Warning: This story contains adult language, graphic violence, attempted
rape, attempted suicide, and sexually explicit themes. Reader's discretion
is advised.
Rating - R.
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of the Newsies characters. Apollonia, Giselle, Checkers, and other miscellaneous characters are all mine.
Chapter 11: I Can't Survive Without Your Sweet Love
She sat in her room staring off into space. The silence was deafening. The thoughts of the passing of her beloved coursed from beginning to end of her days. Each day, every day there was not a single, solitary minute when she did not think of Spot and the wonderful times they shared. From the beginning of their relationship, their love was strong and prevailing, never vacillating, never tarnished. It still never registered that when she saw that coffin going into the ground that she would never see her Spot ever again. At least, not in life.
Giselle spent much of her time with Apollonia in her home. She occupied a room on the second floor which was next to Apollonia's room. As her best friend, Giselle took the immediate role of caretaker while Apollonia was in mourning. She cooked, cleaned, and cared for her as if she were her mother. Day after day, Giselle would try to lift her spirits by keeping her informed about the current events of New York or by reading French poetry out loud to her. On occasion she would lull her to sleep by singing French songs that Apollonia was familiar with. Apollonia seemed unresponsive to Giselle's gestures of kindness. Every time Giselle tried to get closer, Apollonia seemed to push her away even further.
One day, Giselle walked into her bedroom, bringing her some soup to fill her stomach. Apollonia had lost much of her appetite in the past few weeks and she was beginning to look wasted.
"Cherie, I brought you some food to eat. Why don't you take a little, sil vous plait?" Apollonia just sat in the stillness of her disheartened state, not giving Giselle any acknowledgement. With her knees almost touching her chin, she sat on her armoire, dejected. Giselle was at her wits end, not knowing what she could do or say to persuade her to, at least, show some sign of recovery.
"Cherie, sil vous plait, cherie. Please don't shut me out." She pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she grasped Apollonia's hands trying to obtain some sign that Apollonia was alert. Imploring her to respond, Giselle went to her marble-top dresser to retrieve her silver-plated brush and proceeded to brush her hair. Apollonia just sat still while Giselle groomed her, hoping that this would perhaps break Apollonia's mood. She remained silent.
"You really ought to get some rest, cherie. Spot would have wanted you to take care of yourself."
"I can't believe he's gone."
"He loved you very much, Apollonia. If there is anything I could say about your love for one another is that it was very strong. You talked about love as if there were no other emotions in the world. As if the two of you only knew love and nothing of pain. I truly admired that about you. "
Apollonia slowly turned to face Giselle. "Spot and I knew nothing but the love we shared with each other. Even though we were together for only six years, we loved a lifetime's worth. My God, I can't believe he's gone." Giselle hugged her melancholy friend with as much sympathy and sincerity as a friend could hold as Apollonia's face was sheltered in tears.
Feeling so alone and deserted with people being all around her seemed to not only have a minute effect on her, but somehow she felt even more isolated. Whenever she was with Spot, she felt whole and complete. Now she felt fractional, half-done, and incomplete from her most prized treasure. It was such a helpless feeling. She stayed off to herself most of the time in her elegant home. Whenever she heard the doorbell ring she had hoped that it would be Spot coming to reveal himself as a living being. She read stories of people who were presumed dead when they were in a deep sleep or coma of some sort. She had wished that Spot suffered such a fate rather than the one of permanent mortality.
~
She made weekly trips to Brooklyn, bringing with her red and white roses to garnish his tombstone. Giselle would accompany her from time to time to pay her respects. Spot looked after Giselle like she was a younger sister. He grew very fond of her as her friendship with Apollonia progressed. At his gravesite, she would softly talk to his grave, hoping that he could still hear her speak. Occasionally, she would kneel down in silence and pray quietly. Once she finished her ritual, she would make the lengthy trek back to Manhattan.
Sometimes she would run into other Brooklynites that knew Spot, or at least, heard of him. He was as much a legend in death as he was in life. They would serenade her with stories about what they admired about him and how much of an influence he had been on their lives. Apollonia was delighted to know that Spot still had a loyal following, and being that she was married to him, she had become well-known throughout the Brooklyn area. Her name became synonymous with Spot's. And if you messed with Apollonia, you messed with Spot. The Brooklyn newsies, both past and present, became seriously concerned for her. She appreciated their concern, but she assured them that she was going to be okay. It would take time, but she would eventually be okay.
~
Apollonia woke up this morning in the usual manner. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and combed her hair. She let it hand down in the very same style she wore when she came face to face with her much-loved beau. Her stately manner of dress put her on par with that of a flourishing young woman who was on her way to visit a friend or visit a church rather than a woman in bereavement. She left early before Giselle was able to wake up and discover her absence. Exiting her posh residence, she walked down the street as if she were on her way to carry out daily business.
