Chapter 6: Two Sides/Same Coin: His
Juice sat up front in the van hauling some of their equipment, aka weapons, to Indian Hills so that nobody riding bikes had to carry anything too powerful. He glanced in the rearview mirror, their lone escort flashed his high beam in response to Bobby tapping his brakes three times. It was their long-established communication code on road trips. Juice asked Bobby to be sure to wake him up in two hours so he could take over, knowing that he probably wouldn't. Bobby was one of those guys who just loved being on the road, he literally loved the feeling of driving. A truck, the van, his bike, he didn't care. As long as he was whizzing past the landscape, he was happy. Turning his head to the window, he slumped down in the seat and closed his eyes, but his brain was too active. Ever since Ronnie showed up, memories of his last night in Queens had been trying to resurface. Tonight he'd let them come, then maybe they would leave him alone once and for all.
March - Seven years ago
Juice's POV
I listened to Ronnie plead my case in the kitchen from the hallway. I knew Esteban was a real bitch but accusing me and Ronnie of messing around was going too far. We'd never so much as kissed. Not even at Monique's crazy ass party when she chose us to go to the bedroom for the '5 Minutes of Heaven' game, just to fuck with us. What Esteban wasn't saying, was how he had scared the shit out of us when he flung open Ronnie's door. Of course, we looked guilty, the both of us had nearly come out of our skin. Asshole! Ronnie was right all this time to be calling him a fucking, self-righteous perv…he was twisting everything!
When Esteban threatened to put her out too, that was it. It was bad enough that I had my own messed up situation going on, I didn't need to bring her down with me. I quickly dressed and threw my stuff back into my backpack. Then rolled up the blanket she always let me use, stuffing it in too, hoping she wouldn't mind.
20 minutes later, I crept into our flat, navigating the darkness carefully, ninja quiet. The door to my room wouldn't open. Shit! Shit! Shit! I shined my cell phone light on the doorknob, it was a new one with a key lock. That motherfucker!
"You lucky I ain't jumpy nigga, I'da shot yo ass."
My shoulders drooped under the weight of the injustice of this night. "Hey, Hugo. Can I go in my room?"
"Whose room?"
I closed my eyes to push down the rage that always came with the humiliation of dealing with this impossible man.
"Huh? What'd you say? Whose room?" he said, taunting me.
"Your room," I said, in the flattest voice possible.
"That's right bitch. I pay the bills up in here."
You actually don't. You spend your crappy, scammed welfare check on what you drink and my mom works.
I sighed, still facing my bedroom door. Wishing that my little sister would get up to use the bathroom or something to take his attention off of me.
"So, why don't you park yo bitch ass on my couch tonight? Since you runnin' around here like you don't need a roof over your empty ass head."
"I need-,"
"You don' need shit!"
I didn't have to get any closer to him to know he had been drinking and at this stage in the cycle, I could feel the mean pouring off of him. Again. I knew Hugo was just going to keep picking and picking and picking at me until he worked himself up enough to start getting physical, so I set it off. This is where I lose time.
There's a blank space from this point on that I've tried to recover for years. I can remember everything else crystal clear, but…maybe it's best that I can't hold on to it. Maybe it's best that to this day, I don't remember what I said or what he said. I don't remember the fight we must have had either. But I do remember waking up on the floor of a trashed living room.
The lack of light coming from the kitchen told me my mom wasn't home from work yet. Trying to get up quietly was almost impossible, my eyes filled up with tears the instant I tried to roll over. I took in tiny gasping breaths, the pain in my ribs and back was overwhelming all ability to think. Christ, it's never been this bad. Hugo lay on the couch snoring like the fat pig he was. I laid there and prayed he wouldn't wake up…ever. How could my mom believe his stories of always being too drunk to be accountable, when he was always in control enough to never hit me in the face? Did she believe that he was really never too reckless to forget to keep his misplaced rage to the parts of the body hidden by clothes? I fought the hate building toward her. It came up like bile from the center of my being now, every time the man she let live here singled me out for some type of aggression.
