Dante, Before Hammel (trigger warning!)
Aug 31, 2013 3:15:37 GMT -5
Post by Dante Russo on Aug 31, 2013 3:15:37 GMT -5
This was my original free write application for Dante. I ended up having to write something else that didn't require a trigger warning (because obviously, everyone should be able to read his app). I was, however, encouraged to submit it as a creative writing piece, so here we are 
this is what happened to Dante before Hammel.
(Warning, mature themes: strong language, child abuse, self harm)
May 23, 2011
The alarm clock on the floor next to the couch was making that awful noise again. Dante's eyes opened and he scowled. He had nightmares all night again. "I'm up," he muttered, closing his eyes. The alarm clock persisted. Dante drifted off for several minutes then opened his eyes again. "Alright, alright. I'm awake. Shut-up!" Dante laid a heavy hand on the clock and sat up.
It was six AM. Dante covered his face with his hands and breathed, trying to convince himself that he really was awake. He felt sick. Images flashed in his head from the nightmares he'd had. He rubbed his eyes, frowning, trying desperately to stop thinking. Stop spinning. Stop seeing her behind his eyelids.
He slept on the couch in the living room, covered by a ratty blanket with holes in it. He didn't have a bedroom, and the thought of sharing a room with her made his skin crawl. Dante climbed out of bed, threw on a dirty shirt that he picked up off the floor, and knelt down to slid his hand under the couch cushion, pulling out the switchblade that he kept there. He opened it, and pressed his lips to the cool, flat surface of the blade.
Dante locked the bathroom door behind him and sat on the edge of the bathtub, looking at his open knife. He chewed on his bottom lip. Thinking. Debating. His nightmares made him feel disgusting. Like the blood in his veins was made of tar. Like he was being eaten alive from the inside out. Like.. well, it didn't matter. Dante inhaled and shook his head, pressing the blade to the inside of his thigh. The knife bit into his skin, and a sigh passed his lips. The pain made the flashing images stop. It made the gnawing anxiety in the pit of his stomach fade. The sight of his own blood stilled his mind. He was in control of this. This belonged to him.
Dante bandaged himself up and went to the kitchen. He peered into the coffee tin with a sigh. He shook it back and forth a couple times, watching the meager remnants skate across the bottom. This was going to be some weak-ass coffee. Dante opened the coffee maker and scrunched his mouth to the side. There was still coffee grounds in the filter from yesterday. He looked into the tin again, then back into the coffee maker. Finally he shrugged and dumped what was left in the tin on top of the once-steeped grounds already in the filter.
With the coffee maker gurgling away, Dante poked his head into his mother's bedroom. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, preparing to wake her. "Rebecca," he said her name gently. Nothing. "Rebecca," he raised his voice. Still nothing. "Rebecca!"
"What!?" Rebecca lifted her head.
"Get up! You work today!" Dante snapped back at her. Rebecca groaned loudly and rolled over. Dante rolled his eyes and closed her door again. He needed to get dressed.
All of his cloths needed washed. Laundry was an expense that often fell to the bottom of the list. They were late on their rent this month. They were always late on the rent. Dante pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans and rifled through the cardboard boxes in the living room where he kept his cloths, looking for a shirt that didn't absolutely wreak. He found a red t-shirt and a cream colored button-up dress shirt.
"These go together, right?" He asked the bathroom mirror. He stared at his reflection for a moment, not sure he liked this combination. "Ah, fuck it. I don't care." Everything was all rumpled anyway. He leaned in close to the mirror to inspect a faint bruise by the corner of his mouth. "That's probably fine," he muttered, and lingered a second longer to fuss with his hair. It needed lightened again. His dark roots were showing, but it would have to wait. Dante didn't have a good feeling about shoplifting today, and he always followed his instinct on the matter. He pulled back from the mirror and ran his fingers over his multiple ear piercings. He was so bored with his simple captured bead rings, but anything worth stealing was always locked up. With a sigh Dante picked a simple stainless steel chain up off the sink and fastened it around his neck. He stared blankly at his reflection, then shrugged. "Good enough."
His mother still wasn't out of bed when he poked his head in again. He wrinkled his nose and went back to the kitchen. The coffee was ready, and he emptied the pot into two large mugs. One mug got cream and sugar, the other he left black. Dante took a sip from his mug and cringed. Weak-ass coffee. He took the sweetened coffee to his mother's room and set it on her bedside table.
