Disclaimer: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends.

A/N: Five more chapters to go after this one! w00t! At this rate - this whole story will be posted and done by Saturday. Get excited!

Warning: PG-13 (self-mutilation, adult situations)

Chapter 5

v.)
he is gone most of the time (but he's still there)
ruby red slippers match guilty hands
she flinches from his touch – afraid of finding something true
he's p.o.p.p.i.n.g his seams with secrets like an old wineskin
(she never liked his vintage)
he's buried too deep to dig himself out (but he'll try)

His toes are clad in ruby red slippers (technically they are sneakers but no one could tell him otherwise). No matter how many times he claps his heels together – he can never go home. Maybe that is because he never knew where home was (being heartless has its drawbacks).

Today his chapped lips match his shoes in violent red: powerful & seductive. They are begging her to drag all of his hidden treasures out from their cracks with a kiss – but she never touches him. Somehow (even though she lusts after that secret knowledge) she is afraid of the words he might speak. His language is too ripe for her; kept too long and over prepared, over thought, embellished, and in the beginning stages of decay. The outside still seductive and tempting, but the insides, she knew, would be rotten and mealy.

Girl Explicit loves Boy Anachronism (lusts him as well), but she is growing less and less sure of why everyday. Every instant she spends chasing his wicked (witch) dreams she loses grasp of the reality of her love a little bit more. He may say that he lives in the here & now, but is he even trying to leave Oz behind? It isn't that she doesn't want to be with him – she just doesn't know how to save him (he's so crazy that it is driving her insane).

Where ever he is today it is Wednesday (or at least according to his day calendar on the wall). The man on the television says that it is Monday, but who knows if he is right? What is a day but another few moments to be lost (or fade away)?

The way she treats him hasn't changed. If anything she kisses him harder than before (she's unsure if it is she who is slipping away or him). Boy Anachronism can feel the difference though she hides it well. He's learned to recognize this reality after time. It isn't the first time it has happened. Girl Explicit can't help it if she isn't as experienced in the art of falling-out-of-love as he is. She isn't his first (though she is his most difficult) and he hopes that she won't be his last (he thrives on drama).

She wants to break him down and make him cry. Those tears are the only sweetness she gets from him anymore (even his kiss is bitter). He's too strung out, like pearls on a necklace, to acknowledge her most of the time.

Yesterday he went to the store and bought himself some more markers (his own pack a day habit), a Schick razor (complete with moisturizing strip), and lemons (as bitter as his kiss). When Girl Explicit finds Boy Anachronism he is picking scabs and squeezing the citrus juice into the holes. Ragged breathing pulses through the air.

"I need something that won't fade." He whispers desperately to himself (he doesn't see her in the doorway).

Before she can move to stop him a quicksilver shimmer slices an unholy diagram deep into his arm, cutting through his s(k)in, and a thick licorice red strip bubbles to the surface. Her stomach lurches at the first welling of crimson. All along she knew that he did this, but she'd never seen him actually commit the act. She's seen the scars, the scabs, the scratches, and now she she sees the slicing, slashing, and shredding.

Her feet are glued to the floor (like the shoes they left in the theatre) and she watches with horrified china doll eyes as he takes a sunshine yellow lemon and scrubs it against the strawberry gash. It feels like eternity until he gasps, clutches the wound to his stomach, and starts to cry. Without a pause she is holding him in her arms. The blood from his cut seeps into her shirt and against her skin. It is as cold as he is. She devours each glass crystal on his face greedily. This is for what she's come to live. The citrus didn't bleed into his tears. They are still her ambrosia.

When the tears stop – Boy Anachronism and Girl Explicit are in a tangled mess of limbs on the floor. Tonight, though he normally would have, he doesn't pull away. Those twisted lips move – muffled against her breasts.

"I need something not to fade."

"I won't.

"That's what I'm afraid of." He whispers but she isn't listening anymore.

It hurts too much.

A/N: Thank you to my lovely faithful review pannel! You are wonderful and continuously growing (excited shout).

Reviews are like Christmas presents to me.

They make me all little-kid like.

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