The keys Hugo lorded over me the night before, lay on the floor. I crawled over to get them, never taking my eyes off of my sleeping enemy. Time ticked by while I grit my teeth through the task of getting up from the floor and into a full standing position. Unlocking my bedroom door, I moved as fast as my bruised body allowed. Fear-filled adrenaline turned my saliva to the taste of pennies, keeping me moving when all I wanted to do was lay down with the ice pack my mom provided. I packed as much of my clothing into the old duffle bag in the bottom of my closet as I could. My toothbrush and hair stuff were already in my backpack and I shoved in the family-sized bottle of Tylenol my mom kept in the bathroom inside, along with the rest of my things. There was a balance I had to think about. Carrying too much stuff would make me a target for muggers, but too little of my belongings and I wouldn't survive as long as I needed to without money.
Money. My hands trembled as I dug into my mom's drawer for her hidden savings, the bundle she thought nobody knew about. I'm sorry, mom. I peeled off half of the 20s and 10s on the roll, when I thought I heard a noise coming from the front room. Please, God no! Rushing back to my room, I waited to hear the shuffle of Hugo's feet with my heart beating out of my chest. After a few minutes, I thought it was safe and I limped out of the house into the quiet of early morning.
I struggled to walk the blocks to a bus stop too far away for my mom to drive past on her way home. I zig-zagged my path constantly, keeping my practiced don't-fuck-with-me scowl in place. Checking to see if I was being trailed by any of the homeless people that lay in the doorways of the many businesses I passed. NY homeless weren't like the bowing beggars you see on t.v. The cold here made them bolder, meaner. The heat made them willing to jump just about anyone foolish enough to be carrying anything that could be valuable. And the real crazies? They would cut you for a pack of crackers.
When I hit the bus stop, I damn near crumpled to the ground. I was dry heaving from dizziness, my body was begging me to just stop moving. I was so spent I wanted to cry. Thank God there were only a few people waiting there. I tried not to show that I was in pain while I sat there waiting for the bus, not even sure of where it was going to take me. My phone buzzed again, reminding me of unread messages. I had 11 texts from Ronnie and several missed calls. She doesn't need to be part of this mess. If she knew what I was doing, she would never let me leave town. I couldn't face her or her sympathy again. I figured it would be easier or at least less painful to leave clean. No ties. No looking back.
Ronnie is going to hate me for this.
The thought alone almost unraveled me. I almost called her to come get me, to tell her that I needed to go to the hospital, to let her beg her mom for help on my behalf even if for only a little while….almost. Instead, I shoved my phone down into my pocket, looking up the street to see if the bus was coming yet.
When it stopped in front of us, I struggled to my feet, my bags suddenly too heavy to fling over my shoulder. The see-through door of the bus slapped open like a trap and I fought a whole new level of panic. What am I doing? I wanted to be brave about it, confident - but inside I was freaking the fuck out. The truth was that I was two months shy of my eighteenth birthday, in my senior year of high school…with no job, no home and no plan. Too young to take proper care of myself but old enough to get into serious trouble. It was starting to feel like the deck had been stacked against me for way too long. What kind of a life starts out like this? I was about to find out.
Juice came out of his thoughts realizing that he had wondered for years what his life would have been if he had made that call to Ronnie that morning instead of getting on the bus. He felt his chin tremble and immediately swallowed against the confusing regret. He couldn't let himself feel bad for leaving but he did feel bad for not contacting her ever again. As an adult, Juice could look at that part of things in his brain with new comprehension. I never contacted my fucking best friend. I never contacted her but she still loved me. She looked for me.
Me?
He faked a yawn, hoping that Bobby wouldn't notice the real tears he was wiping from his eyes. If he didn't get some sleep, he was going to be no good come time to do his share of the driving and he promised Chibs he wouldn't have any energy drinks, so he wouldn't be in danger of crashing later. He shifted his position to stretch his neck and began doing breathing techniques, forcing his mind to shut down bit by bit until sleep took over.
Hours later, the sun was rising and Juice was behind the wheel. Bobby was slumped down in the passenger seat, snoring up a storm. Smiling at his brother's noise, Juice concentrated on the road, feeling a certain lightness. Ronnie was really in Charming…for him.
.
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A/N: Thank you for the views and welcome new readers! Don't be shy! Talk to me! If you don't feel comfortable leaving a comment here, you can always hit me in my PMs . - Just...don't be gross or rude. Anyways - thank you for reading. I know it's been heavy but lighter times are coming. I appreciate all y'all. *kjx*