"Hey," he said. Rebecca grunted. "Coffee. Wake up." Rebecca waved him off. Dante scowled and took a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable. "Rebecca, c'mon." He leaned over her bed and shook her by the shoulder. "You're gonna be late. Get up." He shook her again. "Rebecca!" And again. "Rebecca! You don't have time for this!"
Rebecca turned toward him suddenly, grabbing him roughly by the ear and yanking his head down to the mattress. "Knock it off!!" She shouted, letting him go again and covering her head with the blanket.
Dante stepped back from the bed and pressed his hand against his ear. He muttered a long string of obscenities and walked around to the foot of the bed. He grabbed fistfuls of blanket and pulled. "Get your ass out of bed!"
Rebecca made an angry, high pitched shriek, and scrambled to the end of the bed. Dante jumped back, but Rebecca grabbed the front of his shirt and smacked him across the face. "Don't," she smacked him again, "do that!"
Rebecca shoved him away and got out of bed, stomping her feet on the floor. She grabbed her coffee and stormed out of the bedroom. Dante sank to his knees, hand pressed firmly against his cheek. He breathed deeply. Eyes closed. Shaking.
Don't cry. Don't cry...
He furrowed his brow. Breathe. Breathe. He had to get up. Get ready to go. Dante opened his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He bit the inside of his lip until he tasted iron. You're okay. Bleed it out. You're okay.
Dante smelled cigarette smoke from the living room, and he emerged to find Rebecca smoking the butt end of something she dug out of the ashtray. "Sorry," she said, like that made everything better. Then she held her wrinkled cigarette end out to him. Dante's lip twitched, but that was the only irritation he showed as he stepped forward and accepted her peace offering.
"What do you want for breakfast?" He asked, exhaling stale cigarette smoke into the apartment.
"Uuum, I dunno. Whatever," Rebecca said, happily sipping at her coffee. Dante handed the cigarette back to her and headed to the kitchen, rolling his eyes.
She said whatever, but what she really wanted him to do was read her damn mind and figure out what she wanted to eat. They'd had so many fights because he made something she didn't want. Anyway, they were seriously running low on food, so breakfast would be whatever he could find.
Eggs. A slice of toast. Sautéed onion. He grazed a little while he cooked, but not enough to really call it eating. Regardless, he only made enough food for Rebecca. They needed to stretch what they had just a little longer.
"You're not eating before school?" Rebecca questioned him when he handed her a plate.
"Ate while I was cooking," he fibbed, "gotta go soon."
Dante returned to the bathroom mirror and inspected the side of his face. There would be a bruise. Again. It wasn't dark right now, but it would be. Dante opened Rebecca's makeup bag and fished out her concealer. He was getting pretty good at this by now. Hiding bruises. The only problem was that Rebecca's skin was a slightly different tone than his. It wasn't drastically different. Just enough to make blending somewhat difficult.
To be honest, there were very few traits that Dante shared with her. Rebecca was Italian, and Dante's father was some random Asian guy she met in a bar. She loved reminding him that he looked just like his father. Dante believed her, because he didn't look mixed at all. He looked straight up Asian. He didn't get Rebecca's strawberry hair, or her height, or her bone structure. The only noticeable trait they shared was their eye color.
Blue.
"Hey," Dante got Rebecca's attention as he walked hurriedly into the living room, stuffing books and papers and things into his backpack, "I'm gonna leave now. Make sure you're outa here by eight. Okay?"
Rebecca nodded then motioned to the plate of food in her lap. "This is tasty," she said.
Dante forced a smile. "Thanks."
---
Dante sat on the steps outside of his school, his backpack on the ground between his feet. He checked the time on an old pay-as-you-go phone, waiting for the usual crowd to assemble. Jo Jo was the first to arrive.
"Yo, D! You got the goods!?"
"Shut-up, Jo Jo! You know I do!" Dante grinned as Jo Jo sat down on the steps next to him.
"Hey, man, I'm just messin' with you," Jo Jo said, "but seriously, you got me covered?"