In due time, she moved toward Madison Avenue, seeking out the horse-drawn carriages that were lined along the street waiting for patrons to employ them to take them to their destination. She waited patiently as she watched an elderly woman of well-to-do means enter one of the carriages. She watched as the carriage moved out into the distance of the busy intersection. She waited and waited until the moment of truth came to her. A carriage was fast approaching as the horses galloped rapidly down the street. Slowly, she walked towards the street, passing between the people walking by. The sounds of the galloping hooves became louder and louder as the carriage got closer; her heart pounded in her chest hastily as the defining moment arrived.
"Walk....... walk! You know you can do it.....WALK!" She told herself. Closer and closer she moved to the lane.
"Just one more step and you won't be alone again!"
A wild shock shot through her body as one of the horses whinnied as it blazed by her. The carriage made its run all the way down the avenue and out of sight. Apollonia look down, disappointed.
"How could you? How could you not go through with it?" She asked herself.
She read stories about how some women in New Orleans threw themselves into streets to be killed beneath a cabriolet upon hearing the news of a loved one who has left them for another woman. She couldn't do it. She thought that if she ended her life, she would be able to be with Spot again. After all, he told her that they would see each other again. She figured that this was the best way to be reunited with him. She felt like a fool. She then ran all the way to Central Park to be alone with her thoughts. She sat on a bench, burying her face into her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
"Why couldn't I do it? Why couldn't I do it?" She kept saying to herself.
"Come back to me, Spot. Come back to me." She knew that sitting there waiting for him would be like waiting for tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes. There's always another day. She thought to herself. Here I am: broken wings, quiet thoughts, unspoken dreams. Her abandoned heart just did not understand. Her undying love for Spot wouldn't let her wait for the Grim Reaper to pay her a morbid visit. She wanted to be with Spot in the next life, but she could not bring herself to commit suicide. She did not know who to turn to this time. No one, she thought, could know about her unsuccessful attempt to kill herself. In a city of millions, she still felt alone.
Hastily she ran, ran all the way to Brooklyn without stopping. She did not even care that she broke the heel on one of her boots. One she reached St. Christopher's graveyard, she fell flat on top of Spot's grave, hugging his tombstone and crying profusely. She cried and cried until a figure walked up behind her, touching her shoulder. She did not flinch an ounce as the stranger knelt down beside her. She looked up teary-eyed at Father Flanagan, the same priest who intoned Spot's eulogy. He comforted her with words, telling her that she was going to be alright.
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of the Newsies characters. Apollonia, Giselle, Checkers, and other miscellaneous characters are all mine.
Chapter 11: I Can't Survive Without Your Sweet Love
She sat in her room staring off into space. The silence was deafening. The thoughts of the passing of her beloved coursed from beginning to end of her days. Each day, every day there was not a single, solitary minute when she did not think of Spot and the wonderful times they shared. From the beginning of their relationship, their love was strong and prevailing, never vacillating, never tarnished. It still never registered that when she saw that coffin going into the ground that she would never see her Spot ever again. At least, not in life.
Giselle spent much of her time with Apollonia in her home. She occupied a room on the second floor which was next to Apollonia's room. As her best friend, Giselle took the immediate role of caretaker while Apollonia was in mourning. She cooked, cleaned, and cared for her as if she were her mother. Day after day, Giselle would try to lift her spirits by keeping her informed about the current events of New York or by reading French poetry out loud to her. On occasion she would lull her to sleep by singing French songs that Apollonia was familiar with. Apollonia seemed unresponsive to Giselle's gestures of kindness. Every time Giselle tried to get closer, Apollonia seemed to push her away even further.
One day, Giselle walked into her bedroom, bringing her some soup to fill her stomach. Apollonia had lost much of her appetite in the past few weeks and she was beginning to look wasted.
"Cherie, I brought you some food to eat. Why don't you take a little, sil vous plait?" Apollonia just sat in the stillness of her disheartened state, not giving Giselle any acknowledgement. With her knees almost touching her chin, she sat on her armoire, dejected. Giselle was at her wits end, not knowing what she could do or say to persuade her to, at least, show some sign of recovery.
"Cherie, sil vous plait, cherie. Please don't shut me out." She pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she grasped Apollonia's hands trying to obtain some sign that Apollonia was alert. Imploring her to respond, Giselle went to her marble-top dresser to retrieve her silver-plated brush and proceeded to brush her hair. Apollonia just sat still while Giselle groomed her, hoping that this would perhaps break Apollonia's mood. She remained silent.
"You really ought to get some rest, cherie. Spot would have wanted you to take care of yourself."
"I can't believe he's gone."
