A/N: So I am in a pretty ticked off mood myself and I got to thinking about Newsies. Naturally, I thought of Skittery. This is just a little one-shot I came up with out of boredom. I don't hate Jack Kelly, though. In fact, I love him, but he just happens to be grating Skit's nerves a little bit. Enjoy, read and review!
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Newsies nor am I making money off of this. Do you honestly think I would be writing this if I owned them? Please...
"Tell Us How Ya Really Feel"
Assholes. Yeah, go ahead and sit there with your soda glasses and your sandwiches on your goddamn plates. Chat it up, laugh it up. See if I care. Same thing, day in and day out. Wake up, sell papes, eat at Tibby's, go to sleep. If they realized what a godforsaken life this is, I'm sure their smiles would be wiped off their boyish little faces. Street rat, orphan, runaway, lowlife, bastard. That is what we are.
I suppose it all started before the strike, my bad mood that is. Naturally, it started with a girl. Scoff. A girl. That little bitch wasn't even that important now that I think about it. Her name was Alison Carpenter. Ally. The sound of her name makes me wanna hurl. She was the itch underneath your skin you were sure to reach if you scratched your skin raw until it was red. You still didn't relieve the itch. We met a few months before the strike. No big deal. It wasn't love, just some fooling around. Even though I hate to admit it now, I really liked her.
And then she met the other guy. Jack Kelly. With his stupid cowboy hat and his ridiculous red bandana and his way to charm the pants off anyone. Jack. If I were Jack I would be a masochist, and not in the good way. Just to hurt myself intentionally for being…myself. They met behind my back, both knowing full well who they were. He lured her in with his smile that never goes away, and she attached herself to him with her dark eyelashes. Those eyelashes used to be mine. Not Jack Kelly's. Mine.
I caught them in the back of a bar a week and two days before the strike. They didn't see me. I walked back there looking for her, and guess what I found: Ally giggling with delight with that Jack Kelly lying on top of her. They were in some cramped backroom with bottles of liquor lining the walls, on the floor with their clothes conveniently loosened. I wanted to strangle Jack Kelly with that absurd bandana of his. I gave Ally the boot afterward and they didn't last two days before realizing the thrill of cheating on somebody was long gone. They didn't even find out that I knew. Assholes.
He's sitting across the room from me at the moment. It's lunch at Tibby's. I'm sitting at a table by myself, smoking my sixth straight cigarette. They're all at the table in the center of the restaurant. Figures. Jack Kelly needs a posse to make a scene. They're laughing at his jokes. His jokes aren't funny. They don't make sense. None whatsoever. David, Mush, Race, Blink, Bumlets, Jake, Snitch. I used to think highly of them. Jerks. Sellouts. Scabs. They don't know Jack Kelly, the lying sack of shit.
"Hey Skit!" Jack yells to me from across the room. He waves me over to the table. The guys look back at me in hopes that I'll join them.
I can feel all the anger and resentment towards Jack boiling up within my gaze. I can't hear the rest of the restaurant's noises. Not the talking, not the waiters, not that annoying little bell above the door that rang every single time someone enters. What is the point of that thing anyway? So everyone can know when a certain seventeen-year-old, Cowboy-wannabe walks into the room?
The ever-present smile on Jack's lips starts to fade and I think he's getting the hint. They all go back to regular conversation but I continue to stare at them. Shit-heads. Ignorant. I would have thought David, the brains, would realize Jack Kelly for what he really is. But no; he's even got the intelligent fooled.
The cigarette burns down to my fingers. Shit. A flicker of pain sparks my skin and it settles. I put it out in the sandwich I forgot to eat; I was distracted by Jack Kelly's ability to live a lie. I light up another one and stick it in my mouth.
What a chump. He didn't even remember Ally once he met Sarah. Eh, Ally doesn't really matter. It's that smile Jack Kelly has whenever I see him. That dopey grin that tricks people into trusting him. Jack Kelly smiles and his followers listen to it. Jack Kelly smiles and he steals people's girls. Jack Kelly is an asshole.
I should tell him this. I should stop keeping these thoughts to myself. I need to get up and march right over there, sock him in the face or something. Knock him right off his goddamn pedestal. That'll show him. He can't take something from me without being punished for it. That's it. I'm going. I'm going to hurt Jack right now.
I get up and finish off my cigarette. They've never tasted so good. A final exhale of smoke from my lips. I'm walking over there, to the table of ignorance. My face is contorted to show my hatred toward Mr. Manhattan. My eyes are burning with revulsion and I know they feel it too. They should know. They should know him for what he really is. I'm walking over there with my eyes on the prize. I'm going to hit Jack right in the jaw. That way he won't be able to smile no more. I should have done this before…
Almost there. Five feet from the table. Four feet. Three, two…
"You mad at me er somethin', Skittery?" Jack Kelly looks my way in his inquisition.
"Mad at you? How could I evah be mad at you, Jack? You'se Jack Kelly! You beat Pulitzer for us. You walk around here like some god, but who am I kiddin', you are some god! Forget Spot Conlon; you'se are the most respected and famous newsie in all 'a New York! Shit, how could I evah be mad at you, Jack Kelly? You ain't done nothin' wrong! Nevah cheated, nevah lied, nevah stolen…at least not anythin' of importance, know what I mean? Nope. I ain't mad. You'se just a dirty little liar is all and I can't stand lookin' at ya without wanting to throw up."
Silence. My voice was dripping with disdain. They felt it. He felt it. The boys look at me weirdly. I don't care. I spoke my piece. I look at Jack. I can't tell what he's thinking; he should be offended, intimidated, scared, terrified. I'm gonna hurt him! And then…
"Well jeeze, Skittery, tell us how ya really feel."
The table erupts in laughter and Jack cracks that goddamn smile of his. I am Jack's desire to hurt himself. I am Jack's want to destroy something.
I turn around and walk away to the door. The bell rings as someone else comes inside. Ding. I hate that bell. I yank it off the top of the doorframe and throw it on the sidewalk.
I feel the itch in my back. Ally. Jack Kelly. They're under my skin, twitching within my muscles, and coursing through my veins. If I could reach them, I would scratch them. But even if I could reach it, it wouldn't go away. I'd just keep scratching until the skin wore off. Even then, it wouldn't go away. That's Jack Kelly. I can't destroy him.
Fuckin' cowboy.