A/N: Hey, it's me, Shortstack. This time, I'm the one doing the author's
note *grin*. Oh yeah, cookies go to Angela and Abby *hands them each a
cookie*! Well, in case anybody noticed that our rating went up from PG to
PG13, it's mainly because of this chapter. The amount of swearing has been
steadily rising, and this chapter is.. um.. yeah. Just read it, and you'll
see. If it's a little... out there, just please forgive us. This chapter
is VERY important, especially related to later events. Okay, every chapter
is important, but you know what I mean. Anywayz, enjoy.
* * * *
I eased myself onto my mattress as the lights went off. I was tired from all that dancing and truth be told, I wasn't feeling very well at the moment. I unbraided my hair silently then lay down, still wearing the skirt and blouse I'd borrowed from Fishface, and closed my eyes. Even though I wasn't feeling my best, I'd still had some fun at the party. I had danced with Kerry, Patrick, and Jack Kelly. And best of all, I'd managed to avoid Fishface almost the entire night. Despite the fact that I did like her just a bit, I was in no hurry to talk to her again, unlike Spot, whom I had seen trying to approach her throughout the party. Either she hadn't noticed, or was choosing to ignore him. After awhile, he had disappeared and I hadn't seen him when the party was over and everyone had been leaving. Not that I was looking for him, mind you. Patrick gave me another big hug before he left, and in my heart I was wishing I could go with him this time.
I was just barely still awake when I thought I heard the door open. I wondered if I was just imagining it, and sleepily looked at the door to make sure. It really was open, and the last person I expected was standing awkwardly in the doorway. From where he was, Spot Conlon looked groggily around the room, his expression dazed. His gaze finally rested on me, and he dizzily reached behind him and closed the door. I started to sit up, curious as to what he was doing upstairs in the middle of the night. He locked the door, and I was suddenly wide awake. I had noticed that since I had been in Brooklyn, no one else ever slept upstairs anymore, it was just me. Spot stumbled towards me, and then crouched down on his knees next to my mattress, where I was sitting, terrified of what he might do. Oh, God. I could smell the liquor on him. Kneeling on the floor, he tried to move closer to me, and I moved back farther on my makeshift bed.
"Hey," as he spoke, his cold, green eyes were staring right at me. But they looked as if they were going right through me.
"Hey," my voice was soft and flat. I swallowed hard, "What are you doin' here?"
He reached his arm out and tried to grab me, but I jumped up and leapt for the door. Even drunk, Spot was still quicker than me and managed to catch up just as I reached it. I fumbled with the lock, but he grasped my wrists. Whipping me around, he pushed my back against the door. In my head, I went back to my first night in Brooklyn, when Kerry had shoved me against the wall in the dark alley, and I was just as afraid as I'd been that night. He planted his hands on either side of me on the door, so I had nowhere to escape to. His eyes were still blazing at me, and I shivered, struggling not to cry, or worse, faint.
"I just wanted to say," he brought his face down unbearably close to me, and I could smell the terrible liquor on his breath, "you looked beautiful tonight. That's all I wanted." His eyelids were heavy, and I knew that he had no idea what he was doing. But as he kept inching closer, I pressed myself against the door, hoping that I could disappear through it somehow.
But I knew in my heart that I couldn't move, he might try to kill me if I did. I could do nothing but choke back frightened sobs as I felt him come closer. After a second of eternities, I felt him brush his burning hot lips against mine, and it seemed as though he had drained the strength out of me with even the slightest touch. He moved back slightly, and I prayed it was over. God must have been busy, because an instant later Spot pushed me back and kissed me again. Only this time his touch was anything but slight, it was almost painful. He kissed me roughly, with a passion that seemed so completely unlike the Spot Conlon I knew, and it was as if a star had exploded in my mind. I felt a thousand emotions at once, the worst was guilt, guilt because suddenly I wanted this now. Maybe it was just the curiosity of never having been kissed before, but I actually wanted him to kiss me. He parted my mouth with his and I clutched at his face, trying to pull him closer. Our tongues began a dance of their own, and I slowly lost all will to try and resist him. I ran my fingertips down and back up his chest, sighing into his lips. I knew what I was doing, I knew who I was kissing, but it didn't matter. My world could end right then, it wouldn't have mattered, and I had a sinking feeling deep in my heart that it was. But just being there kissing him was everything I could have wanted it to be.
