Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!
Title: Violence Recovery
Author: Buttons14
Genre: Drama
Rating: M (subject to change)
Everywhere is war—Bob Marley; War
Chapter 15—Boots
The snow in the streets turned grey very quickly once the snow is cleared. Cars had begun using the streets again and everything smelt wet and dank. The heavy snow had trailed all over the foyer, but it melted into large, clear puddles.
The downstairs kitchen smelt like chocolate. Everyone sat around the table, drinking hot chocolate and playing cards. I tacked my photos to the hall walls and scrawled under them Carefree? in heavy blue crayon.
Autumn came up the stairs and saw me. "Don't tell them where I am," she said coldly, then went outside. It took me a moment to realize she was only wearing a large t-shirt and her pajama bottoms. She wasn't wearing any shoes.
I headed downstairs and ran into Medda on the staircase. Her face was flushed and happy-looking.
"There's hot chocolate on the stove, Spot," she said with a smile.
"Uh...okay."
Medda continued up the stairs. I called after her retreating back. "Um…Medda? Autumn just left."
She looked at me for a minute before turning up the stairs. "Get Denton for me," she said at the top, her voice calm and even.
I ran fast down the remaining steps, panic mounting suddenly. I wasn't sure why, but there was something in the calmness of Medda's voice that made me frightened. "Denton!" I yelled, bursting into his office. He was sitting with Boots, who was looking solemn like usual.
"Spot? What's wrong?" asked Denton, pausing mid-sentence.
"Medda," my voice caught in my chest and I hiccough. "Autumn—"
And before I could continue, Denton rose from the chair.
"Wait here," he said to Boots, rushing past me and out the door. After a few seconds Denton's footsteps faded from the stairs.
"Sorry," I said to Boots after a second's silence. Boots shrugged in a very characteristic way. He scratched his stubbly chin.
"It's okay."
Boots' hair looked grey-blue; he still had those bags under his eyes that I remember clearly from my first day.
"Are you tired?" I asked as Boots yawns.
"Always," he said with a slight smile and another yawn.
"I know what you mean," I said politely, softly.
"No," he said just as politely, scratching his chin again. "I don't think you do. I'm always tired, but never asleep. Never awake either," he sniffed and blinked very slowly. "It's what living in a dream would be like. It's very unreal…" he laughed quietly, "Well, not really, since it is real, of course."
"Insomnia?" I guessed.
"Maybe," he said sleepily, "probably." He gives me a weak smile. "I haven't slept a night since Christmas two years ago."
Boots' eyes drooped and he began to tell a story. It was long and detailed in a strange way. It seemed like he was still living in the memory of what happened to him almost three years ago.
"I remember that winter. It was cold with a strong brittle wind, so strong that no snow dared settle for very long. My best friend, Marquis, and I were at his house having dinner with his family. He had a big family. His older brother and sister were there with their families. His grandparents were there too, and his aunts, uncles and cousins. Things were warm. The air was thick and heavy with the smell of turkey and cranberries.
"His cousin, Anton, Marquis and I were in Marquis' room, playing video games and smoking Camels that Anton had stolen from his dad's dresser. Anton was blowing the blue-grey smoke out the window, where it hung vibrantly in the cold air. Anton would flick the cigarette when it burned too low; the ashes would float downwards slowly, caught up in the wind. They would flicker red and back to grey in the cold air.
"'Let's get out of here,' Anton said, stubbing out his cigarette out on the window sill. Marquis shrugged and wrapped the controller cord around the controller.
"'Where are we going?' asked Marquis, flicking off the television so that it hummed and flickered before turning black.
"Anton shrugged and tucked the pack of Camels into his pocket. 'Just out,' he said as we flicked the light off and went into the main room. Marquis kissed his mother on the cheek and she laughed, giving him a one-armed hug, grinning so that you could see all the way back, right to her gold-capped teeth. Outside it was very cold. The streets were empty; everyone was inside, avoiding the blustery winds in the shelter of their homes. The wind bit at our cheeks so that they quickly became numb and frozen.
"'Can we go back now?' asked Marquis, blowing onto his hands so that fog leaked out from between his fingers. Anton shot Marquis a look and we turned into a small park. It had two broken swings and a graffitied preschool yellow slide. Anton pulled another Camel out of his jacket pocket. He twirled the cigarette between his fingers and tapped it on the palm of his hand.
"'What are we waiting for?' I asked impatiently, stamping my feet on the ground to get the circulation back into them. Anton shushed me and tucked the cigarette behind his ear. After three minutes I heard footsteps moving in the distance. The rustle of jackets. Anton looked in the direction it was coming. Two boys came into view. They both had on parka jackets with furry hoods that blocked their faces.
"'Anton,' growled one of the voices. The boy shook Anton's hand. His hand was thick and had rough-looking yellow calluses on the insides of some of the fingers. Anton smiled shakily and pulled his hand away fast, stuffing it into his pocket.
"'Who're your friends?' asked the boy in his growly voice.
"Anton's eyes darted over us. 'This is my cousin and his friend.'
"'Your bodyguards?' asked the boy with a bark of a laugh. Anton laughed nervously. 'Got my money?' said the boy suddenly.
"Anton shifted from foot to foot. Marquis and I glanced at each other, worried. I remember the look—afraid and desperate. Anton cleared his throat. 'Er…no, see, I…'
"The boy shook his parka-covered head. 'No, no excuses. I told you that this was your last chance.' The boy's friend pulled something out of his coat. It was smooth and shiny. He pointed the revolver at Anton in one swift movement. Anton shivered and backed away. I tensed and dared not move. The boy cocked the gun.
"'Listen, man, gimme another chance," begged Anton. The boy paused.
"'Double it,' he said. Anton nodded quickly. 'And as some incentive…' the boy waved his hand and his friend pulled the gun around, aimed, and fired. The bang echoed in the still night. When he fell, Maqruis' blood splattered all over my boots.
"That was the night I stopped sleeping."
I blinked and stared at Boots. "Is that true?" I asked. "How do you remember it so well?"
"I'm a writer," said Boots. "I remember things."
I didn't say anything for a while. "So, is it true?" I asked again.
Boots didn't answer. His eyes were shut. He was asleep. On his boots I could see a few specs of blood on the toe of his right boot.
End Chapter