"What da hell?" Jack shouted. "Are ya kiddin' me?" I was back in the
lodging house now; Birdy had taken me there. She had said it was the best
thing to do. I'd agreed with her in the beginning, but judging by Jack's
response to the news I wasn't sure. "What da hell were ya thinkin'?"
I was nearly in tears now. He had been carrying on like this for nearly five minutes without stopping, and he wasn't showing any sign of relenting now. "I don't know," I said. The salty teardrops flowed down my cheeks like water breaking out of a dam. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Sorry ain't gonna make da baby go away!" Jack shouted. I noticed he was trying to calm his rage when he next spoke. "I'se just worried 'bout what Spot's gonna say. I'se only concoined for ya, I sincerely care 'bout ya, Spark. You'se like me own, an' I don' like seein' ya in dis state." He sighed. "I have ta say, I'se disappointed dat ya didn' loin ya lesson da foist time."
"I wadn't exactly da happiest person alive right 'bout den," I said passively, not intending to converse further on the topic.
Birdy, however, felt the need to pry right in front of Cowboy. "What do ya mean?" she questioned.
"Nothin'," I grunted.
"Does it have ta do wit' him?" she asked. I looked down, but my meaning was obvious. She nodded knowingly and whispered to Jack.
Jack walked over to me and sat down next to me on the random bunk. He placed his arm protectively around my shoulder in a brotherly gesture. "I'se sorry, Spark. I'se really, really sorry."
I looked up at him, the light through the window making the tears on my cheek glisten. "It ain't ya fault."
"I should have told ya," was all he said before standing up and walking across the room. When he got there he spoke once again. "I'll protect ya from what ya need protectin' from, but I ain't good wit' mattahs of da heart." I assumed he was going to continue just as a little boy ran through the door panting. "What is it, Wire?"
"Chant's down in Brooklyn, an' Spot needs ya ta bring ya boys," the petite boy managed to say between gasps of fresh air.
"Sit down an' rest, I'll get da boys an' da goils, wheddah Spot wants 'em or not." Jack turned to me. "I'se sendin' Mouth in ta talk ta ya, she's still recoverin' from annudah injury an' I don' want 'er fightin' taday. She's good at dat sorta stuff."
Before I could say anything else he dashed out the door, off to find the troops he commanded so well. Moments later, Mouth popped in the room, her red hair flying free from the cap she usually donned. She leaned in her usual position against the wall, surveying what I can only imagine was quite an odd scene. I was bawling my eyes out and Birdy was trying unsuccessfully to comfort me, yet I was pushing her away.
"I just don't know what to do," I finally uttered, attempting to wipe the tears from my eyes. They kept falling despite my efforts.
Finally, Mouth spoke. "Jus' let 'em fall." Her infrequent use of words made me wonder why on earth she was called Mouth. Then I recalled previous conversations in happier times when she was nearly as talkative as I was. I suppose she had just acquired a habit I hadn't, when and where it's right to shut up. I waited for more words of wisdom to follow, and eventually they did. "Trus' me, Spark, he loved ya. It wadn't jus' an excuse ta get some."
"Well, he don' love me now, goin' out wit' dat pretty goil ta Irvin' Hall," I said, the anger in my voice increasing.
"Taht?" Mouth questioned. I didn't know her name, but I assumed Mouth would know who I was talking about. "Ya, well, ya know what a tart is, don'tcha?" I looked at her, unsure of the meaning of the slang. "Floozy, whore, prostitute." She thought for a moment. "An', of course, sour an' bitter. She's jus' an all-around bitch."
"Even if she is, he still loves her," I said, becoming more upset by the moment.
"Ya don' know dat," she said.
I looked into her eyes, hoping to see the truth, but her eyes were presenting a less than fifty-fifty chance in my life. At this point, that was how I was viewing everything. In odds, like gambling. Like a game.
A game I was losing.
Badly.
A/N: Too tired for shoutouts. Much love to all reviewers. Bye!
I was nearly in tears now. He had been carrying on like this for nearly five minutes without stopping, and he wasn't showing any sign of relenting now. "I don't know," I said. The salty teardrops flowed down my cheeks like water breaking out of a dam. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Sorry ain't gonna make da baby go away!" Jack shouted. I noticed he was trying to calm his rage when he next spoke. "I'se just worried 'bout what Spot's gonna say. I'se only concoined for ya, I sincerely care 'bout ya, Spark. You'se like me own, an' I don' like seein' ya in dis state." He sighed. "I have ta say, I'se disappointed dat ya didn' loin ya lesson da foist time."
"I wadn't exactly da happiest person alive right 'bout den," I said passively, not intending to converse further on the topic.
Birdy, however, felt the need to pry right in front of Cowboy. "What do ya mean?" she questioned.
"Nothin'," I grunted.
"Does it have ta do wit' him?" she asked. I looked down, but my meaning was obvious. She nodded knowingly and whispered to Jack.
Jack walked over to me and sat down next to me on the random bunk. He placed his arm protectively around my shoulder in a brotherly gesture. "I'se sorry, Spark. I'se really, really sorry."
I looked up at him, the light through the window making the tears on my cheek glisten. "It ain't ya fault."
"I should have told ya," was all he said before standing up and walking across the room. When he got there he spoke once again. "I'll protect ya from what ya need protectin' from, but I ain't good wit' mattahs of da heart." I assumed he was going to continue just as a little boy ran through the door panting. "What is it, Wire?"
"Chant's down in Brooklyn, an' Spot needs ya ta bring ya boys," the petite boy managed to say between gasps of fresh air.
"Sit down an' rest, I'll get da boys an' da goils, wheddah Spot wants 'em or not." Jack turned to me. "I'se sendin' Mouth in ta talk ta ya, she's still recoverin' from annudah injury an' I don' want 'er fightin' taday. She's good at dat sorta stuff."
Before I could say anything else he dashed out the door, off to find the troops he commanded so well. Moments later, Mouth popped in the room, her red hair flying free from the cap she usually donned. She leaned in her usual position against the wall, surveying what I can only imagine was quite an odd scene. I was bawling my eyes out and Birdy was trying unsuccessfully to comfort me, yet I was pushing her away.
"I just don't know what to do," I finally uttered, attempting to wipe the tears from my eyes. They kept falling despite my efforts.
Finally, Mouth spoke. "Jus' let 'em fall." Her infrequent use of words made me wonder why on earth she was called Mouth. Then I recalled previous conversations in happier times when she was nearly as talkative as I was. I suppose she had just acquired a habit I hadn't, when and where it's right to shut up. I waited for more words of wisdom to follow, and eventually they did. "Trus' me, Spark, he loved ya. It wadn't jus' an excuse ta get some."
"Well, he don' love me now, goin' out wit' dat pretty goil ta Irvin' Hall," I said, the anger in my voice increasing.
"Taht?" Mouth questioned. I didn't know her name, but I assumed Mouth would know who I was talking about. "Ya, well, ya know what a tart is, don'tcha?" I looked at her, unsure of the meaning of the slang. "Floozy, whore, prostitute." She thought for a moment. "An', of course, sour an' bitter. She's jus' an all-around bitch."
"Even if she is, he still loves her," I said, becoming more upset by the moment.
"Ya don' know dat," she said.
I looked into her eyes, hoping to see the truth, but her eyes were presenting a less than fifty-fifty chance in my life. At this point, that was how I was viewing everything. In odds, like gambling. Like a game.
A game I was losing.
Badly.
A/N: Too tired for shoutouts. Much love to all reviewers. Bye!