I finally drew back from him, trying to steady my breathing, and fell back against the door. He rested his head on my shoulder, and I wished he had been sober enough to have realized what we had just done. Because of how weak I was, it was fairly easy for him to just pick me up and pull me over to the mattress. I wanted to fight back, but I knew that if I did, he might hurt me. My lack of resistance offered no problem to him as he pushed me back onto the mattress. He kissed me again, forcefully pushing himself on top of me. Spot continued to kiss me, and I continued to allow him to do so, but it wasn't long before he must have gotten a little bored, because his hands starting wandering. The only resistance I could offer was to grab his wrists and pull them down on either side of me. His lips released mine and he pulled away, but only an inch or so. Looking up at him, I could see the sweat beginning to drip down his face.
Breathing heavily, he whispered, "Say that you love me." It took me a moment to register what he had just said, and I gazed up at him questioningly. "Just say it," he said more persistently.
I hesitated, taking a deep breath. "I love you, Spot." I couldn't believe I'd just said it, I wasn't even sure if I meant it at all. And suddenly, I wasn't afraid of what he would do anymore. He leaned his head down onto my shoulder, and I closed my eyes.
I felt him sigh and whisper softly in my ear, but not loudly enough for me to understand him.
"What?" My voice was quiet, breathless as I was.
He sighed again, trying to breathe himself, and whispered a bit louder, "I love you, Ruth..."
My mouth fell open, and my mind snapped completely. What had he just said? Did he just call me "Ruth"? No, I said to myself, you made a mistake. But he dared to say it again, and I pushed him back a bit and glared at him, his eyes were almost closed with drunken fatigue. All of my strength came back as I shoved him roughly back, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
"You son of a bitch!" I screamed with every bit of anger in my body, hating him just as I had before.
"What the hell was that for?" he had sobered up a bit by his fall, and looked up at me in that stupid daze.
I wanted so badly to walk over and kick him, or slap him across the face, but I didn't. Instead I stood up and said slowly and firmly, "Get out." When he didn't move, and continued to lay there drunk and confused, I screamed it at him as loud as my lungs could manage, "GET OUT!" He got up, and slowly stumbled to the door. I beat him to it and opened it, and he walked out, never breaking his eye contact with me. As soon as he was on the other side of the door, I pushed roughly against it, shutting it with a loud slam, and then locked it. He may have been sent flying down the stairs, I didn't know and didn't care. Turning again, I leaned my back against the door and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor. I brought my knees up and rested my chin on them, like a frightened child. Inside, I told myself not to cry, Spot Conlon wasn't worth that. I stayed that way for the rest of the night, finally being conquered by sleep and drifting away.
When one has had such a night as I did, sunlight can be the last thing you want to see. Unfortunately, you just can't block it out. Waking still crouched up against the doorway, I slowly moved downstairs. The previous night's events came flooding back into my mind, and I pounded the side of the stairway as I descended it. I hated Spot Conlon, now more than ever. But I hated myself more, because I couldn't deny, even to myself, that I had enjoyed it. I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around the main room. It was a complete mess. Spot better not have expected me to clean up after those drunken pigs, especially him. I thought I was alone, but I have a way of being wrong.
"Good morning," his sarcastic sing-song voice interrupted my thoughts and I turned to see none other than the lead drunken pig himself. I noticed his eyes first, they seemed hollow, not cold or laughing, or even smug.
"Somebody's in a good mood," I responded bitterly.
He looked at me and raised that vexing eyebrow, "Well, somebody woke up on the stairs."
I mentally congratulated myself, but I changed the subject. Looking around, I simply said, "Nice mess."
"Yeah," he said. "But you don't have to clean it up."
"That's good, 'cause I wasn't going to."
We were uneasily silent for a moment, then he stood up from his "throne," otherwise known as the stupid crate his pathetic ass deserved, taking out that ridiculous cane and walking over to me. I couldn't quite describe his expression, because it was one of his I hadn't seen before. He stopped right in front of me, and we stood there for a moment, each wondering what the other was thinking.
It was me who broke the silence. "So who's Ruth?" I said it flatly and directly, demanding to know who she was. He gave me a confused look, but I knew it wasn't real. He remembered what happened, he just thought maybe I didn't. "Yes, I remember ALL of last night. If you remember correctly, I wasn't the one who was drunk." Whatever hope was in his expression vanished, as he realized that he had to be honest with me.
