A/N: Follows directly from previous chapter. And I apologize in advance for Tim's behavior.
When I get to Buck's, I watch him pour me a shot of Jack and I feel like reaching over so I can drink straight from the bottle.
The last time I drank until I lost it was when Curly got caught with stolen property right around Christmas and wound up with his second stay in the Reformatory. I should have known better than to think he was wising up; after I got over my face being sliced open, he went right back to being an idiot.
Maybe if I went away he'd step up properly. Maybe it's because I'm in charge that he don't ever have to be. I never thought of it that way. Not much I can do about it, if it's so.
That judge was a fucking sadist, anyway. Two lousy pocketfuls of smokes don't equal a three month stretch in the Reformatory, even if he was ID'd at the scene.
I was there in court. I saw Curly shiver. I told him to hang tough, told him I'd be there when he got out. He held my gaze for as long as he could as they dragged him away.
I went home, locked myself in my room and drank until I threw up, then drank some more until I passed out. Told myself he was older. Bigger than I was at fourteen even. I was in there at fourteen and I wasn't picked up, I wasn't no one's bitch. But then I didn't understand why the guy went after Curly in the first place. It was usually the little blond ones they went for.
Last time I felt that bad was when they hauled Dom in. They said the guy, the husband, was gonna die and that Dom would fry for it. But the guy lived and so it turned into 'attempted', not full on 'murder'. Fifteen, maybe out in eight. Although how come the other bastard never got time, for coming at Dom with the blade in the first place, don't make no sense. You go at someone with a switch, you got no right to complain if they best you with it, to my way of thinking. I mean, I know it was the guy's wife and his own bedroom an' all, but that was self defense for Dom.
Four days, after Curly went inside, I stayed in my room. Then Frank came by, said that he heard Davey Lewis, out of Brumly, was making a nuisance of himself and was I gonna let the fuckin' flu stop me teaching him a lesson, or what? Angel had apparently told him I had the flu when he came by earlier.
I called in a favor off Winston. He showed up with Mathews - who wanted in, for no particular reason than the pure fun of it - and we had us a little 'fuck off back to Brumly' party. The boys were high on adrenaline afterwards, said I fought better with the flu than most people did when they was healthy.
And, when Curly came home he didn't have any bruises and when I asked him if he was okay, he just said there was a new teacher since he was last there.
At Buck's though, right now, I'm close to slamming a few shots and I ain't sure exactly why. I switch to beer and take a table in back. Dallas is there, him and Sylvia using each other for verbal target practice, as usual. Eventually, he grabs her by the wrist and drags her up the stairs.
Frank's sweet talking a couple of chicks, both of 'em already half crocked. I let him do all the talking, watch them over the top of my beer. Eventually he gets them over to my table and the one that he wasn't feeling up starts making moves on me. Her skirt is so short there's a clear inch of stocking top showing as she settles on my lap. She ain't very cute.
"You're quieter than him," she jerks her thumb at Frank, who is still shooting her friend a fine line in bull.
"You know who I am?" I ask. She nods and wriggles some.
"Then what you need me to tell you?"
She giggles and kisses me. She tastes of beer but I stick my tongue in her mouth anyway and slide my hand up over that stocking top. She moves her leg to let me.
'Not causing difficulty'. 'Effortless'. Look up 'easy' in a dictionary and there oughta be a picture of this chick.
I reach behind the bar and snatch up one of the keys on little red tags. Frank's still talking. He can sort his own room. The chick's giggling as we go up the stairs.
On the landing, one of the doors opens and Winston comes out, shirtless, heading for the bathroom.
"You done?" I ask slyly. "You oughta tell Sylvia come look me up, if she wants more'n a ten second special."
He whirls, fists ready, and swings at me. I block it easy and shove him against the wall. He kicks out and I dodge sideways, at which point he elbows me in the ribs. Same old. Then, like a light switch flicking off, he relaxes.
"Piss off," he says, yawning, slamming the bathroom door as he goes in.
"God. That was..." I don't get to hear what the chick thought that was, because she's all over me, so I can hardly get the key in the lock and get us in the room.
The beds at Buck's ain't up to much, it's true, but I generally get to them. The rooms are small, there ain't that much distance to cover. Not this time though, because the chick is like a wild thing, up against the door the second it was closed behind us.
She starts using my name at one point but I tell her to be quiet.
'Refusal to accept the truth.' Hmm. Maybe if we look up 'denial', we might find a picture of Tim, fighting his feelings for Trish...
I made a couple of changes, to clear up a question on how many times Curly had been inside. Let me know if anything doesn't make sense! :)
