AN: I apologise for this chapter taking so long, but I had exams and now I've got the flu. My motivation fled me. But I'm back and
it's all good. I hope you like this chapter, and all reviews are beloved and adored.
----
March 29th 2013
----
Jondy sat cross legged behind the grey scratchy sofa, a book in her lap. Her hair was in a long braid down her back, she wore a slate blue nightdress and socks. Lying beside her was a small pile of books and a gun.
She likes sitting behind the couch. It protects her. It sounds strange, but Jondy feels almost safe behind this wooden frame, covered in scratchy material. Maybe that's because it's where Zack sleeps when he stays over. Well, when Jondy isn't sleepy, he sleeps in her bed and it still smells like him - leather and gun powder and something uniquely Zack - but sometimes, Jondy is tired and Zack would never share Jondy's bed without Jondy offering and Jondy doesn't know how to make an offer like that to Zack; Zack is strong and unbreakable, she can't fathom him needing more sleep than her.
She likes reading the books from the library. She borrows as many as she can, and reads them over and over again, drifting in and out of stories, not remembering what she saw on television and what she read. She wishes she was like the girls in the books who end up with their prince. It didn't matter than Jondy thought most of the men in the books were spineless and pathetic; the girls ended up happy and safe and that's what Jondy wanted.
She stayed there all night, completely focused on her book. She spent most of her days in this apartment, venturing out to get food or go to the library. Some days, she'd just sit, absorbing book after book, without moving.
Tonight, she turns the pages slowly, absorbing every detail of the book. She barely notices time passing. By the time she does come out of her daze, it's early morning. Three books. Three different stories about people who don't even exist. Jondy wonders what existence truly is. Is it living and breathing and seeing and hearing? Or is it something divine, effecting something, changing something? Is it like living or better? Positive, negative or neutral?
She showers quickly; in this building, the hot water is a distant memory by 7 a.m. It's just past 6 now. There are people walking in the street, Jondy can here them. Not many, but enough. She gets dressed slowly, methodically - skirt, sweater, socks, shoes and baseball cap over her long hair; her hair is getting a lot darker now.
She always went out really early, before the school children were in the streets. She never went out late at night, because of the drunken men who'd hide in the alley beside her building, and wait for young girls like her. Some nights, Jondy could hear the screams for help from the girls in the alley but knew she couldn't help; Ordinary thirteen year old girls do not save other girls from attacks. If she went down to help the girl in the alley, Lydecker would know, somehow.
She goes out, into the light, the new day. Something about early morning; the sunlight feels young, yet old. People look at her with blank looks. Jondy is hanging around for no reason. She's going to get herself breakfast and then go home and read.
The diner. A place Jondy does go a lot, really. For her, at least. It's an old fashioned place, with black and white checkerboard lino, booths with red leather seats and mismatched stools at the counter. All the waitresses are older than her, and wear short red and white uniforms, with hair dyed either platinum blonde or cherry red to match their uniforms. They smoke and laugh and tell each other about their plans to go to California. Jondy came to this diner a lot, and none of the waitresses had gone to California yet. She doesn't know why and wonders they are waiting so long to go to California.
She goes up to the counter and orders a strawberry milkshake. Jondy doesn't drink things for their taste or their nutritional value; she drinks them for their colours. Nine years of her life dedicated to white milk (yellow if they were unlucky), black coffee and clear water. The colours of drinks in the Outside amazed Jondy beyond belief; the luminous oranges, reds, blues and greens of soft drinks. The deep, thicker colour of juices and, Jondy's favourite, the pastel colours of milkshakes. The logic of milkshakes had long escaped her - why would anyone whip milk around?
She sits at a booth, watching people hurry past the long windows of the diner, on their way to work, on their way to completing their lives…
"Here you are, doll."
Jondy turns around slowly and looks up at the waitress. The waitress wouldn't have noticed that Jondy has slipped a knife onto the seat next to her; one of her hands is gripping the knife so hard, Jondy can almost feel it bending.
"Thank you, ma'am," Jondy replied dutifully, sliding the milkshake closer to her and looking at the pink colour. Why did Ordinaries bother making drinks so pretty when the rest of the world was so awful?
"You come in here quite a bit. Shouldn't you be in school, darlin'?" The waitress eyes Jondy carefully. "Need to get an education so you can get a classy job."
Jondy shakes her head and sips her milkshake. She doesn't offer any more information to the waitress. The waitress shakes her head, sliding into the booth opposite Jondy.
"Don't think your mama want you hanging out here so much, darlin'," the waitress said. "Even if you don't go to school, don't think she'd want you hanging round down here."
Jondy shrugs and sips at her milkshake.
"Jondy."
She whips around, her grip on the knife tightening. Zack. Zack's standing there, looking out of breath and annoyed. And older. Much older. His face is sharper and his clothes fit his body now… and he's wearing his leather jacket. Slightly more worn now. He looks exhausted and worried and Jondy wants to hug him and ask him what's wrong. Sometimes, Jondy writes letters to Maxie, telling Maxie all about the bad stuff in her life. All those letters are in a paper bag under her mattress, with Tinga's ribbon and the last of the rent money. Those letters make Jondy feel better, even though she knows Max will never read them.
