progress report in there? I'm getting an A in biology and the lowest grade I have is a C in Lit, which I'm doing extra credit for," he said proudly. *Check*
She shook her head. "Do you know what the penalty for fighting is?
"I didn't start it--"
"Doesn't matter. Guess."
"Detention?" he asked hopefully.
"No. Suspension." She sat back, letting the words hang in the air. "Out of School Suspension. That's work that you can't make up, David."
He let his jaw go slack. She got up from the chair and moved toward him.
"Two days, effective immediately. I called your aunt to have her pick you up."
He was still dumbstruck as she gently shooed him out the door.
"And you seemed like such a *nice* boy."
______________________________
Right back to the heart of it
Joan's crazy is a slight defense from it
Joan's crazy is a place I call my own
When I'm alone
______________________________
The dismal silence of Sister Nina's office was nothing compared to the car ride home.
"If I hear one word out of you, one word, David Alexander," his aunt said in a low, warning growl. He sank into the back of the car, pressing himself into the seat as much as possible. He honestly believed if he said a word she'd slap him.
It seemed no place was home now. Certainly not with his father and Carrie was letting her evil side show through. But his mother couldn't have been the only one ever to care for him, could she?
"I thought I taught you better then that!" Carrie muttered once they had arrived home. "Didn't I teach you better then that? Do you want to become your father? A low life boozer with no sense of empathy? I was good to you! I fed you and gave you shelter and a place to live! And you get suspended over a goddamn *football game*!" She threw up her hands in disgust.
"Soccer."
"I don't care!" she yelled, her angry words striking down his feeble correction. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then stopped. Her expression changed, and she looked as though she could break into tears.
"Please. Go to your room now."
_______________________________
Bring it on baby, whatcha getting in to?
I swear once it was the little things that mattered, but it all seems true to you
_______________________________
~*~Memory~*~
She always liked to clean on Thursdays.
Dave couldn't remember why it was always this day his mother chose to clean things, but probably because Carrie came over to visit on Fridays and Saturday was their only day to relax. It was also convenient because his mother only had to work a half day on Fridays.
She was a prodigy on the piano, but they couldn't fit one in their apartment, much less get it up the stairs, but she still played guitar. She sang like an angel in the church choir, her rich soprano voice rising above the others and to the heavens.
She liked to sing along to the radio when she washed dishes. And she smelled like clean laundry. Always.
But his mother's memorable traits were nothing now.
It didn't matter any more whether the house was cleaned on Friday or Saturday or never at all. Carrie never bothered to drop by anymore.
And, Dave supposed, it hadn't mattered to begin with whether or not his mother was there to sing along to the radio. The neighbors always complained about the noise, anyhow.
But while it lasted, it was pleasant.
~*~End Memory~*~
_______________________________
Say the hell with my name, and say the hell with my picture
Yeah, but swear
For one time you need me around to be around
I'm around right now
______________________________
He ran into his room, burying his face in his pillow. Carrie had given him a place to stay and look what he'd done. Why couldn't he just stay out of trouble? *Stupid, stupid, stupid* circled in his head a thousand times.
The guilt felt like it was crushing him, so he lay still on top of his unmade bed until he fell into a light, dreamless sleep.
______________________________
And here I'll stand like it matters
Only once gets through, then it gets scattered by the rain
Pain gives me the right to be unkind
______________________________
~*~Memory~*~
His mother was making the bed, so it was probably morning. The clean sunlight streamed into the otherwise unlit room, making it homely and comforting. It was sparcely furnished, with only a wooden twin bed, a dresser, and a large mirror by the door. Also, a framed "Lord's Prayer" decorated the wall above the bed. A toy truck and some children's books dotted the threadbare rug. The clean, white sheets in her hand gave away the fact it was Thursday, in addition to matching the white, cracked paint.
He was lying on the sheetless bed, he must have been, oh, five or six.
She was fingering the worn cloths, her delicate fingers tracing the spaces where holes were forming and the thread was giving way. She bit her lip anxiously, a bad habit of hers. Her family had never really had a lot of money, but they always managed to get by.
"Sweetie, get off the bed." He was always 'sweetie' to her, never David.
"I'm sleepy."
"Please?" she asked wearily.
No answer.
"Fine then. Stay there." She smiled through her silent pain, revealing a space between her two front teeth. She threw a sheet over the bed, letting it float down, covering her son completely. "Hmm... where could he be?" she asked, faking confusion.

Then the room seemed to spin. The tired brown of the floor mixing with the white walls and the bits of sky the windows let in. She couldn't keep her balance, and she sank to her knees on the floor as her head spun controllably. She clutched her laundry to her chest for dear life.
"Mama?" he crept to the edge of the bed. "Are you okay?
"I'm... I'm fine." She steadied herself on his dresser.
He knew her well enough not to believe.
_____________________________
Right back to the heart of it
Joan's crazy is a slight defense from it
Joan's crazy is a place I call my own
When I'm alone...
_______________________________
"Hey." His aunt's soft voice broke through the hazy memory and it faded back into the cold bedroom. Carrie flicked on the light with a soft tapping sound. "I just came to apologize for what I said before."
"I deserved it."
"What you did was wrong, but I had no right to act that way." She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. "Just for the record, I see more of Maria in you then your father."
"Hmm?" he said lazily.
"She was amazing. She had this, this *radiance* that I see in you. Whenever she entered a room, the mood lightened. In high school she was the girl all the guys wanted to date. She was beautiful, intelligent. And believe it or not, I see a lot of that in you."
"Do I look like her?"
"More so every day." She smiled and ruffled his hair. "I see a lot of your father's qualities, too."
"Like how?" he asked uncomfortably.
"You have his tendency to make rash decisions. Your mom was soft spoken, she thought before she said anything. She could be humble, too, but that didn't show through as much. You're rebellious, like your father. You've got his sense of humor. I'm not saying you'll end up like him, though. I hope to God you don't."
He nodded.
"What I'm saying isn't a bad thing. Don't fight who you are, don't run from what happened."
He took a deep breath and spoke. "Why didn't she treat her leukemia?"
"They couldn't."
"But dad said..."
"First off, it was a rare cancer. 'Hairy cell leukemia', I think. It took her doctor forever to catch it because it usually effects middle aged men, not young women, and of course, Maria didn't want to complain. The drug was experimental, as a last resort. It was a new drug, really bad side effects and a small success rate. Maria knew she was going to die. She didn't want to draw out her suffering."
He sat in thought, letting the wise words of his aunt sink in.
"I have her wedding picture in my wallet, if you're interested."
"I think her wedding is the last thing I want to think about."
Carrie sighed. "I suppose what brought you here, in a way, almost killed you." She took out a faded leather wallet. "I keep it with me all the time, so I don't forget. Sometimes I just need reassurance that she'll never leave me, and all I have to do is pull this out of my pocket, and I know she never will."
Dave sat knowingly in the quiet, agreeing with everything his aunt had to say.
_______________________________
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