The Blood That Bonds - By Christopher Buecheler Page 0,3
the end of a long tunnel.
“I saw the baggie in the trash. Did you steal Cindy’s shit again?”
Stupid bitch leaves it out, what does she expect? Two thought. She didn’t need to answer Molly. The question was rhetorical.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.” The concern in Molly’s voice was lovely in its innocence. Two drew in a shuddery breath, happy to let the drugs do their work. Caring was pain. Apathy was bliss.
“No one gonna miss me when I’m gone,” she told Molly, still looking up at the ceiling.
“I’ll miss you.”
Two smiled. Of course Molly would miss her… until the drugs and the pain and the sheer horror of their life took her, too. Assuming Molly outlived her in the first place.
Two dozed.
* * *
Descent and rebirth. In April of the previous year, Two had decided to take a walk, an innocent enough beginning to this disgusting end. She was not a foolish girl. She knew better than to wander down the wrong streets at the wrong hour. Broad daylight and known streets seemed safe enough.
She had spent the last few months in a homeless shelter, unsure of what to do next. Slowly, though, she was learning new ways of making a living. Less moral ways, to be sure; there was no glory in shoplifting, no beauty in fishing wallets from people’s pockets, no redemption in breaking into apartments. But she survived, and as her skills in these areas grew, so did the sum of money Rhes held for her; deposit for a new apartment. He didn’t know where she obtained it, never asked, probably tried not to think about it. Two never volunteered the information. She was ashamed, though she had no real idea what shame was at the time. Real shame would come later.
Walking in the city, watching the men in the ethnic groceries unload their trucks, the women chattering in their exotic languages, children playing hopscotch in the street. The sights, smells and sounds of New York were all about her, and Two enjoyed them as she always had. She felt no fear of the city, nor any of the constricting claustrophobia it inspired in so many others. Two loved New York, because it was like her. It made no excuses for itself, hid nothing of its nature. New York was the sum of its many, many components, and yet so much more.
A common, garden-variety mugging was all it had taken to send her spiraling down into a life of alternating horror and numbness. A grab from an alleyway, the click of a gun, a grunted threat. Two would have given them money, if she had money to give. Would have given it happily. She knew now she could live without it. She had no illusions of bravery. When someone pointed a gun at your head and demanded your money, you gave it to him.
She had nothing, not even pocket change. A pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a wallet with a wide selection of fake IDs... these were her possessions. Her attackers were unenthusiastic. They decided that her body would serve as an acceptable form of currency.
If Two had known the eventual outcome, she would’ve let them ravage her. Would’ve simply laid back and let it happen. If she’d known where her cries for help would land her, she would’ve suffered this petty violation. One night to salvage the rest of her life. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, and her cries brought her saviors, and her saviors brought damnation.
Two young girls, brandishing a gun they didn’t even know how to use, successfully chased the two men away. Two lay in the alley, battered, bleeding, clothes torn from her body. She was slipping rapidly into unconsciousness, but she tried to tell them to take her to Sid’s. Tried to tell them about Rhes and Sarah, her friends. They would help her.
Two couldn’t make any sounds. She’d used up her voice calling for help. She heard a name: “Darren.” Then, darkness.
Memories like crumpled Polaroids, floating in a muddy pool. Blackness, floating, a flash of light, a voice asking her name, asking about her parents. So gentle, this voice. She told the truth. Why shouldn’t she? Her mother dead, her father gone. No parents for Two, only the street.
Sharp sting of a needle, and then gentle bliss, descending down, back into warm darkness.
By the time her wounds had healed, and she was capable of getting out of bed, Two was fully addicted to the heroin Darren brought her once a day.