Spot spun around and looked at me. Normally, I would have been civil to
him, I might have even felt BAD for him after what he'd just been told. But
I was too angry to even think about such things. He had pretended.... that
I was FISHFACE. Oh, it was too much for me to bear.
He stammered for a few seconds as I came down on him as a lion does to its prey. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were looking for an escape. He didn't say anything.
"Who's Ruth, Spot?" I demanded, recalling the conversation we had had that morning, "'Oh, just some random name, Anabeth. I'm sorry for what happened last night,'" I mocked his thick-headed accent with all the disdain I could muster. God, I could have strangled him right then and there. Him and his damnable cane.
He stared at me for a moment, once again, I was plagued with the inability to read what he was thinking, "Shortstack," He finally managed to stammer out.
"Yeah? Yeah Spot? Yeah, I'm listenin'," I snapped, "And I want to know what the HELL you were thinking this morning."
Spot stared at me for a moment again, as if he were surprised that I'd sworn. I rolled my eyes. These boys had better be used to me swearing by NOW. "I.... I don't know Anabeth."
"DON'T call me that, Spot Conlon." I snapped at him, now I was the one who was pacing around the room, "You have no right to."
"I-" He started, I looked at him with a frown that said 'go on', "Look, I don't know what happened, okay? I knew it was you, but I didn't want it to be." That was too much, I just couldn't stand it any longer. Reaching up, I slapped him right across the face as hard as I possibly could. He didn't resist, he didn't fight back. He wouldn't even give me that much. Whatever reaction I had been hoping for, he was too arrogant to give me. He didn't say anything, but he had to have known how much he had that coming. I turned around and started to stomp off, but he interrupted me, "Look, Ruth is the one thing I could never have... I'm sorry Shortstack..."
I glared at him. He, I had decided, was THE MOST cocky, arrogant bastard that had ever walked the face of this earth, with all my strength, I turned and hissed at him, "I hate you Spot Conlon." And I did. I really did.
I half-ran, half-stomped outside. I had to get away from him. If I could've, I would have run all the way to the Lower East Side, and told Patrick everything. I just couldn't trust anyone else, I decided. Outside on the docks, I searched for a place I could be alone, and found a few boxes tucked together that I could hide behind. I sat down and tried to keep from swearing under my breath. I didn't even bother praying. Just who did Spot Conlon think he was, doing something like that to me? Did he even care about how I would feel? No, I told myself. That boy didn't really care about anything but himself.
My moment alone was brief, and I heard someone say softly, "Shortstack?" I recognized the friendly voice, tried to smile, and turned around.
"Hey, Kerry," I responded, secretly wishing I was still alone. Why was he always sneaking up behind me, anyway?
He sat down next to me, and looked at me thoughtfully. I knew he could tell that my smile was fake. "What's wrong? I saw you come out of the clubhouse, and you looked really angry."
"Kerry, I...." I stammered a bit myself, "I don't feel like talkin' about it right now. I just... I can't."
In his naturally caring way, he replied, "Come on. You know you can tell me anything."
"Yeah, I know." Did I really? Maybe I could confide in him, but now just wasn't the time.
"What did Conlon do now?"
I snapped my head back at him, taken aback. "Wh- What makes you so sure he did somethin' to me?"
"I can see it, just by lookin' in your eyes." I gave him a once-over. Could he really tell what had happened to me, or was it just a lucky guess?
"What else do you see?"
He looked over at me, as if it were obvious, "Everything." He said quietly. He quickly glanced back at the river. "It's nice out here at night, you know. You can see Manhattan."
I nodded, Kerry had never seemed the type to have said something like he just had, "Yes, it is very lovely." I said stiffly, "Makes me a bit homesick."
He nodded, trying to understand, "My sister lives over there you know... it was good seeing her last night."
I looked over at him, "Your sister?" I hadn't known he had a sister.
"Yeah, you know," he said, tossing a bit of wood into the river, "Ruth. Fishface I mean."
My jaw dropped. Fishface... and Kerry... were brother and sister? And Kerry worked for Spot, and Spot was in love with Fishface? What kind of sick game were these people playing with me? Inwardly, I wanted to strangle Kerry for telling me that, but outwardly I just tossed a bit of chipped off wood from the dock into the river, saying, "Sounds nice." I had even thought it before, that Kerry hadn't understood when I said that Patrick had been my only family in the world. I felt so embarrassed. Especially after he had just said what he'd said. Everything.
I shivered. The cold January air was going right through my thin red blouse... or should I say Fishface's thin red blouse. Kerry gently pulled off his dark brown jacket and placed it over my shoulders. I looked up at him to thank him, but he'd looked away. I settled for a simple, "Thank you."
