CHAPTER CONTAINS- PHYSICAL AND VERBAL ABUSE, ALCOHOL ABUSE, INJURY, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE
Y/N
"God damn it Y/N you got my pants dirty!" Romano said disappointedly as very faint dust coated his thigh in the driver's seat.
"Maybe if your madras was a bit dimmer I could see what I was doing!" I yelled in his face him watching me with a mortified expression. I had finally found my on-switch, god knows where that had been for the past 10 years of my life.
"You what bitch?" He snarled gripping my hair and pulling it towards him. My head jerked towards his snarled mouth feeling every drop of anger and saliva on my cheeks and if it wasn't for my make-up I would be feeling too much. My body yelled at my head at the awkward position so I punched him in the stomach after trying to hard to take back my hair.
I was released and so I opened the door and stepped out the car, inside trying to regain any composure I had even though my hair was like a nest from being harassed. Never fuck with a girl's hair they say. Amen to that.
"Where do you think you're going?" Romano asked behind me, slamming the door and hunched over from his injury. He waddled over to me with fake sympathy and pity in his eyes that made my pity and sympathy for him decrease if there was any left. This is what I had to deal with for months, with no one to tell or else.
"To the place for young girls abused by Socs with second-hand Mustangs and rich fucking families who don't give a rats ass about them!" I yelled like a wasted chanter at a football game. I regretted the words that came out of my mouth but not because I didn't mean them, but because I didn't say enough.
I struggled in his grasp once more, feeling the smell of alcohol shuttle to my nose along with the taste of in my mouth that I wasn't aware could happen without injury. No injuries, yet. Then I felt it. The good old wife-slap across the face from an angry businessman husband who enjoys whisky and whores.
I fell to the floor feeling nothing. no pain just exhaustion. I felt exhaustion from injury and emotional fatigue. I was tired of being afraid of every single step that I did and every single vowel I spoke. My chest rose up and down and the tiny rocks on the ground left imprints on my scalp.
"Get up you whore" He spoke from above me, I could only see his dark hair, longer now since everything was blurred. I could feel angry wounds covering my skin beneath my clothes as he continued to hit me. I felt feet, fists, legs and words gnawing at my existence.
He got on top of me and began to kiss down my chest to my cleavage. Inflamed skin lay beneath the loose shirt that covered it or at least tried to, considering his hand was sandwiched between the two groping me. My skin was raw so no pleasure was induced, only agony. Before it was unendurable but now it was just life. It was normal. It was me.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing man!" Someone hollered from far away, at least that's how my distorted mind perceived it. The sound of rocks parting to make a path towards me like fate was clearer than the voices, that's how I knew that this time it was bad. I would need to buy another first aid kid, the sixth out of 8 every month.
The pain felt like an enraged parasite eating me from the inside so did humiliation which I was fed up of experiencing after public harassment. I coughed up blood by my head and the world began to get clearer after every splutter.
The sound of someone else's pain fell in front of me and I could see tonnes of Madras and chinos from every angle attacking a leather jacket. I absorbed the shock, swallowing the pain, then kicked my way slowly back to life, the surface of existence.
Then I saw a leather jacket approaching me and a breathless greaser lifted me carrying me somewhere far from here I'd hoped. I adjusted my position in the strong sleeves of the jacket and felt fresh pain sear across my stomach, especially my ribs. Hurt.
"Where are we going?" I murmured in a more worrying tone than expected at least it was judging by the sudden drop in the boy's determination.
"Imma gets you to the hospital doll then they'll fix you right up alright?" He said in a typical southern accent that was much more soothing than the angry cars beeping at us right then.
"Where's Romano?" I asked feeling my cut lips skim his thin shirt and I was met with the wide mouth of Sir Mickey Mouse.
"Romano?" He asked confused concentrating on the path around him, one that I couldn't see. I felt bad for interrogating him but I had the right to since I was kinda dying there.
"Guy in the Madras, faggot haircut? The one beating me up and kissing my tits?" I replied chuckling to myself.
"Oh him? His name is Romano?" He laughed with the most charming smile I had since in a long time. Yous ee I was trained almost by the Socs to believe everything about the greasers was all bad but turns out we were all wrong. Or maybe I was just wrong for believing manipulation.
"Where's za pizza huh?" He said in a fake Italian accent which sounded a lot like Romanos dad, much nicer than his son. I laughed into his chest but stopped when my injuries surfaced and burned my brain.
"Alright baby we're almost there"
----
I lay in a hospital bed with thing plugged into my every vein and a badly designed blanket over me. I could feel my bare legs warming underneath it and my nightgown brush against my thighs feeling like light fingers tracing my thighs. A great feeling to wake up to with a handsome guy in the same room.
I look up through squinted eyes to see a pacing figure to my left running a hand through their hair revealing toned arms. I prayed that it was a boy at the moment and that the whole street thing wasn't a dream.
"You're awake. Thank God. I thought you weren't going to make it!" He said worryingly taking a seat beside me. The dent in the chair looked like it had been sat in for hours, making a pang of guilt trail through my body.
"Geez mom, where's the optimism?" I joked. One thing of mine that I could praise myself on is that I was always the one to break the ice in the room by being witty and humorous. Though sometimes the humour was questionable.
He chuckled and took my scraped hands into his. I could feel the grease from his hair smooth out both of our hands and it was as if I had forgotten where I was, how I was there.
"I'm sorry...probably," He said looking at my every cut, bruise and probably fracture. I smiled sheepishly remembering the tough times I endured for so-called love. It was this time hospital that I realised that this was probably meant to happen, though the cause was surely a random pick. It was my time with his chest that I realised it wasn't love all along, just loneliness.
"Don't be. I got used to it. You didn't need to get involved. Now he'll hunt you down." I reasoned hoarsely feeling the medication being digested in my gut.
"Nobody treats a woman like that at least not a beautiful flawless one like you" He complimented outgoingly stroking my hand. Goosebumps formed on my arms.
"What's your name greaser?" I smiled looking at the handsome troubled boy in front of me.
"Keith, but you can call me Two-Bit."