Zack stands before Jondy. She looks worn. But then, New York does that to an adult. She's still a child. He has to remind himself of that; she's only thirteen, only thirteen, when he looks into her eyes. She looks older and younger at the same time. Defiance, concern and that old 'Jondy' look that Zack knew. Her hair is thicker and darker; maybe she dyed it. Brin dyed her hair with blue streaks, making her a liability. Zack made her dye it back.
"We have to go now," Zack says flatly, reaching into his jacket pocket and handing the waitress some money. "We're only a few hours ahead."
Jondy bites her lip and slides out of the booth, following Zack out of the diner. Just before she leaves, she turns around and calls out, "Thank you. I hope you have a nice time in California."
It'll be years before Jondy realises California is a waitress's paradise; a dream they'll never get to. And the waitresses in California dream of New York. One day soon, Jondy will be one of those Californian waitresses..
Zack half-drags Jondy back to her apartment, throwing Jondy's clothes into a bag.
"Have you got anything that says you're X5?" Zack half grunts. "Anything incriminating?"
Jondy nods slowly, lifting up her mattress and pulling out the paper bag of letters to Max. Letters to a dead sister. Zack barely glances at the letters, handing them back to Jondy. He hates that he didn't save Max. He hates that Jondy still hurts so long after Max's death. He wants to hold her and talk to her and tell her that one day it will be 'all good'.
Jondy takes the letters out to the stove. Slowly, she lights each one, dumping them in the sink, watching them shrivel up and burn into a pile of a ash. Jondy slides down and sits with her back to the fridge, on the floor, twisting Tinga's ribbon around her fingers. It's Zack, coming out of Jondy's room with her bag, who scrapes the ashes out of the sink and flushes them down the toilet. Who rinses the sink out. Who motions for Jondy to follow him out of the fire escape.
And then, together, they leave New York City. Almost all the traffic is headed into the city for the new day. Jondy sits cross legged in the passengers seat, twisting Tinga's ribbon around her fingers.
"Lydecker caught on there was an X5 in the city. He's about five hours behind us," Zack said, breaking the silence.
Jondy nods slowly. "It's okay. Where am I going?"
Zack wants to reach out and tell her she's not going anywhere. He's taking her to Canada for awhile, and then they'll stay together. He hates leaving her alone. He likes to believe it's because of Max's death beneath the ice. But he knows it's something about her. Something about being on the Outside has changed both of them and it's made them closer, yet further apart. He wants to make sure she doesn't get hurt.
"Chicago."
it's all good. I hope you like this chapter, and all reviews are beloved and adored.
----
March 29th 2013
----
Jondy sat cross legged behind the grey scratchy sofa, a book in her lap. Her hair was in a long braid down her back, she wore a slate blue nightdress and socks. Lying beside her was a small pile of books and a gun.
She likes sitting behind the couch. It protects her. It sounds strange, but Jondy feels almost safe behind this wooden frame, covered in scratchy material. Maybe that's because it's where Zack sleeps when he stays over. Well, when Jondy isn't sleepy, he sleeps in her bed and it still smells like him - leather and gun powder and something uniquely Zack - but sometimes, Jondy is tired and Zack would never share Jondy's bed without Jondy offering and Jondy doesn't know how to make an offer like that to Zack; Zack is strong and unbreakable, she can't fathom him needing more sleep than her.
She likes reading the books from the library. She borrows as many as she can, and reads them over and over again, drifting in and out of stories, not remembering what she saw on television and what she read. She wishes she was like the girls in the books who end up with their prince. It didn't matter than Jondy thought most of the men in the books were spineless and pathetic; the girls ended up happy and safe and that's what Jondy wanted.
She stayed there all night, completely focused on her book. She spent most of her days in this apartment, venturing out to get food or go to the library. Some days, she'd just sit, absorbing book after book, without moving.
Tonight, she turns the pages slowly, absorbing every detail of the book. She barely notices time passing. By the time she does come out of her daze, it's early morning. Three books. Three different stories about people who don't even exist. Jondy wonders what existence truly is. Is it living and breathing and seeing and hearing? Or is it something divine, effecting something, changing something? Is it like living or better? Positive, negative or neutral?
She showers quickly; in this building, the hot water is a distant memory by 7 a.m. It's just past 6 now. There are people walking in the street, Jondy can here them. Not many, but enough. She gets dressed slowly, methodically - skirt, sweater, socks, shoes and baseball cap over her long hair; her hair is getting a lot darker now.
She always went out really early, before the school children were in the streets. She never went out late at night, because of the drunken men who'd hide in the alley beside her building, and wait for young girls like her. Some nights, Jondy could hear the screams for help from the girls in the alley but knew she couldn't help; Ordinary thirteen year old girls do not save other girls from attacks. If she went down to help the girl in the alley, Lydecker would know, somehow.
She goes out, into the light, the new day. Something about early morning; the sunlight feels young, yet old. People look at her with blank looks. Jondy is hanging around for no reason. She's going to get herself breakfast and then go home and read.