"Yeah, yeah." Dante opened his backpack and pulled out three sheets of notebook paper filled with equations. "You got what I want?" Jo Jo pulled a pack of American Spirit cigarettes out of his pocket and tossed them into Dante's open backpack.
"Thank you, sir," the older boy said when Dante handed over his bought homework, "you got expensive taste, man."
"Well, I figure if I'm gonna kill myself slowly, I might as well do it with class."
Jo Jo laughed out loud, "ain't nuthin' classy 'bout you, man! Shut yo' ass up!"
Shortly, another kid approached Dante and they exchanged homework. Several pages of math for a history paper. "Hey," the boy said, "You know the exam is today, right?"
"Ah, shit!" Dante scratched his head. "Any chance you can get the answers for me?"
"Not before class."
"Fuck. Alright. Get them to me tomorrow morning?" The kid nodded, and Dante looked over at Jo Jo. "You wanna skip today?"
"You know I do, man!"
Dante waited around for the rest of his crew to show up, finishing up his homework trades in the meantime. He was a wiz at math, not so much at anything that involved writing. He found reading difficult, and writing was beyond infuriating. Letters were confusing, his handwriting sucked, and Dante couldn't spell to save his life. He learned early on that he could trade math homework for just about anything.
Spike, Quin, and Theo arrived together, horsing around and looking like a regular bunch of thugs. Dante stood up on the steps when he saw them and shouted, "Hey, ass-holes! What took you so long?! We got shit to do!"
"What?! What shit!? Nobody told me 'bout no shit we gotta do!" Theo shouted back, his arms outstretched and his chest puffed.
Dante mirrored his posture. "Bitch, I don't have to give you no advance warning! The hell do you think this is!? A democracy? We do what I say!"
Dante laughed loudly and glanced over his shoulder at another group of boys who were lingering outside. They were leering at him. Dante glared. Jo Jo glanced back as well, having noticed Dante's sudden change in demeanor.
"Fuckin' bangers," Dante whispered, "looks like they're trollin' for a fight. Lets go--"
"Hey! The fuck are you jack-asses lookin' at!?"
Dante's eyes flashed and his head whipped around to stare daggers at his crew. "Quin! Shut the fuck up!" He and Jo Jo ran down the steps to meet them, and Dante reached up to grab Quin by the hair. He pulled the other boy's head down so he could hiss in his ear. "Those guys are in a gang! Are you trying to get us fucking killed?" He let go of Quin's head and glanced back up at the boys who'd been eyeing them. They were pacing around, staring down at Dante and his crew.
"We gotta go. We're ditching, today," Dante said, lighting a cigarette and leading his crew away from the school.
"What, you're afraid of a couple a' gang bangers?" Quin taunted, grumpy from being manhandled.
"Oh yeah, Quin," Dante scoffed, "I'm a puss because I don't wanna get stabbed today. Right. No, we're ditching because I have a history exam."
"Man, why do you care about your grades so much?" Quin asked.
"Because," Dante blew smoke in Quin's face, "I don't wanna give them an excuse to meet Rebecca."
"Why do you do that?" Spike leaned forward to look at Dante around Quin's shoulder.
"Do what?"
"Call your mom by her name. It's seriously weird, dude."
Dante sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you high? We've been over this before."
"Hey, I think he was high that time too," Jo Jo laughed.
Dante snorted. "She doesn't act like my mother, so I'm not gonna' call her that." He angrily flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. "Hey, someone buy me a bagel. I'm fuckin' starving."
The boys stood outside of a small bakery, bagels in hand. Spike was smoking a joint. "Ok, here's the plan," Dante said, "we're goin' hunting in Midtown. Spike, please tell me you're sober enough to handle Time Square." He reached over and plucked the joint from spikes fingers, taking a long drag before giving it back. "I'm not hunting your ass down again."
"I'm good. I'm good. That was a one time thing, man. It was bad shrooms, I swear!"
Dante laughed, and proceeded to mock Spike. "Bitch calls me, 'oh my god, D, I'm lost! I don't know what's goin' on! Where the fuck am I!?' Mother fucker was standing right in front of fucking St. Patric's Cathedral. Could not figure out where he was!" The boys howled.
"Hey, man! I was straight up trippin'!" Spike defended himself. "Trippin' hard core, man! That was some scary shit, dude!"
"So nobody's getting lost in Time Square today?" Dante confirmed, still laughing.
