Part I, Chapter VII
June 13, 1897
Brooklyn, New York
The following evening, Spot and Emma stood quietly on the fire escape outside her bedroom. He had his arms resting on the iron railing as his eyes traveled aimlessly over the buildings and streets below him, anywhere but next to him. The evening was slowly dipping into night, and from where they were standing, a pattern of stars could be seen just above them in a dark blue sky. He had, at the present time, informed Emma that he would be gone for a few days for his trip around Brooklyn with Catch and Oliver.
"I just…" Emma's voice shook slightly and she hesitated before continuing. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and said, "I just didn't think you'd make that kind of decision."
It was the first time Emma had ever swelled tears in front of Spot. Under any other circumstances, she would have given him an earful and pretended not to hear his defense. Now, she was so angered by him she was physically sad. She stationed herself to face her apartment, opposite of Spot and still close to him. She wanted to punch him in the gut, smack him in the face, do something to relieve her anger, the way she usually did. The nearness to him made that impossible.
"I mean, without even…You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?" Emma turned and looked at him sternly, though his eyes stared in front of him.
"I did, Emma, but there's just some things I gotta do. I didn't mean to hurt you, but you gotta understand that it's my life. I don't go tellin' ya how ta run the bakery, do I?"
"That's different, Spot. The bakery isn't something I have to carry a gun on me to work for. I wasn't given a choice whether I should stay in Brooklyn or go and get myself hurt." She could feel her voice slowly gaining volume and steady passion again.
Spot sighed, annoyed, and craned his head back. "Emma, I'm gonna be fine. I ain't goin' by myself er anythin', Oliver an' Catch are goin' with me. Yeah, I might get a scratch er two, but that's just my way 'a life. It ain't like I've nevah been in a fight before. You gotta learn ta trust me."
Emma shook her head and pushed herself from the railing. A force raked through her body and gave her a rush of energy full of anger and confusion. Feeling herself tremble and her eyes swell once more with tears, she stomped over to sit on the top step of the structure.
"It's that you didn't listen to me, Spot, that bothers me!" Her voice was shrill and shaky now, though she had managed to keep it from exceeding normal volume. "I told you I was worried about you and that I didn't think gettin' in over your head was a good idea! Did you misread all those signals I was giving out? Did you pick up on anything I was doing?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I must've gotten lost in all the times ya smacked me or threw shit at me or insulted me! Instead 'a tellin' me I'm a cocky bastard, why don'tcha say what's really the matter? Ya gotta work on your communication skills, Em, if you expect anyone to listen to a goddamn word ya're sayin'."
"Don't talk to me about communication skills when you can't even process what someone's tellin' you!"
"Emma, I took yer words into consideration, believe me, I really did. But you ain't a newsie, you don't live with these boys, and you sure as hell have no idea what kinda position I'm in, a'right?"
Emma shook her head relentlessly and responded sarcastically, "Whatever you say, Spot."
With a scoff, Spot turned from the railing and hoisted himself over her. He landed with his feet a few steps below hers, and looked her directly in the eye. She was unable to escape him now, and she feared she might do something crazy with his close proximity. With a pointed finger, he said to her, "Don't you tell me I ain't listenin' ta you, when you make a comment like that. A'right?"
As if being scolded, Emma crossed her arms over her chest. She pouted her lips, furrowed her eyebrows, and looked away. The lump in her throat was getting bigger by the second, and though she tried to fight it, the tears kept flooding her eyes. Spot recoiled a little and stepped back, though he was still frustrated and visibly angry.
They remained still for several moments. Neither of them said a word but, even in her anger, Emma couldn't help but stare at Spot. She traveled from his legs all the way up to his face, which turn to look opposite her. No one could make her angrier and spellbound at the same time. The effect he had on her made her want to rip her hair out.
Spot let out a resolute sigh and sat down two steps below her. He found his hand happened to rest on her knee as his hand held up his chin to rest upon. The silence between them was full of confusion and anger and excitement at the same time, if at all possible. His eyes glanced up at hers momentarily, and she turned away quickly as soon as he looked at her.
"I should go inside, this isn't helping anything," said Emma, still turned away. She remained a moment as if waiting for Spot to stop her.
"Fine." He stayed still as well, watching her, daring her, rather, to leave.
She gripped his hand tightly on her knee before getting up. She was still frustrated as hell with him and being so close to him was not helping. She stood slowly and turned to go inside. The window opened slowly, for subconsciously she knew she wanted Spot to make her quit and turn around again.
"Emma."
She turned quickly and looked at him. With his blue eyes locked forcefully with hers, he got up and walked up the steps without losing her gaze. Emma faced him, her nerves shaking with anger still. She wanted to slap him when he got closer, but a part of her told her not to.
"What's botherin' you ain't just Thayer Street, is it?" asked Spot.
Emma crossed her arms and turned her head. "What are you talking about?"
He approached her and grabbed her arms tightly. "Goddamn, you speak yer mind fer ev'rything else except fer this…"
"God, you're so…Ugh!" she scoffed angrily and shook her head to motion frustration. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."
Her eyes motioned back to his, which were so close she was anxious. Without hesitation, Spot grabbed the back of her neck and pressed his lips against hers hard. The kiss was completely stolen. Emma pulled back and smacked him across the face. Yet not a moment later she gripped his hips tightly, and pulling him close to her, kissed him back with more passion.
"God, I hate what you do to me," she said between kisses.
"No." He gripped her cheek and held her face with command. "You really don't."
