Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

Title: Violence Recovery

Author: Buttons14

Genre: Drama

Rating: R (subject to change)

It is in the shelter of each other that the people live.—Irish proverb

Chapter 9 (Part 1)—Lyra

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which makes today Thanksgiving Eve, I suppose. Lyra and Ethan are rushing around the kitchen, pulling cans from shelves and pouring things into pots and pans. I am sitting at the counter, watching.

"Do you need any help?" I had asked, but they said 'no' and suggested I go play ping pong. The problem is that I am amazingly bad at ping pong, lacking all hand-eye coordination. Instead I decided to hang around and watch. Ethan is cutting the twine off the turkey, releasing it from its uncomfortable position. Lyra is cutting up bread, onions and celery to go into the stuffing. And some other things that I don't think I should say, just thinking about it all makes me never want to eat stuffing again.

After ten minutes Lyra realizes that I am probably not going anywhere. "You sure you want to help?" she asks.

I nod, standing up.

"Go wash your hands and put on an apron," she says. "You can peel the yams."

Ew, yams. I hate yams. But I peel them anyways. I let them soak in warm water until the skin becomes soft. I pull the three yams out of the sink and peel them over the cutting board. We work in silence.

"So…how long have you guys been at Sunshine Falls?" I ask, peeling slowly, revealing the orange flesh.

Ethan pauses and thinks. "About two years…is that about right Lyra?"

Lyra brushes a brown hair off her face, leaving a smudge of flour on her forehead. "Yeah, that's about right."

I don't know what kind of questions to ask them. Have they gotten over the abuse? What's their story? Do they mind talking about it? I peel even slower. Lyra walks over he the sink and washes her hands. She gives me a look.

"You doing okay there?" she asks.

I nod and peel a bit faster, taking off a large piece of flesh by accident. Damnit. I place the yams into a large porcelain bowl.

"So…" I dump the yam rind into the garbage. "What exactly is going on between you two?" I ask.

Yeah, I know, stupidly awkward question. Ethan's hand slips and the knife blade bites into the side of the cutting board. Lyra looks up at me, surprise reading through her glasses-hidden face.

"Nothing's going on!" she says, sincerely shocked.

Ethan shakes his head, his blonde curls bouncing around as he continues to slice carrots. A bewildered expression is riding on his face.

"Truthfully, Spot," says Lyra, "I don't think I can ever have a boyfriend. I don't trust men." She shrugs as if this is nothing odd or out of the ordinary. "They're the reason I went to VRCT anyways."

She speaks with ease and understanding, without any sorrow or remorse. She has accepted everything. All of it. I admire that, I don't know if I will ever get to that point.

"My parents were divorced," she says, slicing onions smoothly. "And I suppose that led to everything, but at the same time, I'm not sure that it did. I mean, they didn't hurt me and none of their friends did. It was who I associated myself with afterwards. Now, I'm not saying that all guys are like the ones I dated, but the sad thing is that some of them are. How do you know who's going to hurt you and who's going to love you? It's stupid when people blame divorce on their problems. My parents loved me, just not each other. What's the problem with that?"

She sighs and pushes her glasses up her nose.

"I guess I just liked the attention. And I didn't know when to say 'no'. It was not a good thing. I'm just lucky that Medda found me before I became another street kid."

I thought about me and the days that I slept in the street. How cold it was. How lucky Lyra was to have missed it all.

"Keep it in mind Spot, things change when you're under the influence. He said he loved me, but that all changed when he took a drink."

She must be talking about her boyfriend.

Her face is hard. Determined not to show enough emotion for anyone to feel sorry for her. The onions are gathered to the side of the chopping board and no tears gathered in her eyes, from her story or otherwise. She wipes her hands on her apron.

"I'm going to go get more yams for you, okay Spot?"

I nod and she disappears to the cellar.

(Part 2) Ethan

Ethan watches Lyra go with a sort of admiration on his face. He sniffs and goes back to his carrots.

"She's like my big sister, you know?" he says.