"Listen," he glanced around, and then turned back to me, his expression serious. "Just don't let Conlon get ya down. He's always been like this, at least as long as I've known him, and he's really not worth anybody's trouble...." In the dark, I thought I saw his cheeks redden slightly, "Especially yours."
I smiled, and without thinking, I leaned over and kissed Kerry on the cheek. "Thanks, Kerry," I looked affectionately at him, "it's nice to have at least one friend in Brooklyn." I turned back to the river, looking across it into Manhattan, wishing I was there with Patrick, but not entirely disappointed to be here with Kerry. Neither of us spoke, and I'm not sure how long we sat out there. But it had been dark for a long time when I decided to go back into the clubhouse, hoping to avoid Spot as I made my way upstairs.
"I'm gonna go back inside... do you wanna go with me?" I asked him quietly. He just glanced at me and shook his head silently.
"No thanks, I'll just stay out here for awhile."
"Okay," I stood up and crossed the dock back towards the clubhouse. As I walked in through the door, I saw something that I never expected, Spot Conlon, alone on the floor, scrubbing it with a brush.
Hating him as much as I did, I couldn't stop myself from speaking. "It works better when you use soap," I said bitterly.
He looked up at me, his face calm, and responded quietly, "I deserve that."
"You deserve a lot of things."
He abandoned his scrubbing, and sitting back on his heels raised that cursed eyebrow at me. I didn't know what to say next, so we just stared each other down for a moment. I congratulated myself on being much better at looking into those fierce green eyes and not being intimidated. He sighed heavily and went back to scrubbing the floor.
I finally decided to break the silence. "So...." I looked around at the empty room, "where's everybody?"
Not even looking up at me, he responded simply, "They all went to the vaudeville show with the Manhattan boys, to see Medda."
I had no idea who Medda was. "Did Jack take Fishface with him?"
"Why do you care about where Fishface goes with Jack? Ya jealous of 'er?" He still hadn't looked up at me.
"No," I decided to hit him below the belt, "but I noticed you were havin' a difficult time gettin' her attention last night."
Spot didn't take his eyes off his scrub brush going back and forth on the floor as he sighed again and said, "Well, as long as we're commenting on each other's evening, I didn't see Kerry having any problems landin' YOU last night." I looked down, realizing that I was still wearing Kerry's jacket.
Enough was too much. "For your information, Spot Conlon, the only thing that LANDED last night was you on the floor upstairs."
Throwing his scrub brush onto the floor so hard that it bounced, he stood up and got right in my face. "What do you want from me? I apologized for last night, why can't that just be enough?"
"No apology is gonna make up for trying to take advantage of me, all because your friend is with Fishface and you're not."
He was just as close to my face as he'd been the night before, right before he'd kissed me. "Well excuse me miss, but I didn't notice much of a fight on your part either."
That hurt. I felt a lump in my throat, I had no idea how to respond to him. What was I supposed to say? I really hadn't been fighting him. His expression changed slowly from anger to triumph. I realized that he knew, he knew that I had enjoyed it. He knew that when he had kissed me, I wanted it. I could feel tears coming to my eyes, and of course he saw them.
His face suddenly softened, and he reached out and touched my arm tenderly. "Anabeth," there he went saying my real name again, "I'm really, really sorry." He stuttered. "I - I mean, what do you want me to say?" His eyes were bearing deep into mine, but now they didn't look so fierce. But I couldn't back down, I hated him too much.
"Nothing," I replied firmly. I pushed his arm away, and turned for the stairs. Looking back at him as I started to go upstairs, I added, "There's nothing you can say."
I went upstairs, closing the door silently, locking it even though I knew it might be in vain. A small part of me even wished that it might be in vain. Sitting down on my mattress, I watched the door for a long time, wishing that he would come walking through it, even if just to fight with me again. I wanted to see him walk in, carrying that ridiculous God awful cane, with that smug look on his face, even those green eyes I hated so much laughing at me. But they'd be laughing at ME, no one else. I cursed myself for not listening to Kerry's advice and for letting Spot bother me so much. I cursed myself for wanting Spot Conlon to come waltzing through the door, in that obnoxious way he had. I wanted to see him again, and I hated myself for that. I hoped that he would walk right upstairs and kiss me again, I wouldn't even fight him. I hated him for making me clean his stupid clubhouse, and then making me call him "sir." I hated that he had gotten me sick, feeding me that disgusting mush that he called a meal. I hated him for being in love with Fishface, even to the point that he was going to take advantage of me, pretending that I was her. I hated him for kissing me in the first place. I hated him for making me say I loved him, even if I didn't mean it, he had that against me now. But most of all, I hated him because I didn't want to hate him anymore.