"No sir! I'm good."
"Alright." Dante grinned. "Lets get the fuck outa' Brooklyn."
---
The crew stepped off the subway. Dante already had a couple wallets stashed in his backpack, as well as a few cell phones and an mp3 player. The busy subway station was perfect for pickpocketing, and significantly less risky than doing it on the train like they had just moments ago. If someone caught you picking pockets on the train, there was nowhere to run.
Dante made eye contact with Jo Jo, then lifted his hand and tugged on his right ear. Jo Jo nodded and passed the signal on to the rest of the crew. Dante was the watch dog, and the holder of the goods. The signal was straightforward: Right side open.
Dante lingered by the tracks like he was was waiting for another train, backpack hanging off his right shoulder, zipper slightly open. He slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and kept one eye on his crew, the other on station security. One by one they brushed past him, slipping stolen items into his bag.
Rule number one was "don't stay too long." Especially in the subway station. Security would notice if you just hung around. Make one sweep and move on. Spike brushed past him and headed for the exit. Casually, Dante checked his phone, then followed after his crew. He lit a cigarette as he left the station, and bumped into a business man on his way up the stairs.
"Hey! Watch it!" Dante shouted, pocketing the man's wallet.
At the top of the stairs Dante grabbed the railing to steady himself. He felt dizzy suddenly. His vision fuzzed, and he tried to blink through it. To focus. But his mind wanted to wander. He felt like he'd just taken a killer hit from Spike's bong, and his mind raced ahead of him so fast that he couldn't keep up.
It only lasted for a few seconds. He hadn't realized that he couldn't hear the city until the sound came flooding back to him.
"D! Yo, D!"
Dante raised his head and looked around. His crew had gathered around him, and they looked nervous. "What?"
"You okay, bro?" Jo Jo asked, his brow knit. "You need some coffee, or like a burger or somethin'? You ain't been eatin' again. I can tell."
Dante scowled. "I just ate, man. You fuckin' watched me do it!"
"Yeah? What'd you eat yesterday?"
"I.. I don't remember. Toast? Look, I'm fine! Can we just get to work!?" It wasn't really a question. Dante was prone to punching his friends in the face if they didn't do what he wanted. Especially when he seemed groggy and confused. Jo Jo raised his hands in defeat and took a step back.
"Hey, whatever you say, man," he muttered, "you're the boss."
Dante pushed past his crew and headed down the sidewalk toward their usual haunt. He took about five steps and stopped. Staring. Unblinking. He felt like he was remembering something that hadn't quite happened yet. His mind kept trying to process that weird fog he'd just experienced, like the answer was in there somewhere. Suddenly he turned around and walked the other direction. "Not that way," he mumbled.
"What? D, where you goin'?" Quin asked, and the crew echoed his concern.
"Not that way!" Dante repeated, shooting an angry glare over his shoulder.
"But, D--"
"Don't fuckin' argue with me!!" Dante shouted, stopping and turning around. "Bad shit is that way!" He pointed in the direction they usually went. The direction he was leading them away from. "Don't ask how I know! I just do, aight!?" Dante's crew just stared at him. "Look, if you don't trust me, y'all bitches can just fuck off!" His eyes shifted past his crew to the street corner behind them.
A police car rolled through the intersection, heading in the direction that Dante didn't want to go. "See!?" Dante snapped his fingers and pointed. "Fuckin' NYPD cruisin' 'round down there!" The crew all turned around to look. "Fuckin' question my judgment," Dante muttered, turning. "Well, c'mon! Still got shit to do."
---
There was a pretty good haul today. The boys hocked their goods at a seedy pawn shop, and used some of their cash to pay an older man to buy them booze. They hid behind some bushes in Central Park and waited out the rest of the school day, getting drunk.
"So," Jo Jo said with a sigh, passing the bottle to Dante, "Hanna broke up with me. Apparently her dad doesn't like me."
Dante snorted and cracked a devious smile. "It's because you're black, isn't it?"
Jo Jo laughed, "no, man! Didn't you know? We got a black president now! racism is over."
Dante rolled his eyes. "Right, I totally forgot."
"Really though, it's because I'm seventeen."
"How old was she?" Dante raised an eyebrow.
"Fifteen."
