Chapter 11

He glanced above the low shelves of the convenience store, nervously sliding his watch back and forth on his wrist. His eyes shifted towards the counter; somewhat relieved to see the man paying no attention in his direction, a newspaper held up so it covered his face. His gaze rested on the vast array of food items lined up neatly on the shelves, feeling the emptiness in his stomach from not having had any food in the past few days. He'd never stolen before, but now, he would rather steal than die from starvation, the two choices left him very little options.

His hand shook slightly as he reached for a package of bread, shoving it under his shirt. He could hear the accelerated beating of his heart as he ran out of the convenience store, he heard the yelling of the man who had been sitting at the cash register minutes before, he didn't turn back, for fear that the man would be able to catch up to him.

He turned a sharp corner, slowing as he jumped down a couple of small rocks, crawling under a small cement cover. As he reached the mouth of the bridge, he felt his chest tighten, a familiar panic taking over him. He tried to get his breathing under control as he half-stumbled, half-walked to where he had hidden his guitar. Unclasping the straps, he picked up his inhaler that he had put for safe-keeping beneath the guitar, he breathed in deeply from the inhaler, relief washing over him when he felt his heart return to its normal pace.

He had had asthma since he was a child, he never knew it would be such trouble until he had started on his journey, he silently cursed at himself for not bringing his inhaler with him, another minute longer and the results could have been fatal..

He rested a few seconds on his guitar, leaning most of his weight onto the instrument case. He traced the guitar in his hand lightly, as if it were a priceless jewel. For a long time, his guitar had been his savior, the one thing he could depend on to never change. His vision blurred, sadness washing over him. He held the guitar for a few more minutes before slowly getting to his feet, laying the guitar gently into the velvet lined case, closing the clasps.

Shoving his inhaler into his back pocket, he hooked the long strap that held the guitar together on his left shoulder. As he walked down the street, he knew he made a strange sight. With his ragged blonde hair streaked with dirt to his faded corduroy jacket, he stood out like a sore thumb in the small town. It didn't bother him though, he didn't plan on staying, he had stopped at this town for one reason. His hand clenched instinctively on the guitar.

He didn't look up until he reached the right street, glancing up to read the dark neon green sign that spelled out "Pawn Shop". The light in front of the door flickered on and off, he would have thought that it was closed, except there was a large open sign hanging on the door.

"This is it buddy, I'm sorry I have to do this.." His blue eyes filled with tears, the salty-liquid spilling silently down the ground, leaving light stains on the cement floor. If he felt there were any other ways of staying alive, he would have gladly gone down that road, but when he weighed the choices, finding his father was more important than his guitar in the long run.

Her mother had told him the guitar was the one item his father had left for him when he had disappeared one morning. He didn't even remember that day, her mother said he had been crying. His guitar was the only memory he had of his father, but he wouldn't need it once he exchanged it for the real thing. Deep down, he hoped that his father wasn't the man his mother had described him to be—always staying out instead of taking care of him and his mother, gone for days and coming back without an explanation.

In a way, he guessed he wished that his father had changed his ways, a person always has a chance in changing their ways, it would be cruel of him to judge him when he didn't even remember him.

His curiosity about his father had always been there. Sometimes, when her mother thought he wasn't looking would stare at him strangely, as if caught in a beautiful memory. Her mother had remarried since his father had walked out on them, and they had moved, halfway across the country. At nights clear as tonight, he often stayed awake, a vast array of questions running through his mind.

Had his father tried to find them but found he couldn't because they hadn't left a return address? Did his father know where they were, except was too afraid to come?

He took a deep breath, opening the Pawn Shop door; a bell attached to the door ringing as he stepped inside. He unstrapped his guitar from his shoulder, carrying it the rest of the way. Placing it on the glass case, he glanced around expectantly. A man appeared from behind another door in the back of the shop. He was a stout man, his hands grubby as if he had dipped his hands in grease before coming out to greet him.

"Hey." He said, standing behind the guitar nervously, he shoved his hands into his pocket because he didn't have any place else to put them. "I'd like to sell my guitar."