"Listen, Anabeth," when he said my name, his voice sounded almost tender, if that was even possible. "I was drunk last night.. I didn't know what I was saying."
"Well you sure as hell remember it alright!" I snapped at him, seriously considering snatching that GOD AWFUL cane out of his hands and whacking him with it.
"Ruth was just a random name that popped into mind, Anabeth. I'm sorry for whatever I did.. and whatever I intended to do." He said, he looked as if he were trying to be kind to me. I just stared at him. He had called me 'Anabeth'. Not even Patrick called me by my real name. I sighed. I hated the fact that his apology had been sincere, and I, having been raised in a convent and naturally forgiving, had to accept it. I still tried my hardest to hate him, because no matter how sorry he was, he deserved it.
I had stomped up to my room heavily after a few short words with him and grabbing a hunk of bread. I had pretty much stayed there all day as well, watching the comings and goings of the Brooklyn Newsboys on the docks. They didn't do much of anything interesting, but still, it was better than having to face Conlon again.
As the sun was setting though, I was getting hungry. I slowly walked down the stairs, but I heard that obnoxious accent going on again. It took me a moment to realize that he was arguing with someone.
"But he doesn't even know-"
"My name, I know," came a second voice, I recognized it as the girl who had turned sixteen only that day, "I have to go Spot."
"You'll come back won't you?" I took another step down as he said this. He didn't sound like the same boy who had tried to rape me the night before. I stepped into full view, but neither one of them was looking at me. Spot had his back turned to me, and Fishface was looking directly at him. She looked truly apologetic.
"You know I will Spot." She said, trying to leave, but he grabbed her arm.
"But Fishface.. I lo-"
"SPOT." She said forcefully, before he could finish his sentence, "You know I love you," I let out a little gasp as she paused, "As a brother though Spot. Nothing more. I'm in love with Cowboy.." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, "I have to go now."
"But.. Ruth-" He said as she walked out. Suddenly my mind started whirring, it felt as if everything had just exploded. He had just called her "Ruth".
I closed my eyes. He had lied to me. Spot had been drunk. But he remembered. I had been wearing Fishface's clothes. My hair had been curly from being braided. It had been dark. He had pretended that I was Fishface. Everything he said and did, he had said it to her. Everything he had felt, he had felt it for her.
"You.. son. Of. A bitch." I said, emerging from the stairwell, "You.. LIED to me!"
* * * *
I eased myself onto my mattress as the lights went off. I was tired from all that dancing and truth be told, I wasn't feeling very well at the moment. I unbraided my hair silently then lay down, still wearing the skirt and blouse I'd borrowed from Fishface, and closed my eyes. Even though I wasn't feeling my best, I'd still had some fun at the party. I had danced with Kerry, Patrick, and Jack Kelly. And best of all, I'd managed to avoid Fishface almost the entire night. Despite the fact that I did like her just a bit, I was in no hurry to talk to her again, unlike Spot, whom I had seen trying to approach her throughout the party. Either she hadn't noticed, or was choosing to ignore him. After awhile, he had disappeared and I hadn't seen him when the party was over and everyone had been leaving. Not that I was looking for him, mind you. Patrick gave me another big hug before he left, and in my heart I was wishing I could go with him this time.
I was just barely still awake when I thought I heard the door open. I wondered if I was just imagining it, and sleepily looked at the door to make sure. It really was open, and the last person I expected was standing awkwardly in the doorway. From where he was, Spot Conlon looked groggily around the room, his expression dazed. His gaze finally rested on me, and he dizzily reached behind him and closed the door. I started to sit up, curious as to what he was doing upstairs in the middle of the night. He locked the door, and I was suddenly wide awake. I had noticed that since I had been in Brooklyn, no one else ever slept upstairs anymore, it was just me. Spot stumbled towards me, and then crouched down on his knees next to my mattress, where I was sitting, terrified of what he might do. Oh, God. I could smell the liquor on him. Kneeling on the floor, he tried to move closer to me, and I moved back farther on my makeshift bed.
"Hey," as he spoke, his cold, green eyes were staring right at me. But they looked as if they were going right through me.
"Hey," my voice was soft and flat. I swallowed hard, "What are you doin' here?"