"He loved you very much, Apollonia. If there is anything I could say about your love for one another is that it was very strong. You talked about love as if there were no other emotions in the world. As if the two of you only knew love and nothing of pain. I truly admired that about you. "
Apollonia slowly turned to face Giselle. "Spot and I knew nothing but the love we shared with each other. Even though we were together for only six years, we loved a lifetime's worth. My God, I can't believe he's gone." Giselle hugged her melancholy friend with as much sympathy and sincerity as a friend could hold as Apollonia's face was sheltered in tears.
Feeling so alone and deserted with people being all around her seemed to not only have a minute effect on her, but somehow she felt even more isolated. Whenever she was with Spot, she felt whole and complete. Now she felt fractional, half-done, and incomplete from her most prized treasure. It was such a helpless feeling. She stayed off to herself most of the time in her elegant home. Whenever she heard the doorbell ring she had hoped that it would be Spot coming to reveal himself as a living being. She read stories of people who were presumed dead when they were in a deep sleep or coma of some sort. She had wished that Spot suffered such a fate rather than the one of permanent mortality.
~
She made weekly trips to Brooklyn, bringing with her red and white roses to garnish his tombstone. Giselle would accompany her from time to time to pay her respects. Spot looked after Giselle like she was a younger sister. He grew very fond of her as her friendship with Apollonia progressed. At his gravesite, she would softly talk to his grave, hoping that he could still hear her speak. Occasionally, she would kneel down in silence and pray quietly. Once she finished her ritual, she would make the lengthy trek back to Manhattan.
Sometimes she would run into other Brooklynites that knew Spot, or at least, heard of him. He was as much a legend in death as he was in life. They would serenade her with stories about what they admired about him and how much of an influence he had been on their lives. Apollonia was delighted to know that Spot still had a loyal following, and being that she was married to him, she had become well-known throughout the Brooklyn area. Her name became synonymous with Spot's. And if you messed with Apollonia, you messed with Spot. The Brooklyn newsies, both past and present, became seriously concerned for her. She appreciated their concern, but she assured them that she was going to be okay. It would take time, but she would eventually be okay.
~
Apollonia woke up this morning in the usual manner. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and combed her hair. She let it hand down in the very same style she wore when she came face to face with her much-loved beau. Her stately manner of dress put her on par with that of a flourishing young woman who was on her way to visit a friend or visit a church rather than a woman in bereavement. She left early before Giselle was able to wake up and discover her absence. Exiting her posh residence, she walked down the street as if she were on her way to carry out daily business.
In due time, she moved toward Madison Avenue, seeking out the horse-drawn carriages that were lined along the street waiting for patrons to employ them to take them to their destination. She waited patiently as she watched an elderly woman of well-to-do means enter one of the carriages. She watched as the carriage moved out into the distance of the busy intersection. She waited and waited until the moment of truth came to her. A carriage was fast approaching as the horses galloped rapidly down the street. Slowly, she walked towards the street, passing between the people walking by. The sounds of the galloping hooves became louder and louder as the carriage got closer; her heart pounded in her chest hastily as the defining moment arrived.
"Walk....... walk! You know you can do it.....WALK!" She told herself. Closer and closer she moved to the lane.
"Just one more step and you won't be alone again!"
A wild shock shot through her body as one of the horses whinnied as it blazed by her. The carriage made its run all the way down the avenue and out of sight. Apollonia look down, disappointed.
"How could you? How could you not go through with it?" She asked herself.
She read stories about how some women in New Orleans threw themselves into streets to be killed beneath a cabriolet upon hearing the news of a loved one who has left them for another woman. She couldn't do it. She thought that if she ended her life, she would be able to be with Spot again. After all, he told her that they would see each other again. She figured that this was the best way to be reunited with him. She felt like a fool. She then ran all the way to Central Park to be alone with her thoughts. She sat on a bench, burying her face into her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
"Why couldn't I do it? Why couldn't I do it?" She kept saying to herself.
"Come back to me, Spot. Come back to me." She knew that sitting there waiting for him would be like waiting for tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes. There's always another day. She thought to herself. Here I am: broken wings, quiet thoughts, unspoken dreams. Her abandoned heart just did not understand. Her undying love for Spot wouldn't let her wait for the Grim Reaper to pay her a morbid visit. She wanted to be with Spot in the next life, but she could not bring herself to commit suicide. She did not know who to turn to this time. No one, she thought, could know about her unsuccessful attempt to kill herself. In a city of millions, she still felt alone.
Hastily she ran, ran all the way to Brooklyn without stopping. She did not even care that she broke the heel on one of her boots. One she reached St. Christopher's graveyard, she fell flat on top of Spot's grave, hugging his tombstone and crying profusely. She cried and cried until a figure walked up behind her, touching her shoulder. She did not flinch an ounce as the stranger knelt down beside her. She looked up teary-eyed at Father Flanagan, the same priest who intoned Spot's eulogy. He comforted her with words, telling her that she was going to be alright.