The man walked over to the guitar, placing a hand on the clasp and opening the case. He almost cringed, he hadn't let anyone touch the guitar when it was in his possession, especially not someone with hands that were dirty as his.

"I'll give you 50."

His head jerked up in surprise, "This guitar is worth more than 50, I've had it for a long time but it's like brand new."

The short man looked at him with weary eyes. "Listen kid, guitars aren't worth much no more. I'll give you 75 for it, you won't be getting that much from any of the other shops around here."

Chapter 12

Lita strummed a few chords of her guitar, taking interest in a particular chord that sounded melodic to her, she scribbled down on a piece of music paper the chord, lining it together with the other chords she had hastily written down over the past few weeks. She stuck the pen back on top of her left ear, strumming the chords together to see if they synchronized properly when a knock on her door broke her concentration, her pen falling from her ear and onto the carpet soundlessly.

She got up, walking over to her door still wearing her nightgown since it was ten o'clock at night, she hadn't planned on staying up any later than 11. Thinking it might be Jeff or Matt, back from their wrestling tour, she swung the door open, smiling excitedly. Her smile faded when she saw it was Raven, her faded smile replaced with a sudden pounding in her heart.

Raven glanced behind her, as if trying to look for someone.

She stood awkwardly at the doorstep, her hand gripping the doorknob painfully. She managed to get her hand away from the doorknob, wrapping her bathrobe closed when she realized it was open. "Bill..hi."

Raven looked at her without recognition in his eyes, though that changed several seconds later. He nodded at the greeting, asking in return, "Is Cordelia here?"

Lita shook her head; one of her red tendrils of her hair came loose, draping casually over one side of her eye. "Cordelia was going to come pick up something of hers that she left here for safe keeping…would you like to stay here until she comes?"

Raven's eyes flickered to her face momentarily before dropping to the ground again. There was something about Lita…that was different, and it disturbed him. Something in her eyes, the way she walked, the way she acted, that screamed desperation, of hopelessness. He recognized the feeling only because he had felt them himself.

He followed Lita into her apartment when she held the door open for him, he hadn't wanted to spend more time than he needed to in the same room as Lita, but his knowledge as to Molly's whereabouts meant more to him.

Lita sat down beside him on the couch, jumping up nervously a second later. "I'll get us something to drink, what would you like? Coffee? Tea? Juice? I could make a smoothie—"

"Coffee's fine."

Lita walked into her small kitchen, opening the necessary cupboards to make the coffee, as she let the water boil, her mind wandered over to Bill who was still in her living room. She felt a queasy feeling in her stomach; she hated the attraction she felt towards Raven. She had done everything she could to bury the attraction, for Cordelia, if for anyone.

She clenched and unclenched her fingers, wishing she had never invited him inside. She should have known her attraction towards him couldn't be buried so easily. She didn't let the water boil, stopping the process midway, pouring a spoon of coffee mix.

She held the cup in her hands, watching the powder and liquid blend together in a hazy brown. She took a deep breath, reassuring herself nothing would happen, he couldn't possibly return her feelings, he loved Cordelia. She made her way back to the living room, holding the coffee for Raven to take. Thinking he had grasped the mug, she released the container, the glass catching the edge of the table, the contents spilling onto the floor, not only on the carpet, but a section of Raven's shirt.

Lita winced; getting up and rushing back quickly with a red towel, apologizing profusely while she tried to wipe the coffee stain from his stomach. "I'm so sorry, I thought you already held the coffee—"

Raven gently took Lita's hand off of his chest, "It's all right, I was never too fond of this shirt."

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, if he had been with anyone but Cordelia…..God, she wondered what his kiss was like…She hated being the obedient girl from a small town, good grades in school, never breaking the rules, never taking the risk to discover who she really was. For once, she wanted to feel loved, for once; she wanted to be the girl with the most cake, was that too much to ask for? All she wanted was one reason to be beautiful….

There had always been a strange look in Bill's eyes; she now realized what it was. It was sadness, telling her to stay away. Just one time, just once…to be held..to be loved…she expected no relationship to take place; all she wanted was this one night…

TBC…