A/N: I feel so loved!!! Hehe. I want to give a big THANK YOU to all of
my reviewers. I appreciate your support! And Nicki, you're very welcome.
Of course I'm going to put my best friend in my story! Even though you
don't do the same for me. :o( (hint, hint) To my new reviewers, thank
you for reading! KatFightOnSkis...interesting name. I like it. Thanks for
the compliment and keep reviewing. And Morgan, thank you for reviewing.
Don't worry, I'll keep writing! And finally, Black Wilted Rose, thank you
for sticking with the story and reviewing! Luv you guys!
Chapter Six
Morgan woke from the ritual nightmare with a jolt. She let out a tiny shriek and sat up quickly, which was a big mistake. Pain shot through her like lightening, and once again she cried out.
Spot woke up when he heard her cry out and was immediately by the side of her bed. "Shh, you're okay. Just lay back down." He said, worried about her shoulder.
"Spot? What are you doing here?" Tara asked confused. Why had he stayed?
"Well, I mean, da lodging house is kinda far, and it's kinda cold out, so I decided to stick around." He replied shrugging it off. It was a total lie and both he and Tara knew it.
"Spot, um, it's about seventy degrees outside." She remarked.
Spot was going to say another lie, but at her steady gaze, he told the truth. "I guess I just wanted to make sure you'se alright. Well, you look good, so I'll just be..."
"Stay! I mean, if you want to." Tara suddenly found great interest in her feet. Spot felt great elation at her outburst.
"If ya really want me to, I guess I could..."
"No. If you don't want to, then..."
They both looked at each other. Spot started to grin and Tara let out a laugh, surprising herself. She hadn't laughed in a long time, and it felt good. They laughed a little harder, but the shaking of her body bothered her shoulder, and she hissed out a breath in pain, tears starting to fill her eyes.
"Hey, come on. Just lay back, you'll feel better." She did as he said, and he was right. Her shoulder didn't bother her as much as it did before. Spot sat back in the chair, and waited to fall back asleep.
Tara looked at the uncomfortable position he was in and bit her lip. Her mind was at war with itself. If she told him to lie on the bed, it would be too forward. But he had done so much for her tonight, and she owed him at least his comfort. Oh, screw it.
"Spot, if you want, you can lie down with me. That chair isn't the most comfortable thing."
Spot looked at her and grinned. She was finally coming around. He made his way to the bed, but before he could climb in, she stopped him.
"On top of the sheets." She ordered, predicting his thoughts.
As he lay down on the sheets, he put his arm behind his head as a pillow.
For some reason she felt as if she owed him an explanation about her shoulder. "Look, I don't know if you were wondering about what happened to me." He just looked at her. "My shoulder..." she began.
"I already know." He replied softly. She shot him a look. "Hey, I sell papes for a living. I just had ta put two and two tagether ta figure it out. And I'm sorry, ya know, about everything." He said, sorrow filling his eyes.
Tara was silent for a moment. "Well then Spot, I seem to find myself at a disadvantage." He just looked at her. "Well, you seem to know a lot about me, and I know very little about you. I mean, I know that your name is Spot, you sell newspapers for a living, and you're extremely arrogant." She said with a grin.
"I am not arrogant. You on the other hand, my dear..."
"Look, it takes an arrogant person to see one of her own kind, you know." She replied mischievously. "Let's play a game."
"A game." He said haltingly, not sure of where she was going.
"Yes, a game. I ask you a question, you answer, and in turn, you ask me a question. Tit-for-Tat."
"Okay." He was confused. Where had this side of her come from? His view of her as a spoiled bitch was completely annihilated when she transformed into this funny girl in front of him.
"Spot, do you have a last name?"
"Yeah, it's Conlon."
"Irish?"
"I do believe it's my turn. Tit-for-Tat?" He joked.
"Touché."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty." She replied. "You?"
"Twenty-one."
Hmm...interesting. Somehow in the course of these questions, his arm had wrapped around behind her shoulders, and she had shifted closer to him. Very interesting. They played the questions game for a little while longer until she yawned and he called it to a halt. She laid her head down on his chest and slowly drifted of to sleep, feeling for the first time in a long while that she was safe and secured.
Spot stroked her arm while she slept. Shit Conlon, he thought. Why'd ya hafta go and fall for an uptown girl? She may not look the part anymore, but she was one through and through. Shit.
It was about one week later when he finally let her get out of the apartment. She was clawing at the walls in boredom. Literally. She had carved her name into the wall, the bedpost, and door and the windowsill. Mr. Razini had let her take as much time as she needed off until she was healed. Spot and she had a daily ritual. In the morning he would leave to sell papers, letting her sleep. He would get back in the afternoon with a sandwich and whatever his didn't eat for her lunch. They would talk for a while, and then he would leave to sell the evening edition. After that he would go to the lodging house to check in, but he would always return every night. Tara found herself missing him when he was gone, and looking forward to when he would be back.
