Wow, long time no update… -sheepish grin-
What's with this whole new ratings thing? I was just getting used to the other one! But anyways… hope you enjoy the chapter… and all the other characters will be making cameos here and there… I hope…!
The sun shone brightly in greeting to her. How long had she slept? She glanced up at the sun. Probably about seven hours. Pretty good, actually. Even better, she had breakfast. The food that the boy had given her the previous day.
She reached into the basket… to find the food gone.
Some miserable little fuck has just gone and… oh, I'm going to fucking kill them!
Her stomach moaned in protest as she gathered up her blanket, stuffing it in the basket carelessly. She was still seething. Fucking gits! Little shit-heads! God-fucking-damn!
Then she remembered the piece of paper. 54 East Lane. East Lane wasn't too far away from here. It was where the richest of the rich lived. The snobbiest of the snobs. Yet, if it was the boy's address… why had he given her that? He didn't know a thing about her. She could easily murder him and steal his things… and be rich…
But I wouldn't do that. He's helped me. Might as well just check it out… no harm…
Carrying the basket on her arm, she walked down to where the corner of East Lane was.
A right posh area if she had ever fucking seen one.
She could bet that their garages were bigger then the shelter she had once called her house. It had been her house, until one of the gangs trashed and burnt it down. Stupid fuckers.
She came to number 54 and stood gaping.
Fuck, it was like a bloody mansion.
That lucky little bastard. Stupid rich people. Why can't they ever give money to us? We need it more then they fucking well do.
Could she go up there and ring the doorbell?
And, supposing she did, what was she supposed to go up and say?
Before she could think of what to say, the door opened. A man walked out, followed by a young teenager. Yes, it was him! The boy from the previous evening!
"Hey, you, kid…" she began. "I just…"
The boy started; recognition visible in his expression.
Unfortunately, the man wasn't quite so accommodating.
"Who do you think you are? What are you doing on my property?"
"Fuck off, old man. I'm not here to talk to you," she spat.
Before the man could yell at her, which, judging by his face, was what he was going to do, the boy jumped in and saved the day.
"Father, please. She's alright."
"How do you know? She's just a little street girl. She could be anything," the man said, squinting suspiciously at her. "And she has bad language."
"I promise you, Father, she is alright."
"Very well…" the man relented, still glaring at her. "You had better be right. Stay here, behave yourself. I will be back in a few hours. And if anything happens to you because of your… acquaintance, then I will have nothing to do with it."
"Yes, Father." The boy bowed his head respectfully.
She stared reproachfully as the sleek convertible backed out of the driveway. "Your father doesn't think much of us street kids, huh?"
"You could say it takes him a while to warm to people he doesn't know…" the boy trailed off, staring into the distance.
For some reason, something about the way he was acting told her to change the subject. "I just wanted to thank you for the stuff yesterday. It was really helpful."
His eyes immediately moved back to lock with hers. "It was no problem. If you need anything, feel free to ask me."
"Who are you?" she blurted out eventually. "And why are you helping me? You owe me nothing."
"Nothing, you say…" the boy trailed off for a moment. "Nothing of which you know thus far, at any rate. And my name is Hayate."
Hayate… Hayate… why does that name sound familiar? It's none of the street kids, that's for sure… so where do I know the name from?
"Well, hey, Hayate. My name's Ayane. And thankyou again for helping me. I owe you one."
A faint smile appeared on Hayate's face, before disappearing, his expression returning to one of neutrality. "Like I said; no problem at all. And please, if you do need something, tell me."
"Sure thing. See you around."
Hayate suddenly looked hesitant. "Would you like to come in?"
She shook her head. "Nah, I shouldn't. But thanks for the offer."
"Are you sure? Alright, wait here…" he ducked inside the house for a moment, before returning with some fruit. "Take this. Come back whenever you need more food, alright? I don't want to see you starve from stubbornness."
The question came out before she could stop it. "Why do you care so much?"
Silence for a moment. He had frozen. She couldn't even see him breathing.
"A few reasons. Predominantly, though, because my best friend died from being on the streets. I'm not letting anybody else go like that if I can help it." His voice was so soft, fragile. As though if she reached out a hand, she would shatter it into a million pieces.
"So, what? Your best friend was on the streets? But you're, like, a rich snob."
"Things didn't quite happen the way you think," he told her.
Considering she didn't know what to think, that was saying something.
"I'm sorry, for what it's worth," she offered finally.
"Thanks," he said, "but it doesn't do much."