He stammered for a few seconds as I came down on him as a lion does to its prey. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were looking for an escape. He didn't say anything.
"Who's Ruth, Spot?" I demanded, recalling the conversation we had had that morning, "'Oh, just some random name, Anabeth. I'm sorry for what happened last night,'" I mocked his thick-headed accent with all the disdain I could muster. God, I could have strangled him right then and there. Him and his damnable cane.
He stared at me for a moment, once again, I was plagued with the inability to read what he was thinking, "Shortstack," He finally managed to stammer out.
"Yeah? Yeah Spot? Yeah, I'm listenin'," I snapped, "And I want to know what the HELL you were thinking this morning."
Spot stared at me for a moment again, as if he were surprised that I'd sworn. I rolled my eyes. These boys had better be used to me swearing by NOW. "I.... I don't know Anabeth."
"DON'T call me that, Spot Conlon." I snapped at him, now I was the one who was pacing around the room, "You have no right to."
"I-" He started, I looked at him with a frown that said 'go on', "Look, I don't know what happened, okay? I knew it was you, but I didn't want it to be." That was too much, I just couldn't stand it any longer. Reaching up, I slapped him right across the face as hard as I possibly could. He didn't resist, he didn't fight back. He wouldn't even give me that much. Whatever reaction I had been hoping for, he was too arrogant to give me. He didn't say anything, but he had to have known how much he had that coming. I turned around and started to stomp off, but he interrupted me, "Look, Ruth is the one thing I could never have... I'm sorry Shortstack..."
I glared at him. He, I had decided, was THE MOST cocky, arrogant bastard that had ever walked the face of this earth, with all my strength, I turned and hissed at him, "I hate you Spot Conlon." And I did. I really did.
I half-ran, half-stomped outside. I had to get away from him. If I could've, I would have run all the way to the Lower East Side, and told Patrick everything. I just couldn't trust anyone else, I decided. Outside on the docks, I searched for a place I could be alone, and found a few boxes tucked together that I could hide behind. I sat down and tried to keep from swearing under my breath. I didn't even bother praying. Just who did Spot Conlon think he was, doing something like that to me? Did he even care about how I would feel? No, I told myself. That boy didn't really care about anything but himself.
My moment alone was brief, and I heard someone say softly, "Shortstack?" I recognized the friendly voice, tried to smile, and turned around.
"Hey, Kerry," I responded, secretly wishing I was still alone. Why was he always sneaking up behind me, anyway?
He sat down next to me, and looked at me thoughtfully. I knew he could tell that my smile was fake. "What's wrong? I saw you come out of the clubhouse, and you looked really angry."
"Kerry, I...." I stammered a bit myself, "I don't feel like talkin' about it right now. I just... I can't."
In his naturally caring way, he replied, "Come on. You know you can tell me anything."
"Yeah, I know." Did I really? Maybe I could confide in him, but now just wasn't the time.
"What did Conlon do now?"
I snapped my head back at him, taken aback. "Wh- What makes you so sure he did somethin' to me?"
"I can see it, just by lookin' in your eyes." I gave him a once-over. Could he really tell what had happened to me, or was it just a lucky guess?
"What else do you see?"
He looked over at me, as if it were obvious, "Everything." He said quietly. He quickly glanced back at the river. "It's nice out here at night, you know. You can see Manhattan."
I nodded, Kerry had never seemed the type to have said something like he just had, "Yes, it is very lovely." I said stiffly, "Makes me a bit homesick."
He nodded, trying to understand, "My sister lives over there you know... it was good seeing her last night."
I looked over at him, "Your sister?" I hadn't known he had a sister.
"Yeah, you know," he said, tossing a bit of wood into the river, "Ruth. Fishface I mean."
My jaw dropped. Fishface... and Kerry... were brother and sister? And Kerry worked for Spot, and Spot was in love with Fishface? What kind of sick game were these people playing with me? Inwardly, I wanted to strangle Kerry for telling me that, but outwardly I just tossed a bit of chipped off wood from the dock into the river, saying, "Sounds nice." I had even thought it before, that Kerry hadn't understood when I said that Patrick had been my only family in the world. I felt so embarrassed. Especially after he had just said what he'd said. Everything.
I shivered. The cold January air was going right through my thin red blouse... or should I say Fishface's thin red blouse. Kerry gently pulled off his dark brown jacket and placed it over my shoulders. I looked up at him to thank him, but he'd looked away. I settled for a simple, "Thank you."
