Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!
Title: Violence Recovery
Author: Buttons14
Genre: Drama
Rating: M (subject to change)
1. Friday nights
2. Neon lights
3. Find a party crowd
4. Jukebox
5. Let it rock
6. Let your hair down
7. Howl at the moon
8. Shoot a little pool
9. Get out on the dance floor with somebody new
10. Let the tables turn
11. Let the bridges burn
12. Let go of the memory
That's the mend a broken heart, make a new start, 12 step recovery—12 Step Recovery; Paul Brandt
Chapter 18—Kid Blink
I am walking downtown on the New York City streets. It is snowing. There is a chiming in my ear; there are people dressed as elves standing on the street corner, ringing bells, and collecting spare change. My left hand is warm. I look down and there is Lucas, clutching it. He looks up at me and smiles. He is missing one of his teeth.
"We're going to get something nice for Mommy, aren't we?" Lucas asks.
I want to tell him no. No. I will not get anything for the mother who let us get hurt. But instead I say, "Of course Lucas. Something nice."
"A sweater?" guesses Lucas.
I nod. "Sure, a sweater."
We go into a store and Lucas wanders into the kids section. I lose sight of him for a minute. I don't remember letting go of his hand.
"Simon?" I hear him calling. He sounds scared. "Simon?"
He is standing in front of a mirror.
"Simon, what's wrong with me?"
I look at him. I study is face. His thin, pointed nose, his sandy-blonde hair, his pale cheeks and his clear green eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you," I tell him.
A tear runs down Lucas's cheek. "Then why," he gulps and hiccoughs, "then why…?" he points at the mirror.
I look. I gasp and close my eyes. His face is bruised; swollen around the eyes. His nose looks broken and there is fresh matted blood in his hair. Though he is standing his leg is jutting out at an awkward angle. His hands look very, very pale. "Just don't look Lucas. Don't look. It's a trick mirror, OK?" I turn away from the mirror, but he is gone. When I look back to the mirror he is still there, battered and bruised. I reach out to him, but my hand hits the glass and stops. He cries and calls out but I can't hear him. I turn and run down the aisles of clothes until I find myself back on the street.
I take the subway to Grand Central, where I switch trains. Three stops until mine. I get off in my old neighborhood and walk until I'm in front of our house. The lights are off and the yard is windswept. I hear a clanging again and I turn. There is one of those elves ringing the bell. I try to speak, to ask him where my mom is, but I can't. The elf shakes his collection cup.
Someone inside my head was pounding on my ears. They hit them over and over, pushing a knot of pain into my brain, between my eyebrows. My fingertips were cold, as if I had just come in from the cold, but I was lying in a bed.
Something cold and wet was pressed against my brow. I turned hastily.
There was murmuring and then:
"Spot, are you awake?"
It was Medda.
I tried to open my eyes, but the lights were on. I groaned.
"Turn the lights down," hissed Medda to someone, "the lights!"
There was a soft click and I tried to open my eyes again. This time I could see Medda. Her red hair was down and she was wearing a red oxford-style shirt. She reached over and adjusted the wet cloth on my brow.
Someone moved in the shadow behind Medda.
"Who else is here?" I asked in a mutter.
Medda shifted my pillow and pressed something onto my temple, which caused a momentary severe pounding in my head.
"It's Andra."
Andra was fumbling with something. She handed Medda a roll of gauze, which Medda secured about my face.
"Where am I?" I asked. I tried to sit up. Medda placed her hand squarely on my chest and pushed me back down gently.
"One of the spare rooms."
I could see the slit of light from the hallway. It was clear and straight around the door—unwavering and bright.
"Where's Racetrack?"
Medda's hand faltered. She sighed so that I could barely hear it. Andra stops moving behind her.
Racetrack's run away. I thought it, but I didn't dare believe it.
"Racetrack's waiting out in the hall for you."
Oh.
Oh, so he hadn't run away. Once again I had jumped to conclusions.
"I want," I said quietly. Andra shifted nervously. "I want to talk to him."
"I don't know if that's such a good idea Spot. He's not…stable right now."
I swallowed. "Please. Please Medda, please."
Medda looked over her shoulder and nodded. Andra opened the door to a flood of light. The curled up figure of a boy was lying with his back against the wall. Racetrack looked up. Surprised, he stood and walked into the room cautiously.
Medda clicked the First Aid kit shut and left the room with Andra in tow.
"Sit down," I said.
Racetrack looked at me sadly. His eyes were hollow and his cheeks were matted with sweat and tears. He didn't move.