Dante scoffed. "Really? He flipped over that? Well.. She's a bitch anyway."
"Hey, man, don't say shit like that! I liked her!" Jo Jo exclaimed.
"D," Theo laughed, "you think everyone's a bitch."
"Well, clearly she didn't like you that much, Jo, or she wouldn't let daddy make that decision for her!" Dante lifted the bottle to his lips.
"Wow, D. Could you be more of a dick about it?" Jo Jo said.
"Probably," Dante laughed, "she dressed like a slut. She was dumber than a box of fuckin' rocks. She sounded like a moron every time she opened her mouth, and frankly you could do a lot better."
Jo Jo gave Dante a look.
"Yo, dude," Spike said, "I think that was a rhetorical question, not an invitation."
"Woops." Dante was still laughing.
"Hey, man, divi up the cash!" Quin said suddenly, reaching over to grab the bottle from Dante's hand.
"Hey, piss off!" Dante pulled the bottle out of Quin's reach and lifted it to his lips again.
"C'mon, D! Divi it up before you're wasted!"
"I can count drunk!" Dante shouted, "too late anyway. Ha!"
Dante was a lightweight. He was barely 5'1, and somewhere around 90lbs the last time he checked (which honestly was a while ago). It didn't take very much to get him hosed, especially since he wasn't eating much these days.
Jo Jo took the bottle from Dante, still looking a bit miffed. "C'mon, D. He ain't gonna stop till he gets his money. Just do it."
"Aight, aight," Dante muttered, pulling a stack of bills out of his backpack. He counted it with surprising speed, then divided the number in his head and started counting out everyone's cut. Shamelessly, his own cut was significantly larger than the rest of his crew.
"Hey, man!" Quin started, and Dante glared at him. "Why d'you always get the biggest cut!?"
"'Cause I'm about t' get evicted from my fuckin' apartment, you greedy bastard! That's why!" Dante yelled, "anyone else about t' be sleepin' on the streets?" He paused for half a second. "Well!?"
"No," the boys looked down and mumbled their answers.
"I didn't fuckin' think so! Now shut your dumb ass up." Dante huffed and laid back on the grass, looking up at the sky. "I hate this place. Y'all bitches can go t' hell." Dante crawled to his feet and walked away. He didn't go far. Just to the other side of the bushes they were drinking behind.
"The hell's his problem?" He heard Quin say.
"Hey, lay off. Things'r rough," Jo Jo said.
"He acts like we don't have shit to deal with," Theo chimed in, "I gotta' buy shoes for my little sister with this. It ain't like we're rolling in it over here!"
"Yeah, and that little fucker punched me in the jaw last week!" Spike was getting in on it too, "I didn't even do nothin', he was just pissed. Tired of bein' his punching bag, man."
"Guys, c'mon," Jo Jo's voice again, "you know what he deals with at home--"
"Everyone's parents knock them around!"
"Spike, that's not true," Jo Jo said, "my parents've never laid a hand on me. Y'all's parents are fucked up. Think whatever you want. I'mma go find him."
Jo Jo came around the bush and looked down at Dante. Dante was crouched down to the ground, scowling at the grass, tearing layers of skin off his fingertips with his teeth. Intently. Jo Jo had Dante's backpack in hand, and he knelt down to talk. "I knew you didn't go far," Jo Jo said quietly, "you like to eavesdrop."
"Yeah."
"You wanna' go home?"
"Yeah."
---
Dante lingered outside of his apartment building, smoking a cigarette with Jo Jo. He'd been silent the whole time. Brooding.
"So," Dante spoke finally, "you think you know what I deal with at home?"
"I know that there's makeup on your face right now because she hit you again."
Dante looked sideways at Jo Jo, his head down, cigarette hand hovering close to his lips. "It's worse than that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's really bad, Jo. It's..." Dante trailed off and abruptly dropped his cigarette. "Never mind. I'm drunk. Forget it. The fuck are my keys?" Dante shoved his hands into his pockets, found his keys, and immediately dropped them. "Shit!"
Jo Jo picked them up and unlocked the door. "Chill out, man," he said, holding the door open and handing Dante his keys. "Try to relax a little before she gets home, aight?"
Dante nodded, and disappeared inside.