This afternoon was different. After selling the morning edition, he was going to take her to Central Park. She missed the outdoors. Even if it was just walking to work, she needed to feel the sun on her back. She saw the doorknob turn and before the door even opened, she was on her feet with her shoes on.
"Looks like someone's ready ta go?" Spot said jokingly. "I dunno, I think I'm gonna sit and rest for a while." He sat in the chair.
"Conlon! This isn't funny! Come on! Oh, I hate you!" She said while laughingly trying to pull him out of his chair.
"Oh, I'se sorry, were we supposed ta go somewhere taday?" He asked. If looks could kill, he would have gone straight to hell. "Fine, fine, if ya insist." And with that, they headed out of her prison.
On their way to Central Park, Spot stopped and bought her a rose. She felt her heart flutter and butterflies in her stomach. Stop, just STOP! You can't like him! Well, you can like him, but you can't like him! Shit McCartle. Shit.
When they reached Central Park, Tara saw a group of familiar faces, and tried to turn away before they noticed her. But unfortunately, she was too late.
"Tara!!" They yelled. She heard the fake enthusiasm in their voices and prepared herself for what was coming. Spot just stood there, not knowing what to do. He saw that she was uneasy about seeing these girls, but he was at a loss for words.
"Tara, darling, how have you been?" Marie, the leader of the pack of bitches asked. "How's the family? Oh, oops. I'm so sorry darling. I forgot. You poor dear."
"You didn't forget and you know it Marie. Stop trying to put on a front." Tara said haltingly.
"Ooh, careful Marie. Don't make her mad. You don't know what she'll do." Chloe, the girl who tried desperately to be like Marie said.
That one hit a little too close to home. "Your right. I mean, my father killed his own wife, who knows what I'll do. I don't even like you guys. Yes, you had better watch your backs." Tara warned.
"Oh come off of your high horse Tara. You may have been the shit back then, before your father killed your mother, but you're not anymore. I mean, just take a look at yourself. You're dirt, you're filth. Your nothing." Marie bit back.
Before Spot could say anything to shut the bitch up, Tara took action. The crack that went through the air when Tara's fist connected with Marie's nose was the most satisfying thing that he'd heard in a while. While Marie's entourage crowded around their wounded leader, Spot steered Tara way.
"You okay?" He asked carefully. He was worried that she would be upset at the harsh words thrown at her.
"Yeah...you know? That really felt good." She said with a laugh.
"Well, for dat little move, I'm buying ya lunch."
Tara laughed but her thoughts were elsewhere. Chloe's comment struck her deep. If her father could do that to his own wife, what was she capable of? She took such great pleasure in hurting Marie, but had it accomplished anything? Her stomach churned. What if her father's sickness was hereditary? Throughout the rest of the afternoon and most of the night, that question caused her great agony.
Chapter Six
Morgan woke from the ritual nightmare with a jolt. She let out a tiny shriek and sat up quickly, which was a big mistake. Pain shot through her like lightening, and once again she cried out.
Spot woke up when he heard her cry out and was immediately by the side of her bed. "Shh, you're okay. Just lay back down." He said, worried about her shoulder.
"Spot? What are you doing here?" Tara asked confused. Why had he stayed?
"Well, I mean, da lodging house is kinda far, and it's kinda cold out, so I decided to stick around." He replied shrugging it off. It was a total lie and both he and Tara knew it.
"Spot, um, it's about seventy degrees outside." She remarked.
Spot was going to say another lie, but at her steady gaze, he told the truth. "I guess I just wanted to make sure you'se alright. Well, you look good, so I'll just be..."
"Stay! I mean, if you want to." Tara suddenly found great interest in her feet. Spot felt great elation at her outburst.
"If ya really want me to, I guess I could..."
"No. If you don't want to, then..."
They both looked at each other. Spot started to grin and Tara let out a laugh, surprising herself. She hadn't laughed in a long time, and it felt good. They laughed a little harder, but the shaking of her body bothered her shoulder, and she hissed out a breath in pain, tears starting to fill her eyes.
"Hey, come on. Just lay back, you'll feel better." She did as he said, and he was right. Her shoulder didn't bother her as much as it did before. Spot sat back in the chair, and waited to fall back asleep.
Tara looked at the uncomfortable position he was in and bit her lip. Her mind was at war with itself. If she told him to lie on the bed, it would be too forward. But he had done so much for her tonight, and she owed him at least his comfort. Oh, screw it.
"Spot, if you want, you can lie down with me. That chair isn't the most comfortable thing."
Spot looked at her and grinned. She was finally coming around. He made his way to the bed, but before he could climb in, she stopped him.
"On top of the sheets." She ordered, predicting his thoughts.
As he lay down on the sheets, he put his arm behind his head as a pillow.
For some reason she felt as if she owed him an explanation about her shoulder. "Look, I don't know if you were wondering about what happened to me." He just looked at her. "My shoulder..." she began.
