Butterflies

I wiped my nose and dabbed my eyes with my shirt. I didn't cry that often, but when I did, I hated it but savored the feeling. I let out a shaky breath and then roof door open. I glanced over my shoulder to see my boyfriend, the Spot Conlon. The kid I always wanted to meet. Now I was his girl. I love it when things work out like that.

"Rix?" he asked, genuinely concerned as he came up from behind me. Rix was my nickname. I used it so the police couldn't find me if they needed to. I didn't want to get hung up in all that legal stuff. He'd get time for killing my mother, that would be enough for my satisfaction. "What are ya doin' up heah?"

"Jus' thinkin'," I also picked up the street accent when I was on the streets. I ditched my dresses for my pants and shirts. I had changed a lot from the daddy's little girl I was supposed to be.

"'Bout what?" Spot asked as he sat next to me. He looked over the edge of the roof and raised his eyebrows as he took in a sharp intake. He held me around my waist and pulled me closer . I couldn't help but smile at this gesture.

"Me mum an' dat bastard," I snarled before I snorted. I shivered as I leaned on Spot. Spot's gasp tightened when he sighed. He found out what had happened to me because he had cornered me before we confessed out feelings for each other.

"Why don't ya think a' some'tin' moah happy?" he suggested. I looked up at him.

"Like what?"

"Like…when I asked ya ta be me goil," he gave a cocky smirk and I let out a small laugh. I think he was still smug about that. He thought it was manly but I thought it was hilarious the way he thought he was going weak and almost insane because he had liked me. I guess I was the same way, but wasn't blaming both of us.

I rested my head against his chest as I remembered that wonderful moment of my life.

July of 1899

What the hell was wrong with me? I should be trying to avoid Brooklyn; now I found myself selling near Brooklyn. Again. And worse, I found myself looking for Spot. Now I knew something was wrong with me.

I sold my papes fairly quickly. By he time they were gone, my stomach was rumbling and there had been no sign of Spot. My heart lowered as I looked towards Brooklyn one more time. Then I kicked myself in the ass for doing that.

What did I need him for? I don't need him. I don't even want to see him. But, deep inside, I knew I was lying to myself. Deep inside, I knew I was falling for him and it scared the shit out of me.

"Heya, Roxy," said a voice from behind me. It was Spot!

I stiffened even as my spirits rose. "It's Rix!" I said sharply, trying not to let my happiness of seeing him show. I turned to look at him, carefully keeping my face blank.

"So, ya like sellin' nea Brooklyn?" he asked, somewhat sarcastically. He shook his head mockingly. "Tsk, Tsk. Ya should know betta den dat, Rixy. Brooklyn's a tough place."

"Don't worry. I'll be ca'eful," I said. Turning away, I muttered, "what do you ca'e, anyways?"

"What makes ya t'ink I don't ca'e?"

Shit. Heard me. "Oh, jus' da fact dat you don't ca'e 'bout anyone but yoahself," I answered nonchalantly.

"Is dat so?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yep."

"So, when I helped save dat Gem goil, I was only t'inkin' 'bout meself? An' when I saved ya, I was jus' t'inkin' 'bout meself?" His voice was oddly cool.

I looked him straight in the eye. "Yep. Ya jus' wanted ta make yoahself look good."

Grabbing my arm roughly, he spun me around to face him. Gripping me tight, I looked at him and said coldly, "Yoah hoitin' me arm, Spot."

Before I knew what was happening, he had pushed me into an alley and pinned me to the wall.

Slowly, his grip softened as I stared him defiantly at him, but he didn't let me go. "You'se are hard ta figua out, Rix," he told me, his voice husky.

What seemed like a thousand butterflies erupted in my stomach as he kissed me. To my horror, I kissed back.

He broke away suddenly. Turning away sharply, he beat his fist on the opposite wall. I didn't know what to do, so I stood there, watching him cuss both me and himself out.

"Dammit, Rix! Why do ya hafta make me feel like dis? Why do I feel like dis? Dammit! I'se weak dat's why! Spot Conlon's goin' soft!" he ranted like that for a few minutes before turning back to me. "Dammit, Rix," he repeated in a softer voice. "What are ya doin' ta me?"

I just stared at him, too torn between emotions to know what to do. One part of me wanted to reach out to him; give in to the part of me that to hold him. Another part told me to get angry and snap at him; get both of us out of this situation.

I didn't know which part to give in to so I stood there. "Dammit, Rix, say somet'in'!"

Very slowly, I admitted, "Ya gave me buttaflies."

Spot's eyebrows raised. "Dat's it?"

I shrugged. "Da only otha t'ing ta say is I'm 'avin' da same fight wit' my feelin's dat you'se are."

"What?"

"I like you, Spot, and dat scares da shit outa me." There, I admitted it.

To my surprise, Spot's features softened. He stepped forward and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

"Ya don't eva hafta be scared a' me," he said softly.

"I won't be."

"Good." He took a deep breath. "Rix, would ya be my goil?"

The butterflies erupted again. Grinning, I asked, "Will I be able ta call myself 'Queen of Brooklyn'?"

He laughed at me, "Whateva ya want, Rixy."

"Good. Den I say 'yes'."

With a boyish whoop, Spot kissed me again.