He opened the door of his apartment and immediately bristled. Something was off. Suddenly he didn't feel so drunk. He smelled cigarette smoke, and he could see Rebecca's shoes strewn across the floor. After a second he heard a sound. She was crying.
Quietly, he set his backpack down by the door and checked his pocket to make sure he had his knife. Then, Dante went warily to the living room. "Rebecca?" He said cautiously, "what happened? Why are you home so early?" Dante stood stiffly in the doorway, dreading her answer.
"Dante." She was sitting on the floor. A bottle of vodka laid on its side in front of her. Half empty. She looked up at Dante with wet, swollen eyes. "I got laid off!"
Dante's heart sank, and a wave of anxiety crashed over him. He felt too warm. Blindsided. Why did everything always go wrong? This was just too much. He was already shoplifting things like dish soap, and shampoo. He regularly stole toilet paper from school. Some weeks they lived on bread and cheese, and sometimes that cheese was stolen. They ate shitty processed food that made him feel sick and bloated. They didn't even have anything of value to sell at this point. The only thing they had going for them was the roof over their head, and they were about to lose that too. Why did all of the things he needed to live cost money?
He sighed and leaned against the door frame, pinching the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers. He was trying not to panic. They couldn't afford this. "Did you get laid off, or did they fire you? Because there's a difference!"
"I got laid off!" She cried, shooting him an offended glare. "I don't know what we're gonna do! We don't have food! Or rent! We're gonna' get kicked out! WE'RE GOING TO BE OUT ON THE STREETS! DANTE, WE'RE GONNA BE FUCKING HOMELESS!! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, DANTE! WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO!!?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Dante screamed at her. "How the FUCK am I supposed to know!? I'M FOURTEEN, DAMMIT! THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO!?"
"I don't know! I don't know! I DON'T KNOW!! But we HAVE to do something!!"
"SO STOP YELLING AT ME!! You're not HELPING!" Dante pressed his hands to his head, trying to think. Trying to stop shaking.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Rebecca snapped at him, getting unsteadily to her feet, "you're right! I shouldn't be so upset! I'll just go find another job! Oh wait, I forgot-- THERE AREN'T ANY!"
"So why don't you put on that slutty dress of yours and go stand on the fucking street corner!?" Dante regretted those words even as they were leaving his lips. He started to back away, but Rebecca was too fast.
With two long strides she was on him and she grabbed Dante by the throat. "What did you just say to me?!" Rebecca snarled and shoved him against the door frame. Dante couldn't have answered if he wanted to. He could barely breathe. Rebecca squeezed. "You're a disgusting child! You know that?! Saying things like that about your mother!"
She let go of him and turned away sharply. Dante coughed, and fell to his knees. He watched Rebecca's feet, pacing back and forth across the living room floor. "Bitch, don't call yourself my mother," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?!" Rebecca stopped pacing to glare down at him.
Dante jumped to his feet, pulling his switchblade from his pocket and pointing it at her. "Don't call yourself my mother!! And don't fucking touch me!"
"You won't cut me," Rebecca taunted him, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him.
"You wanna test that theory?" Dante cocked an eyebrow.
They locked eyes. Frozen in standoff. After a minute Rebecca threw up her arms. "What are we doing?! We can't be doing this right now! We have a serious problem, Dante!" She put her hands on her head and sank to her knees. Sobbing again. "They're gonna throw us out! We're gonna starve in the streets! I don't know what to do! I can't do this! I CAN'T DO THIS!"
Dante slowly lowered his knife and slipped it into his pocket. He watched her for a moment, then sighed. He covered his face with his hand and shut his eyes. Breathing. Thinking. Rebecca continued screaming and rambling about how they were going to die horribly.
"Rebecca," he said finally. He couldn't listen to her scream any more. "Rebecca," he knelt down, "it's gonna be okay--"
"It's NOT going to be okay, Dante! We have no money, and YOU think I'm a terrible mother!"
"Shh-shh. We- we'll figure something out. We always figure something out." Dante placed a hand on her shoulder, deciding not to address the 'terrible mother' thing. Because she really was, and Dante didn't have anything nice to say about it. "Remember the last time we lost our apartment? Jo Jo's family let us stay with them, and everything was fine. Okay? Look at me." Dante put his hand on her face and lifted her chin. "Hey.. I have friends, and at least one of them still likes me. We're not going to sleep on the streets. Okay?"
