Warning: A disturbing rape scene is in this chapter. Please be aware of it now. Rated R for language, violence, and sex.

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I marched right up to Racetrack Higgins and demanded a bottle of whisky. Slightly disappointed that he had complied so easily—an absent-minded "yeah, yeah, sure," a thrust of his almost-full Jack Daniels into my open hands, and that was his entire acknowledgment of me—I quickly snuck another gulp before hurrying back to Spot.

As I returned, I noticed that Kelly and his girl had made their way over to David Jacobs, seeing if they could lift him to the Lodging House, where I suppose Spot had offered him an extra bunk for the night. Spot and Wolf had been joined by Mush Meyers, Kid Blink, and Bim Jansen at the table, all three a good shade of drunk.

"Here she is, boys," Wolf smiled as I approached. "Come to pour us all a drink, haven't ya, Doxy?" Kid Blink, Mush and Bim all voiced their approval, holding out glasses to me enthusiastically. I tried my best to fill each one without spilling, but the table was spinning just a little and I couldn't seem to focus on any one glass at a time.

"Take the bottle from her, Wolf." I heard someone say, but I couldn't figure out exactly who.

"Yeah, Wolf—Wolfy. What the fuck kinda name is that, anyway? And Mush," I turned toward the curly-haired boy to my left, a smiling angelic-looking fellow with his arm around the much less friendly-looking boy with the eye patch beside him. "Mush, Mush, I forgot what I was gonna say, but you sure are cute!" I giggled and swayed a bit, hearing-but-not-really-hearing the riffing on poor Mush my comment had caused. It took me a moment to realize that I was being steered and dragged away from the commotion; a strong, steady hand had gripped a hold of my wrist, the other hand grasping on to a cane. The cane.

"You sure are short, Spot." More giggles, and more silence. I was being pulled up the Lodging House steps. "Hey, why are we goin' up here? Do you know I'm a newsie now? I jus' turned one, right? You ain't much taller than me, y'know!" He had let go of my wrist just long enough to reach for his key. One of the privileges of being Brooklyn's leader was a private room. It was small, but it had its own bed and drawer. It was nothing short of spectacular for street rats like us. "David Jacobs' sister, she's a real classy broad." I stated. It seemed to match the flow of the conversation at the time.

"She's not a whore like you now, is she?" He said as he unlocked the door. He shoved me inside. I found myself sprawled on the floor, my knees in dull pain. "Get up," he snapped, and when I was too slow to comply he pulled me up roughly by grabbing my loose brown hair—not the pretty brunette color like Jack's girl had, but more of a mousy, muddy brown that was more curly and course on an average basis than I think David Jacobs' sister could even imagine on her worst hair days.

"Ow!" I tried to pull his hand away from my hair but it just made him jerk me harder. I stood there dumbly, waiting for something to happen. I was just too drunk to figure out what the fuck was going on.

"I was having a good time tonight," he said softly, his breath reeking of whisky.

"Uh," I was uncertain of where this was headed, and only caring about the dull ache that had moved from my knees to the back of my head. I stepped back.

"I was having a good time," he repeated, this time angrier, "you drunk cunt."

He wasn't making any sense. He was drunk; I was drunk...it was just getting scary. "I didn't mean to. I don't. I'm sorry?" I felt the sting of his palm across my face before I saw it coming; felt the hot tears on my face before I realized I was crying.

He steered me to his bed. I didn't fight him. "Take off your dress." I numbly obeyed, or tried to; my fingers fumbled and I couldn't quite keep my focus on the buttonholes. Was I supposed to pull the buttons through the hole, or was I supposed to pull the holes around the buttons? Well, slow and steady wins the race, like my mama used to say before she left, I'd just have to concentrate a bit harder...

"Fuckin' dumb bitch. I'll do it." He slapped my hands away and seemed like genius before me as he swiftly unbuttoned all the way down to my waist. I knew enough to pull the rest of the dress off my legs; his eyes trailed to my breasts, and then his hands were on them, pushing me down beneath him. He ripped my bustier off and grabbed my wrists in one hand, holding them high above my head, and reached down under my petticoat with his other, fingers prying and poking. I protested, pleaded. He stopped just long enough to smash my head against the wall—that's how hard he backhanded me—and reach down to his pants. I closed my eyes tightly. I'd never seen a boy naked down there before. And suddenly I felt this horrible pain inside. He was pushing and pushing so rough and hard and I couldn't help but scream, his fingers were pressing into my wrists so painfully that I tried to focus on that but it was hurting so goddamn bad—

"Spot, what are you doing!?" I heard a girl's voice, it was sweet, and Spot suddenly stopped. He was breathing heavily.

"Get your cunt of a girlfriend outta here, Kelly," he said, his voice dangerously low. "This ain't none of her business."

"She's drunk, Spot! And she's bleeding!" It was David Jacobs' sister, it finally dawned on me. And she was talking about me. And...was I bleeding? Yes, I was.

"I'm bleeding," I repeated dumbly.

"Sarah, let's go," Jack Kelly whispered. "This ain't our business." He grabbed her arm and pulled her back away from the doorway.

"He's hurting her, Jack!" She snapped. "It's wrong!" She struggled to get free from Kelly's grasp but he was already closing the door.

"Sorry, Spot. Thanks for letting Davey stay here tonight. We appreciate it."

And he closed the door behind him.

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Author's Note: It was hard to write such an evil, sadistic Spot. Rape does happen though, and often times by people we trust and think we know. I'm sorry if this disturbed anyone. :(