A/N: Clover, you nearly gave me a heart attack when you said that the
second chapter didn't go through!! All my sweat and blood down the
drain!!! Good thing I saved it, hehe. Thanks again for the great review,
and the newsies will be along in a couple more chapters. Thanks again!
And The Angry Princess, don't you just feel so sorry for her?!? I'm glad
that you like it, and I hope you like the chapters to come!
Chapter Three
(A little over one month later)
Tara walked along the streets of New York at a swift pace. If she bumped into someone, she just kept on going. She had a mission in mind, and no one was going to stop her. All of the sudden, she slammed into what felt like a brick wall, and fell to the ground.
"Oh, sorry miss. I guess we didn't see eachotha!" Spot said as he attempted to help Tara up.
Tara yanked her arm out of Spot's grasp and helped herself up. "Don't touch me you little urchin!" She said in reply with a glare. "And watch where you're going!" She finished as she looked down her nose at him.
"Urchin!? Sweetheart, you don't look much betta den me right now, do ya realize that?" He said, feeling temper rise.
"Ugh, just watch where you're going, alright?" Tara replied in frustration as she walked away.
"Yeah!? Well...same ta you! Bitch." He yelled. The thing that he hated the most was when people talked down to him, and she had made him feel like crap. He pushed her out of his mind, and went back to selling his papers.
Tara felt a little guilty about how she responded to the boy. It really wasn't his fault, and he was nothing but nice to her, but there was no going back now. Lately, she seemed to address all people as if they were attacking her. It was easier for her if people though that she was a high class bitch than an orphan in mourning. She felt the ever present agony churn within her, but she suppressed it as she turned the corner. There was her house. She had to go in there. She couldn't go in there. It looked so cheery. It was as if nothing bad could have happened in that house. She opened the cast iron fence gate and gazed at the house. The white of the walls was offset by the blue around the windows, on the shutters, and on the door.
She walked up the stone path to the steps of the porch and climbed them. Each one gave a moan of protest as she stepped up. As she walked in the door, memories slammed into her, nearly knocking her over as the newsboy had done earlier. She blocked them out and ran upstairs to her bedroom.
The bank had not needed to repossess hers or her mothers' jewelry. Tara figured she could pawn off her jewelry to make ends meet, but she would treasure her mothers.
She quickly opened the door to her jewelry box and took the necklaces from their hooks. Placing them carefully in her bag, she opened the drawers and did the same with the rings, broaches, bracelets and earrings. When she finished this, she made her way to her parent's bedroom with less enthusiasm than she had with her room.
She opened the door; half expecting it to look like it had that night. But there was no sign of a murder. No sign that her life had changed at all. She closed her eyes and could picture her father standing by the bed, straightening his ever crooked neck tie. And her mother, she was sitting on the bed, struggling to hook the clasp of the bracelet her father had bought her. The one he had bought out of stolen money. All of the sudden, the picture changed, and it was her mother, still on the bed, but with blood pouring over her. And her father, over the bed with his gun. Her mother tried to call Tara's name, and Tara tried to go to her, but something was holding her back.
Tara opened her eyes with a start, and looked back at the peaceful room. She almost broke down in tears for the first time since that night, but held them back. Then, as a woman on a mission, she collected her mother's jewelry and left the house.
She headed down the street to her only true friend's house. She avoided the curious glances of her old neighbors, and had to bite back a retort from a group of girls that she had once hung out with. Nikki would not respond to her in that way, at least, Tara prayed to God that she would not. She found the house, went straight to the door and knocked. When the door opened, she barely even saw the familiar face of her friend before she was engulfed in a hug that she could barely breathe in. Tara knew that she had come to the right place.
After catching Nikki up on her situation, Nikki leaned back and started to think. The good think about Nikki was that not only she was extremely smart, but she was also realistic.
"Well, you have the $1500 left over, and you said that you would be willing to pawn off your jewelry for more, correct? You realize that you would never get back anything remotely close to what your father paid for the pieces, right?" Nikki asked.
Tara nodded, waiting for more.
"Tara, stay with us! You know that mum and dad would be more than happy to have you, right?" Nikki pleaded. She hated seeing her best friend in this situation.
"Nikki, I can't do that! You know that I cannot! Thank you very much, but I need to make my way in the world. I have been living in a cocoon my whole life. I need to see what it's all about. Is it really so bad that my father would kill because of it? Or was he just unstable? I need to find out. Please understand." She pleaded.
"Which would be worse? A mean world or an unstable mind?" Nikki asked carefully. Tara just shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, her eyes full of just pain that Nikki had to look away.
"Well then, do you realize what this means? You need to get a job, and an apartment. Do you think that you can do it?" Nikki asked.
"Yes. And I know just who to ask about a job. Do you remember Mr. Razini? He owns that little Italian restaurant in Manhattan, near the bridge?" At Nikki's nod, she continued on. "Well, my mother grew up with him. I know that he would give me a job! I'd do anything he tells me!"
