This one is quite short but foreboding dun dun dun DUN!
Ugly and Spot split up a few blocks from the Lodging House. With each approaching step, Ugly's stomach contorted in painful knots. What would she tell Roan? If she told him about Spot, he might be furious, but if she lied and he found out about it later, she would most certainly be dead. And yet it seemed likely that she would be dead if she did tell.
She walked up the steps in the morbid quiet of the stairwell. The bag of coke was heavy in her hands. She walked with slow, considered steps. Every movement felt deliberate. Could this be her last walk up these stairs? She would have to lie. There was no way she could tell Roan that she had betrayed him by doing a job with his supposed enemy.
When she reached the door, Ugly took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. She could lie. She lied to herself all the time.
Roan was laying back his bed with a long opium pipe resting in his mouth. She entered and he slowly pulled himself up against the headboard. He had that faraway, dreamy look that accompanied his being high. His hair was tousled and knotted.
"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured sweetly, placing the pipe on his bedside table. She approached him determinedly, sucking back all fears. He looked so sweet and innocent sitting groggily on his large bed. She had nothing to fear. She held the bag of coke out to him.
"Here," was all she could manage to say.
"Put it down, over there," he motioned to the corner, lighting a cigarette. He fumbled with the match. He was really, really high. He dropped the match. "Baby, will you light this for me?" He tossed her the matches. She sat down on the edge of the bed and struck a match. She leaned over, held the burning match out until it kissed the tip of the cigarette hanging from his mouth. She felt him suck back and it lit. She blew out the match. "So, how was the pick up, no problems?" He looked at her. His dark eyes were softened by the drugs. He seemed almost vulnerable. He was Roan. Her Roan. No matter what happened, she knew she could count on him to come out on top. She had to align herself with that, with that one sure thing.
"I went with Spot Conlon," she confessed. Roan's eyes widened in momentary surprise and then he continued smoking calmly, just as before. "It was just, Kyro was all drugged out and I was scared to go alone and I thought he could help me and I didn't think it was such a big deal since it was such an easy job and…" Ugly stopped. She had no more "ands." She looked at Roan, her entire body was buzzing with fear, and yet he sat, smoking away as if nothing was amiss.
"How'd he do?" He asked finally.
Ugly shrugged. "He has a crush on that woman," she replied, somewhat stupidly. Roan smiled.
"You're a special girl," Roan said. He reached out with his right hand and grabbed the end of one of her loose blonde curls. He tugged it gently and watched it bounce back into place. "You're beautiful and you're perfect. Don't let anyone tell you different." She looked into his striking face, into the power that sizzled behind it. She willed herself to believe. He took a long drag from his cigarette. "Go downstairs, get some sleep," he directed. She nodded and left him in his dark room.
Ugly entered her bedroom feeling unsettled but unable to explain why. She jumped a little as she saw a body rise up from her bed. She recognized the yellow eyes beneath the yellow hair, it was Kyro. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Ugly began to undress, ignoring him. It was his fault she'd ended up with Spot Conlon, his fault that Roan was probably disappointed in her, his fault that she might be punished.
"I'm sorry I missed the job," he said. His voice sent a chill up her spine. She hadn't heard it in ages. It was soft and low with a tiny twang. She turned to look at him, wearing only her button-up boys t-shirt. His sweet, young face was repentant. She walked over and sat next him on the mattress. He reached out and stoked the side of her neck, brushing back her long, unruly hair. She shivered. She still felt uneasy.
"Why can't I just find nice people!" She exclaimed, jumping off the mattress. She stood in the corner, facing him with arms crossed. He looked at her, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and to took a slow, careful drag.
"Don't be stupid Ugly, there ain't no nice people. We're all of us light and dark and goddamn fucked up," he exhaled a stream of smoke. "All of us, so get used to it."
Ugly glared at him. All this silence and this is what he chooses to say to her? To lecture her on the dual nature of humanity? "Some darker then others," she hissed. He flashed a look that bordered on anger. It was the closest she had come to seeing emotion on his stoic face. He stood up and walked out the door.
The door fell shut and Ugly lay down on her bed. She was ugly inside and out. She was completely unlovable and unwanted. As loneliness filled her emptiness with pain, but she forced herself to stop it. She sat up in her bed. This was not who she was. She was Ugly Sendim, feared and powerful member of the most dreaded gang in all of Brooklyn. And she was going to show everyone how powerful she was. She would show them all, and then they would love her. Love her and fear her.