I nod and even though he can't see me he continues.

"She helped me out a lot at VRCT. And when I left she invited me to come work here. If she didn't…"

He doesn't finish. The sleeves of his plain navy t-shirt are rolled up. I can see puncture wounds on one of the arms. He glances up and sees me looking.

He looks at his arm too and back at me. He doesn't roll his sleeve down.

"I'm clean now. It took a long time, even after I left VRCT. It's all really because of Lyra. It's hard to get your hands on X or even cocaine out here, believe me, I tried. Once I even got some, but I never used it, it's buried somewhere in the woods. I couldn't use it, not when Lyra trusted me enough to take me in. Not when she cared enough."

Ethan is very thin and gaunt. I find myself wondering if this is because of his apparentexcessive drug use. His eyes are small and empty looking. The skin on his face, especially his neck, is so pale that it's almost blue. There is a tiny spot that looks somewhat like a scab on the underside of his wrist.

"I bet you're wondering what happened to me, huh?" he asks, a faint smile playing on his lips, "I bet you're wondering 'what happened to make this kid so messed up?'"

I don't say anything, wondering something like this, though not in such harsh words.

"Unlike most of the kids here, I was the violent one. Not when I was grounded, but when I was high as a kite I didn't know what I was doing. I thought it was funny. You know, like the people who breathe in paint fumes and slap each other around? It was like that, except I didn't know who was high or not. And then I would be so sore afterwards and the only way to stop the pain was to take another hit or another shot. Sometimes I seriously think about how lucky I am to not have gotten anything from the needles. I'm so lucky not to be dead right now."

I nod and slice the yams because I don't know what else to do.

"Not to say that my parents were Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver or anything, but there was food on the table and I went to school and they made sure I wasn't dead at the end of the day. Better than most of the people in my neighborhood."

"I know what you mean."

Now would be a great time to tell someone about my mom and her revolving door of boyfriends. But I can't bring myself to it, so I keep my mouth shut and cut my yams.

Lyra climbs back up the stairs. She raises two yams triumphantly above her head. "I hope you like yams Spot!" she says.

Even though I don't I smile and take them from her.

End Chapter

((Yes! Buttons rocks the updates! Yes, yes she does! (dances oddly around the room)

Charlie!Muse: dear God, someone stop her. She needs to be sedated!

Buttons: You keep your comments to yourself. And don't even think about it Tom!

Tom!Muse: (backs off, holding needle)

Buttons: As a note, I, too, hate yams. Who else does! Tell me!))

Shoutouts:

Erin Go Bragh—I was seriously thinking of giving you a shoutout eve though you didn't review, just because this always seems to happen, but I decided against it because when I read fictions I just go to the last chapter the author gave me a shoutout at. Yes. Quite.

About that quote…yeah…I thought it was corny, in all sincerity. I thought everyone would go 'Ew. Oddball. Stop writing." Maybe I'm just too hard on myself.

And band kids do rock. I would be one. If I had any musical talent. All of my friends are in the band! And I'm not because the flute hates me and you can't play guitar in band.

C.M. Higgins: Yeah…I don't ever want to be beat up by someone over a guy. I mean, seriously, get over it. At the same time, I don't want to be beat up by anyone.

Coin: (is scared) Uh oh, I have an odd psychic thing going on! That's too bad that you are bullied, I hope I didn't bring up any absurdly bad memories or anything. At the same time, I have been bullied too, but I enjoy turning it around on whoever is doing the bullying. I play on a soccer team with a girl who tried to beat me up in grade seven (and who, at the time, said I couldn't play soccer to save my life), but we don't bring this up. And I'm the team's captain. Ah, vengeance is sweet.

Dreamer110: Yes, I know that 'empathetic' is a word. See, I just used it! I hope your brain feels better, I know what it's like. Mine hurts too sometimes.

Charlie!Muse: (cough) allthetime (cough)

Buttons: Did I ask you?

I don't always notice when people bully me. I guess that's an upside to my dense-ness.