He reached his arm out and tried to grab me, but I jumped up and leapt for the door. Even drunk, Spot was still quicker than me and managed to catch up just as I reached it. I fumbled with the lock, but he grasped my wrists. Whipping me around, he pushed my back against the door. In my head, I went back to my first night in Brooklyn, when Kerry had shoved me against the wall in the dark alley, and I was just as afraid as I'd been that night. He planted his hands on either side of me on the door, so I had nowhere to escape to. His eyes were still blazing at me, and I shivered, struggling not to cry, or worse, faint.
"I just wanted to say," he brought his face down unbearably close to me, and I could smell the terrible liquor on his breath, "you looked beautiful tonight. That's all I wanted." His eyelids were heavy, and I knew that he had no idea what he was doing. But as he kept inching closer, I pressed myself against the door, hoping that I could disappear through it somehow.
But I knew in my heart that I couldn't move, he might try to kill me if I did. I could do nothing but choke back frightened sobs as I felt him come closer. After a second of eternities, I felt him brush his burning hot lips against mine, and it seemed as though he had drained the strength out of me with even the slightest touch. He moved back slightly, and I prayed it was over. God must have been busy, because an instant later Spot pushed me back and kissed me again. Only this time his touch was anything but slight, it was almost painful. He kissed me roughly, with a passion that seemed so completely unlike the Spot Conlon I knew, and it was as if a star had exploded in my mind. I felt a thousand emotions at once, the worst was guilt, guilt because suddenly I wanted this now. Maybe it was just the curiosity of never having been kissed before, but I actually wanted him to kiss me. He parted my mouth with his and I clutched at his face, trying to pull him closer. Our tongues began a dance of their own, and I slowly lost all will to try and resist him. I ran my fingertips down and back up his chest, sighing into his lips. I knew what I was doing, I knew who I was kissing, but it didn't matter. My world could end right then, it wouldn't have mattered, and I had a sinking feeling deep in my heart that it was. But just being there kissing him was everything I could have wanted it to be.
I finally drew back from him, trying to steady my breathing, and fell back against the door. He rested his head on my shoulder, and I wished he had been sober enough to have realized what we had just done. Because of how weak I was, it was fairly easy for him to just pick me up and pull me over to the mattress. I wanted to fight back, but I knew that if I did, he might hurt me. My lack of resistance offered no problem to him as he pushed me back onto the mattress. He kissed me again, forcefully pushing himself on top of me. Spot continued to kiss me, and I continued to allow him to do so, but it wasn't long before he must have gotten a little bored, because his hands starting wandering. The only resistance I could offer was to grab his wrists and pull them down on either side of me. His lips released mine and he pulled away, but only an inch or so. Looking up at him, I could see the sweat beginning to drip down his face.
Breathing heavily, he whispered, "Say that you love me." It took me a moment to register what he had just said, and I gazed up at him questioningly. "Just say it," he said more persistently.
I hesitated, taking a deep breath. "I love you, Spot." I couldn't believe I'd just said it, I wasn't even sure if I meant it at all. And suddenly, I wasn't afraid of what he would do anymore. He leaned his head down onto my shoulder, and I closed my eyes.
I felt him sigh and whisper softly in my ear, but not loudly enough for me to understand him.
"What?" My voice was quiet, breathless as I was.
He sighed again, trying to breathe himself, and whispered a bit louder, "I love you, Ruth..."
My mouth fell open, and my mind snapped completely. What had he just said? Did he just call me "Ruth"? No, I said to myself, you made a mistake. But he dared to say it again, and I pushed him back a bit and glared at him, his eyes were almost closed with drunken fatigue. All of my strength came back as I shoved him roughly back, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
"You son of a bitch!" I screamed with every bit of anger in my body, hating him just as I had before.
"What the hell was that for?" he had sobered up a bit by his fall, and looked up at me in that stupid daze.
I wanted so badly to walk over and kick him, or slap him across the face, but I didn't. Instead I stood up and said slowly and firmly, "Get out." When he didn't move, and continued to lay there drunk and confused, I screamed it at him as loud as my lungs could manage, "GET OUT!" He got up, and slowly stumbled to the door. I beat him to it and opened it, and he walked out, never breaking his eye contact with me. As soon as he was on the other side of the door, I pushed roughly against it, shutting it with a loud slam, and then locked it. He may have been sent flying down the stairs, I didn't know and didn't care. Turning again, I leaned my back against the door and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor. I brought my knees up and rested my chin on them, like a frightened child. Inside, I told myself not to cry, Spot Conlon wasn't worth that. I stayed that way for the rest of the night, finally being conquered by sleep and drifting away.