"Listen," he glanced around, and then turned back to me, his expression serious. "Just don't let Conlon get ya down. He's always been like this, at least as long as I've known him, and he's really not worth anybody's trouble...." In the dark, I thought I saw his cheeks redden slightly, "Especially yours."
I smiled, and without thinking, I leaned over and kissed Kerry on the cheek. "Thanks, Kerry," I looked affectionately at him, "it's nice to have at least one friend in Brooklyn." I turned back to the river, looking across it into Manhattan, wishing I was there with Patrick, but not entirely disappointed to be here with Kerry. Neither of us spoke, and I'm not sure how long we sat out there. But it had been dark for a long time when I decided to go back into the clubhouse, hoping to avoid Spot as I made my way upstairs.
"I'm gonna go back inside... do you wanna go with me?" I asked him quietly. He just glanced at me and shook his head silently.
"No thanks, I'll just stay out here for awhile."
"Okay," I stood up and crossed the dock back towards the clubhouse. As I walked in through the door, I saw something that I never expected, Spot Conlon, alone on the floor, scrubbing it with a brush.
Hating him as much as I did, I couldn't stop myself from speaking. "It works better when you use soap," I said bitterly.
He looked up at me, his face calm, and responded quietly, "I deserve that."
"You deserve a lot of things."
He abandoned his scrubbing, and sitting back on his heels raised that cursed eyebrow at me. I didn't know what to say next, so we just stared each other down for a moment. I congratulated myself on being much better at looking into those fierce green eyes and not being intimidated. He sighed heavily and went back to scrubbing the floor.
I finally decided to break the silence. "So...." I looked around at the empty room, "where's everybody?"
Not even looking up at me, he responded simply, "They all went to the vaudeville show with the Manhattan boys, to see Medda."
I had no idea who Medda was. "Did Jack take Fishface with him?"
"Why do you care about where Fishface goes with Jack? Ya jealous of 'er?" He still hadn't looked up at me.
"No," I decided to hit him below the belt, "but I noticed you were havin' a difficult time gettin' her attention last night."
Spot didn't take his eyes off his scrub brush going back and forth on the floor as he sighed again and said, "Well, as long as we're commenting on each other's evening, I didn't see Kerry having any problems landin' YOU last night." I looked down, realizing that I was still wearing Kerry's jacket.
Enough was too much. "For your information, Spot Conlon, the only thing that LANDED last night was you on the floor upstairs."
Throwing his scrub brush onto the floor so hard that it bounced, he stood up and got right in my face. "What do you want from me? I apologized for last night, why can't that just be enough?"
"No apology is gonna make up for trying to take advantage of me, all because your friend is with Fishface and you're not."
He was just as close to my face as he'd been the night before, right before he'd kissed me. "Well excuse me miss, but I didn't notice much of a fight on your part either."
That hurt. I felt a lump in my throat, I had no idea how to respond to him. What was I supposed to say? I really hadn't been fighting him. His expression changed slowly from anger to triumph. I realized that he knew, he knew that I had enjoyed it. He knew that when he had kissed me, I wanted it. I could feel tears coming to my eyes, and of course he saw them.
His face suddenly softened, and he reached out and touched my arm tenderly. "Anabeth," there he went saying my real name again, "I'm really, really sorry." He stuttered. "I - I mean, what do you want me to say?" His eyes were bearing deep into mine, but now they didn't look so fierce. But I couldn't back down, I hated him too much.
"Nothing," I replied firmly. I pushed his arm away, and turned for the stairs. Looking back at him as I started to go upstairs, I added, "There's nothing you can say."
I went upstairs, closing the door silently, locking it even though I knew it might be in vain. A small part of me even wished that it might be in vain. Sitting down on my mattress, I watched the door for a long time, wishing that he would come walking through it, even if just to fight with me again. I wanted to see him walk in, carrying that ridiculous God awful cane, with that smug look on his face, even those green eyes I hated so much laughing at me. But they'd be laughing at ME, no one else. I cursed myself for not listening to Kerry's advice and for letting Spot bother me so much. I cursed myself for wanting Spot Conlon to come waltzing through the door, in that obnoxious way he had. I wanted to see him again, and I hated myself for that. I hoped that he would walk right upstairs and kiss me again, I wouldn't even fight him. I hated him for making me clean his stupid clubhouse, and then making me call him "sir." I hated that he had gotten me sick, feeding me that disgusting mush that he called a meal. I hated him for being in love with Fishface, even to the point that he was going to take advantage of me, pretending that I was her. I hated him for kissing me in the first place. I hated him for making me say I loved him, even if I didn't mean it, he had that against me now. But most of all, I hated him because I didn't want to hate him anymore.