Rebecca sniffed, then lurched forward and wrapped her arms around him. She cried into his shoulder. "You really think so?"
"Yeah," Dante said.
"We're really going to be okay?"
"Yeah."
"And you still love me?"
"...Yeah." Dante felt sick. That was a lie. He didn't hate her, but he couldn't truthfully say that he loved her. It was complicated. His relationship with her was filled with excuses and justifications. She's under a lot of stress. She's unstable. She needs medication. It's not her fault. Being this close to her always made him nervous. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was shallow. He was more afraid of her than anything. Rebecca gathered him into her lap and clung to him. Dante tried to breathe deep.
He was waiting. Dreading. Maybe he could get away before she did anything. Maybe he could detach himself before the thought crossed her mind. Rebecca pressed her face into his neck, and his stomach turned.
"Dante," she said his name. "I love you so much." She pressed her lips against his skin. Dante swallowed. Closed his eyes. Don't cry. He felt her tongue on his neck. Her hand on his chest. Teeth on his ear.
"Rebecca, don't," he gasped, and held his breath. He couldn't do this. Not again. Not right now. Rebecca ignored him. Her hand was under his shirt. "I'm serious. [/i]Don't![/i]" He pulled away from her and tried to reach for his knife.
He was starting to feel dizzy again.
Rebecca grabbed his wrist and squeezed. Dante's vision was starting to haze over. He recognized this. This had happened earlier. He tried to blink through it. To stay present. Rebecca was saying something he couldn't hear. Her voice was so far away.
She sounded angry though. Dante's head was spinning. He needed to get his knife, but everything was spinning. Falling. Rebecca was moving. Standing. Still holding onto his wrist. Twisting his arm. Shouting. Fear coursed through him along with pain.
"Rebecca! Don't!" He pleaded, his own voice sounding muffled in his ears. "Please, Rebecca! Stop! You're hurting me!" She said something back, but he couldn't understand her words. Everything was coming through a fog. He blinked rapidly, trying desperately to clear the haze from his eyes.
His arm hurt. She was going to break it. He knew. He could see everything now. Dizziness turned into clarity. Startling, terrifying clarity. He could see all of the paths. All of the choices. The universe expanded before him, and he was afraid.
It came like a rush. Every possibility was laid out before him like a map. If he stayed with her. If he murdered her in her sleep. If he called the police. If he set fire to their apartment... Most of the paths lead to bad places. Places he dreaded ending up in. His life was going to fall apart. Things could only get worse from here.
Unless he left. Unless he ran away from here. He had to get out. Had to get away from her. Disentangle his life from hers. Remove himself from the mess in her corner of the map. She would drag him down. Nothing good would happen if he stayed. He couldn't help her. Couldn't fix her. If anything, he was just enabling her. He had to accept that, and just--
"AAAAAAHH!" Dante screamed as his bones cracked. Tears sprang to his eyes. Pain coursed through him. His arm felt like it was on fire. He was jerked harshly away from his visions, and everything was too bright and too loud. Rebecca was screaming.
"Oh my god! Look what you made me do! Why do you have to push me away!? I've given EVERYTHING for you! This is all YOUR FAULT, Dante! I shouldn't have kept you! Your USELESS!!"
Dante cradled his broken arm against his chest and glared up at her. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was trying desperately to hold onto what he saw. The clarity of his vision. It was fading fast, like a dream. Already, he couldn't remember most of it. There had been so many paths. They were all a blur.
He knew one thing: he had to leave. Tonight.
Rebecca's angry words washed over him, and he cringed against her shouting. She kicked him several times while she ranted, punctuating her disappointment. Then finally, after what felt like hours, she ran out of things to scream at him, and he glanced up at her. She looked disgusted.
"Stop crying," she spat, wrinkling her nose, "boys don't cry."
He watched her bare feet as she walked away, and flinched when she slammed her bedroom door. Slowly, Dante stood and shuffled into the bathroom.
He crawled into the bathtub and curled himself into a ball. Gasping for breath and pressing his face against the hard porcelain, Dante cried. His arm throbbed. I should have just gone along with it. He'd done it before. Many times. He'd never tried to say "no" before, and he wasn't sure the broken arm was worth it. I really need to go to a hospital. He sat up, trembling. Whimpering. With a clumsy hand Dante pulled his phone from his pocket.