"I already know." He replied softly. She shot him a look. "Hey, I sell papes for a living. I just had ta put two and two tagether ta figure it out. And I'm sorry, ya know, about everything." He said, sorrow filling his eyes.
Tara was silent for a moment. "Well then Spot, I seem to find myself at a disadvantage." He just looked at her. "Well, you seem to know a lot about me, and I know very little about you. I mean, I know that your name is Spot, you sell newspapers for a living, and you're extremely arrogant." She said with a grin.
"I am not arrogant. You on the other hand, my dear..."
"Look, it takes an arrogant person to see one of her own kind, you know." She replied mischievously. "Let's play a game."
"A game." He said haltingly, not sure of where she was going.
"Yes, a game. I ask you a question, you answer, and in turn, you ask me a question. Tit-for-Tat."
"Okay." He was confused. Where had this side of her come from? His view of her as a spoiled bitch was completely annihilated when she transformed into this funny girl in front of him.
"Spot, do you have a last name?"
"Yeah, it's Conlon."
"Irish?"
"I do believe it's my turn. Tit-for-Tat?" He joked.
"Touché."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty." She replied. "You?"
"Twenty-one."
Hmm...interesting. Somehow in the course of these questions, his arm had wrapped around behind her shoulders, and she had shifted closer to him. Very interesting. They played the questions game for a little while longer until she yawned and he called it to a halt. She laid her head down on his chest and slowly drifted of to sleep, feeling for the first time in a long while that she was safe and secured.
Spot stroked her arm while she slept. Shit Conlon, he thought. Why'd ya hafta go and fall for an uptown girl? She may not look the part anymore, but she was one through and through. Shit.
It was about one week later when he finally let her get out of the apartment. She was clawing at the walls in boredom. Literally. She had carved her name into the wall, the bedpost, and door and the windowsill. Mr. Razini had let her take as much time as she needed off until she was healed. Spot and she had a daily ritual. In the morning he would leave to sell papers, letting her sleep. He would get back in the afternoon with a sandwich and whatever his didn't eat for her lunch. They would talk for a while, and then he would leave to sell the evening edition. After that he would go to the lodging house to check in, but he would always return every night. Tara found herself missing him when he was gone, and looking forward to when he would be back.
This afternoon was different. After selling the morning edition, he was going to take her to Central Park. She missed the outdoors. Even if it was just walking to work, she needed to feel the sun on her back. She saw the doorknob turn and before the door even opened, she was on her feet with her shoes on.
"Looks like someone's ready ta go?" Spot said jokingly. "I dunno, I think I'm gonna sit and rest for a while." He sat in the chair.
"Conlon! This isn't funny! Come on! Oh, I hate you!" She said while laughingly trying to pull him out of his chair.
"Oh, I'se sorry, were we supposed ta go somewhere taday?" He asked. If looks could kill, he would have gone straight to hell. "Fine, fine, if ya insist." And with that, they headed out of her prison.
On their way to Central Park, Spot stopped and bought her a rose. She felt her heart flutter and butterflies in her stomach. Stop, just STOP! You can't like him! Well, you can like him, but you can't like him! Shit McCartle. Shit.
When they reached Central Park, Tara saw a group of familiar faces, and tried to turn away before they noticed her. But unfortunately, she was too late.
"Tara!!" They yelled. She heard the fake enthusiasm in their voices and prepared herself for what was coming. Spot just stood there, not knowing what to do. He saw that she was uneasy about seeing these girls, but he was at a loss for words.
"Tara, darling, how have you been?" Marie, the leader of the pack of bitches asked. "How's the family? Oh, oops. I'm so sorry darling. I forgot. You poor dear."
"You didn't forget and you know it Marie. Stop trying to put on a front." Tara said haltingly.
"Ooh, careful Marie. Don't make her mad. You don't know what she'll do." Chloe, the girl who tried desperately to be like Marie said.
That one hit a little too close to home. "Your right. I mean, my father killed his own wife, who knows what I'll do. I don't even like you guys. Yes, you had better watch your backs." Tara warned.
"Oh come off of your high horse Tara. You may have been the shit back then, before your father killed your mother, but you're not anymore. I mean, just take a look at yourself. You're dirt, you're filth. Your nothing." Marie bit back.
Before Spot could say anything to shut the bitch up, Tara took action. The crack that went through the air when Tara's fist connected with Marie's nose was the most satisfying thing that he'd heard in a while. While Marie's entourage crowded around their wounded leader, Spot steered Tara way.
"You okay?" He asked carefully. He was worried that she would be upset at the harsh words thrown at her.
"Yeah...you know? That really felt good." She said with a laugh.
"Well, for dat little move, I'm buying ya lunch."
Tara laughed but her thoughts were elsewhere. Chloe's comment struck her deep. If her father could do that to his own wife, what was she capable of? She took such great pleasure in hurting Marie, but had it accomplished anything? Her stomach churned. What if her father's sickness was hereditary? Throughout the rest of the afternoon and most of the night, that question caused her great agony.