"All right, but if you need anything, do you promise to come here? Even if you don't, just come and say hello, okay?" Nikki pleaded with tears in her eyes.
Tara promised that she would, and with one last shaky goodbye, she made her way to the Razini's Place, once again praying that she would be welcome.
Chapter Three
(A little over one month later)
Tara walked along the streets of New York at a swift pace. If she bumped into someone, she just kept on going. She had a mission in mind, and no one was going to stop her. All of the sudden, she slammed into what felt like a brick wall, and fell to the ground.
"Oh, sorry miss. I guess we didn't see eachotha!" Spot said as he attempted to help Tara up.
Tara yanked her arm out of Spot's grasp and helped herself up. "Don't touch me you little urchin!" She said in reply with a glare. "And watch where you're going!" She finished as she looked down her nose at him.
"Urchin!? Sweetheart, you don't look much betta den me right now, do ya realize that?" He said, feeling temper rise.
"Ugh, just watch where you're going, alright?" Tara replied in frustration as she walked away.
"Yeah!? Well...same ta you! Bitch." He yelled. The thing that he hated the most was when people talked down to him, and she had made him feel like crap. He pushed her out of his mind, and went back to selling his papers.
Tara felt a little guilty about how she responded to the boy. It really wasn't his fault, and he was nothing but nice to her, but there was no going back now. Lately, she seemed to address all people as if they were attacking her. It was easier for her if people though that she was a high class bitch than an orphan in mourning. She felt the ever present agony churn within her, but she suppressed it as she turned the corner. There was her house. She had to go in there. She couldn't go in there. It looked so cheery. It was as if nothing bad could have happened in that house. She opened the cast iron fence gate and gazed at the house. The white of the walls was offset by the blue around the windows, on the shutters, and on the door.
She walked up the stone path to the steps of the porch and climbed them. Each one gave a moan of protest as she stepped up. As she walked in the door, memories slammed into her, nearly knocking her over as the newsboy had done earlier. She blocked them out and ran upstairs to her bedroom.
The bank had not needed to repossess hers or her mothers' jewelry. Tara figured she could pawn off her jewelry to make ends meet, but she would treasure her mothers.
She quickly opened the door to her jewelry box and took the necklaces from their hooks. Placing them carefully in her bag, she opened the drawers and did the same with the rings, broaches, bracelets and earrings. When she finished this, she made her way to her parent's bedroom with less enthusiasm than she had with her room.
She opened the door; half expecting it to look like it had that night. But there was no sign of a murder. No sign that her life had changed at all. She closed her eyes and could picture her father standing by the bed, straightening his ever crooked neck tie. And her mother, she was sitting on the bed, struggling to hook the clasp of the bracelet her father had bought her. The one he had bought out of stolen money. All of the sudden, the picture changed, and it was her mother, still on the bed, but with blood pouring over her. And her father, over the bed with his gun. Her mother tried to call Tara's name, and Tara tried to go to her, but something was holding her back.
Tara opened her eyes with a start, and looked back at the peaceful room. She almost broke down in tears for the first time since that night, but held them back. Then, as a woman on a mission, she collected her mother's jewelry and left the house.
She headed down the street to her only true friend's house. She avoided the curious glances of her old neighbors, and had to bite back a retort from a group of girls that she had once hung out with. Nikki would not respond to her in that way, at least, Tara prayed to God that she would not. She found the house, went straight to the door and knocked. When the door opened, she barely even saw the familiar face of her friend before she was engulfed in a hug that she could barely breathe in. Tara knew that she had come to the right place.
After catching Nikki up on her situation, Nikki leaned back and started to think. The good think about Nikki was that not only she was extremely smart, but she was also realistic.
"Well, you have the $1500 left over, and you said that you would be willing to pawn off your jewelry for more, correct? You realize that you would never get back anything remotely close to what your father paid for the pieces, right?" Nikki asked.
Tara nodded, waiting for more.
"Tara, stay with us! You know that mum and dad would be more than happy to have you, right?" Nikki pleaded. She hated seeing her best friend in this situation.
"Nikki, I can't do that! You know that I cannot! Thank you very much, but I need to make my way in the world. I have been living in a cocoon my whole life. I need to see what it's all about. Is it really so bad that my father would kill because of it? Or was he just unstable? I need to find out. Please understand." She pleaded.
"Which would be worse? A mean world or an unstable mind?" Nikki asked carefully. Tara just shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, her eyes full of just pain that Nikki had to look away.
"Well then, do you realize what this means? You need to get a job, and an apartment. Do you think that you can do it?" Nikki asked.
"Yes. And I know just who to ask about a job. Do you remember Mr. Razini? He owns that little Italian restaurant in Manhattan, near the bridge?" At Nikki's nod, she continued on. "Well, my mother grew up with him. I know that he would give me a job! I'd do anything he tells me!"
"All right, but if you need anything, do you promise to come here? Even if you don't, just come and say hello, okay?" Nikki pleaded with tears in her eyes.
Tara promised that she would, and with one last shaky goodbye, she made her way to the Razini's Place, once again praying that she would be welcome.