The diner. A place Jondy does go a lot, really. For her, at least. It's an old fashioned place, with black and white checkerboard lino, booths with red leather seats and mismatched stools at the counter. All the waitresses are older than her, and wear short red and white uniforms, with hair dyed either platinum blonde or cherry red to match their uniforms. They smoke and laugh and tell each other about their plans to go to California. Jondy came to this diner a lot, and none of the waitresses had gone to California yet. She doesn't know why and wonders they are waiting so long to go to California.
She goes up to the counter and orders a strawberry milkshake. Jondy doesn't drink things for their taste or their nutritional value; she drinks them for their colours. Nine years of her life dedicated to white milk (yellow if they were unlucky), black coffee and clear water. The colours of drinks in the Outside amazed Jondy beyond belief; the luminous oranges, reds, blues and greens of soft drinks. The deep, thicker colour of juices and, Jondy's favourite, the pastel colours of milkshakes. The logic of milkshakes had long escaped her - why would anyone whip milk around?
She sits at a booth, watching people hurry past the long windows of the diner, on their way to work, on their way to completing their lives…
"Here you are, doll."
Jondy turns around slowly and looks up at the waitress. The waitress wouldn't have noticed that Jondy has slipped a knife onto the seat next to her; one of her hands is gripping the knife so hard, Jondy can almost feel it bending.
"Thank you, ma'am," Jondy replied dutifully, sliding the milkshake closer to her and looking at the pink colour. Why did Ordinaries bother making drinks so pretty when the rest of the world was so awful?
"You come in here quite a bit. Shouldn't you be in school, darlin'?" The waitress eyes Jondy carefully. "Need to get an education so you can get a classy job."
Jondy shakes her head and sips her milkshake. She doesn't offer any more information to the waitress. The waitress shakes her head, sliding into the booth opposite Jondy.
"Don't think your mama want you hanging out here so much, darlin'," the waitress said. "Even if you don't go to school, don't think she'd want you hanging round down here."
Jondy shrugs and sips at her milkshake.
"Jondy."
She whips around, her grip on the knife tightening. Zack. Zack's standing there, looking out of breath and annoyed. And older. Much older. His face is sharper and his clothes fit his body now… and he's wearing his leather jacket. Slightly more worn now. He looks exhausted and worried and Jondy wants to hug him and ask him what's wrong. Sometimes, Jondy writes letters to Maxie, telling Maxie all about the bad stuff in her life. All those letters are in a paper bag under her mattress, with Tinga's ribbon and the last of the rent money. Those letters make Jondy feel better, even though she knows Max will never read them.
Zack stands before Jondy. She looks worn. But then, New York does that to an adult. She's still a child. He has to remind himself of that; she's only thirteen, only thirteen, when he looks into her eyes. She looks older and younger at the same time. Defiance, concern and that old 'Jondy' look that Zack knew. Her hair is thicker and darker; maybe she dyed it. Brin dyed her hair with blue streaks, making her a liability. Zack made her dye it back.
"We have to go now," Zack says flatly, reaching into his jacket pocket and handing the waitress some money. "We're only a few hours ahead."
Jondy bites her lip and slides out of the booth, following Zack out of the diner. Just before she leaves, she turns around and calls out, "Thank you. I hope you have a nice time in California."
It'll be years before Jondy realises California is a waitress's paradise; a dream they'll never get to. And the waitresses in California dream of New York. One day soon, Jondy will be one of those Californian waitresses..
Zack half-drags Jondy back to her apartment, throwing Jondy's clothes into a bag.
"Have you got anything that says you're X5?" Zack half grunts. "Anything incriminating?"
Jondy nods slowly, lifting up her mattress and pulling out the paper bag of letters to Max. Letters to a dead sister. Zack barely glances at the letters, handing them back to Jondy. He hates that he didn't save Max. He hates that Jondy still hurts so long after Max's death. He wants to hold her and talk to her and tell her that one day it will be 'all good'.
Jondy takes the letters out to the stove. Slowly, she lights each one, dumping them in the sink, watching them shrivel up and burn into a pile of a ash. Jondy slides down and sits with her back to the fridge, on the floor, twisting Tinga's ribbon around her fingers. It's Zack, coming out of Jondy's room with her bag, who scrapes the ashes out of the sink and flushes them down the toilet. Who rinses the sink out. Who motions for Jondy to follow him out of the fire escape.
And then, together, they leave New York City. Almost all the traffic is headed into the city for the new day. Jondy sits cross legged in the passengers seat, twisting Tinga's ribbon around her fingers.
"Lydecker caught on there was an X5 in the city. He's about five hours behind us," Zack said, breaking the silence.
Jondy nods slowly. "It's okay. Where am I going?"
Zack wants to reach out and tell her she's not going anywhere. He's taking her to Canada for awhile, and then they'll stay together. He hates leaving her alone. He likes to believe it's because of Max's death beneath the ice. But he knows it's something about her. Something about being on the Outside has changed both of them and it's made them closer, yet further apart. He wants to make sure she doesn't get hurt.
"Chicago."