When one has had such a night as I did, sunlight can be the last thing you want to see. Unfortunately, you just can't block it out. Waking still crouched up against the doorway, I slowly moved downstairs. The previous night's events came flooding back into my mind, and I pounded the side of the stairway as I descended it. I hated Spot Conlon, now more than ever. But I hated myself more, because I couldn't deny, even to myself, that I had enjoyed it. I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around the main room. It was a complete mess. Spot better not have expected me to clean up after those drunken pigs, especially him. I thought I was alone, but I have a way of being wrong.
"Good morning," his sarcastic sing-song voice interrupted my thoughts and I turned to see none other than the lead drunken pig himself. I noticed his eyes first, they seemed hollow, not cold or laughing, or even smug.
"Somebody's in a good mood," I responded bitterly.
He looked at me and raised that vexing eyebrow, "Well, somebody woke up on the stairs."
I mentally congratulated myself, but I changed the subject. Looking around, I simply said, "Nice mess."
"Yeah," he said. "But you don't have to clean it up."
"That's good, 'cause I wasn't going to."
We were uneasily silent for a moment, then he stood up from his "throne," otherwise known as the stupid crate his pathetic ass deserved, taking out that ridiculous cane and walking over to me. I couldn't quite describe his expression, because it was one of his I hadn't seen before. He stopped right in front of me, and we stood there for a moment, each wondering what the other was thinking.
It was me who broke the silence. "So who's Ruth?" I said it flatly and directly, demanding to know who she was. He gave me a confused look, but I knew it wasn't real. He remembered what happened, he just thought maybe I didn't. "Yes, I remember ALL of last night. If you remember correctly, I wasn't the one who was drunk." Whatever hope was in his expression vanished, as he realized that he had to be honest with me.
"Listen, Anabeth," when he said my name, his voice sounded almost tender, if that was even possible. "I was drunk last night.. I didn't know what I was saying."
"Well you sure as hell remember it alright!" I snapped at him, seriously considering snatching that GOD AWFUL cane out of his hands and whacking him with it.
"Ruth was just a random name that popped into mind, Anabeth. I'm sorry for whatever I did.. and whatever I intended to do." He said, he looked as if he were trying to be kind to me. I just stared at him. He had called me 'Anabeth'. Not even Patrick called me by my real name. I sighed. I hated the fact that his apology had been sincere, and I, having been raised in a convent and naturally forgiving, had to accept it. I still tried my hardest to hate him, because no matter how sorry he was, he deserved it.
I had stomped up to my room heavily after a few short words with him and grabbing a hunk of bread. I had pretty much stayed there all day as well, watching the comings and goings of the Brooklyn Newsboys on the docks. They didn't do much of anything interesting, but still, it was better than having to face Conlon again.
As the sun was setting though, I was getting hungry. I slowly walked down the stairs, but I heard that obnoxious accent going on again. It took me a moment to realize that he was arguing with someone.
"But he doesn't even know-"
"My name, I know," came a second voice, I recognized it as the girl who had turned sixteen only that day, "I have to go Spot."
"You'll come back won't you?" I took another step down as he said this. He didn't sound like the same boy who had tried to rape me the night before. I stepped into full view, but neither one of them was looking at me. Spot had his back turned to me, and Fishface was looking directly at him. She looked truly apologetic.
"You know I will Spot." She said, trying to leave, but he grabbed her arm.
"But Fishface.. I lo-"
"SPOT." She said forcefully, before he could finish his sentence, "You know I love you," I let out a little gasp as she paused, "As a brother though Spot. Nothing more. I'm in love with Cowboy.." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, "I have to go now."
"But.. Ruth-" He said as she walked out. Suddenly my mind started whirring, it felt as if everything had just exploded. He had just called her "Ruth".
I closed my eyes. He had lied to me. Spot had been drunk. But he remembered. I had been wearing Fishface's clothes. My hair had been curly from being braided. It had been dark. He had pretended that I was Fishface. Everything he said and did, he had said it to her. Everything he had felt, he had felt it for her.
"You.. son. Of. A bitch." I said, emerging from the stairwell, "You.. LIED to me!"