"Sit down," I said again with more force.
He moved for the chair and sat in it gingerly.
"Are you OK?" I asked him. He looked at me like I was insane.
"Yeah. I guess. Listen, I just want to thank you for not fighting back."
I tried to shrug, but my chest and shoulders ached. "I can't fight."
Racetrack sniffed. "Me neither."
I supposed his barbaric, melee-style of attack showed that, but I ignored his comment. "Could've fooled me."
Racetrack didn't answer. He stared at his lap, blinking and ashamed.
"Racetrack? Do I really make is seem like you should be…" my voice quakes "better?"
He looked up, scared. "I didn't say that, did I?"
I neck begged me not to nod, but I did anyways.
"I'm so, so sorry. Really, Spot, I didn't mean it."
I hesitated because I wanted to believe him, but I didn't know how or if I should. I didn't know what everyone thought of me, and what if it was just that?
"No problem Race. Nothing personal, right?"
0o0o0o0
It is around three o'clock the next day when Blink comes to visit me. I know it's around this time because I hear many steps on the stairs, as if 'school' has just gotten out.
"Hey," said Blink.
I cracked my eyes opened a bit so that I could see him. "Hey."
Blink sat down and shifted in his seat. "You look…"
"Like crap?" I guessed.
Blink laughed a bit. "Yeah, I guess that's right. Race sure worked you over."
I reached up and rubbed my eyebrow. It fingers hit a scab on my brow. I scratched it and sniffed. "I guess he did, didn't he?"
We sat in silence for a minute. Blink tugged on the corner of the blanket. "Y'know, I haven't seen anyone that beat up since—"
"Rocky?"
"No, since a year-and-a-half ago. On the day I came to VRCT."
I opened my eyes the whole way.
"Yeah," Blink half-smiled, "I got in a fight at school. With this kid named Samuel Meyers. It's not what you think. I think that it was my fault. I wasn't a nice person. I made fun of him because he was on second string on all of the school teams and he couldn't qualify for any events in track and field. I was a jerk."
"And what happened?" I asked. I tried to sit up, but my neck felt bruised and swollen, not allowing me to.
"He had enough of it one day and jumped me at school. Pounded my eye in, but he was wearing his class ring and my eye is permanently damaged now."
"Why didn't you fight back?"
Blink sighed and shifted. "Probably because I thought I deserved it. I thought that I deserved to have my ass kicked and to lose my eye and to be embarrassed like that, after he was embarrassed by me for so long. So I ran away from school and I was wandering around Queens when Denton found me. I haven't seen my family since. I call them sometimes, but we don't talk for long. They're busy people."
"What happened to Samuel?" I tried to prop myself up again but failed. I lay very still.
"He got suspended. He wrote me a letter. My mom sent it here. He apologized for beating me up and everything. It turns out the only reason he couldn't play first string for any teams is because of his anger problem. He's getting help now. He just graduated from high school last year."
I blinked. My eyes felt more dry than usual. "How do you know?"
"Samuel's my best friend. None of my so-called 'real' friends kept in touch after I left. Only Samuel. And I've helped him through treatment and he's helped me deal with losing my eye. For me this place isn't about the violence—it's about my recovery."
Recovery.
I shut my eyes again. Blink got up to leave.
"Blink?" He paused in the door. "Does it seem like I expect you all to be better?"
The floorboards creaked. "No," he said matter-of-factly, "but we should all begin to expect it of ourselves."
End Chapter
((What I'm currently doing: Typing this and listening to Of All the Gin Joints in All the World by Fall Out Boy on pandora dot com (GO THERE)
What I'm thinking: I hope nobody's mad at me for procrastinating and not updating. I really have no excuse. It is despicable. Also thinking: should I have mentioned that Samuel is Mush, so will everyone figure it out by the whole 'Meyers' deal-y.
Homework I should be doing: Er…(think) I might have a German test tomorrow. And I have a Business test on Monday. But I did my drama
Favourite thing about today: We did some cryptology thing during second period (when I have German) in the library. All grade 10 math classes this semester. But they segregated the guys and the girls. The guys learned about counting cards and stuff in the caf.
Least favourite thing about today: I was washing a cup this morning to put raspberries into for lunch and I managed to soak my sleeve. This resulted in my being late because I walked around the house going 'arrgh!' for a few minutes. I am still wearing the shirt.
Why am I doing this: Because I think you all probably want to hear about my very interesting life. And because I feel like I should give y'all something since shoutouts have been outlawed.))