"Williams residence, Kayla speaking."
"Hey, Mrs. Williams," Dante said, his voice shaking, "It's Dante. Is Jo Jo around?"
"...Yes. Honey, what's wrong?"
"I--" Dante held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Stop crying! "It's complicated," he said.
"Don't give me that. You lived under my roof for five months. You're family, whether you like it or not. What happened?"
"Can I come over?" He asked, struggling for coherence through the biting pain.
"Of course! Just be safe, okay?"
"Always," Dante grunted, standing up. "I'll be there soon."
---
Dante had slipped out of the apartment unnoticed, but hadn't managed to bring anything with him aside from what was already in his pockets. The evening was cooling off, and he shivered, wishing he'd grabbed a sweater. Dante kept his head down as he walked the twelve blocks between his apartment and Jo Jo's. It was the longest twelve blocks he'd ever walked.
Finally he was being buzzed into Jo Jo's building and climbing the stairs to his apartment. He knocked on the door, and was met almost immediately by Mrs. Williams.
"Good Lord, honey, what happened to you?" She reached out to him, and Dante flinched away. He took a step back, holding his arm against his chest. "Oh my god-- Jo Jo!" Mrs. Williams called over her shoulder. Jo Jo came running. "Take this boy to your room and figure out what happened. He looks terrified." Mrs. Williams cleared out of the doorway, and Jo Jo extended his hand toward Dante.
"C'mon," he said. Dante looked at his hand warily, and quickly slipped into the apartment without touching him. He headed straight to Jo Jo's bedroom and laid down in his bed. "Dante," Jo Jo said, closing the door behind them, "what--"
"My arm's broken," Dante said, staring at the wall. Unblinking. "She broke my arm." He squeezed his eyes shut. "She broke my fucking arm!"
"Dante.." Jo Jo sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Dante's shoulder. "I--"
"Don't touch me!"
Jo Jo pulled back and stood up. He lingered for a brief moment, then Dante heard him leave the room. He could hear the family talking in hushed, worried tones.
This is the right thing to do. I can't go back. Don't go back. No matter what, don't go back! Dante pressed his face into the mattress, sobbing again. His head was starting to ache.
He heard the bedroom door open again, and he held his breath, trying hard to stop crying. "Son?" Mr. William's voice. Dante opened his eyes. "We're going to take you to the hospital."
---
The trip to the hospital was a blur of light and sound. The headache was starting to outweigh the pain in his arm. He couldn't think. Mr. Williams stayed with him and handled the paperwork, telling him over and over again not to worry about the bill. They would take care of it. Dante knew they couldn't afford it, but he couldn't see any other options.
It was late when they returned with Dante's left arm in a cast. Jo Jo gave Dante his bed for the night, not wanting to make him sleep on the couch. Dante accepted the offer without saying much. He was tired and drained, and he went to bed without eating anything.
The next morning felt strange. Everything was changing, and Dante didn't know what to do. Everything seemed uncertain. He was anxious.
He and Jo Jo sat across from each other at the kitchen table, eating Cheerios and milk. Well, Jo Jo was eating. Dante was mostly playing with his, stirring them around the bowl, thinking.
"I have to go to Vermont," Dante said finally, not sure where that idea came from.
Jo Jo stared at him. "Vermont? What's in Vermont?"
"I don't know." Dante shook his head and stirred the bowl of cereal in front of him.
"Dante," Jo Jo protested, "You can't just go to Vermont! How're you gonna get there!?"
Dante shrugged. "Hitchhike?"
"Oh, that makes me feel better. For a second I thought you were gonna say somethin' crazy like, 'get into a car with a total fucking stranger!' D, do you hear the words comin' out your mouth?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but I have to go!" Dante dropped his spoon into his bowl and looked across the table at Jo Jo. "There's something there. I just know it, okay?"
Jo Jo shook his head. "You're insane."
"Insane or not, I gotta do it. I can't stay here. I'm not going back home, and I'm not gonna gamble with the foster system."
"So what? You just gonna hope that nobody finds you?"
"Gonna' hope the right people find me." Dante got up from the table and set his half-empty bowl of cereal on the counter.
"Mom!" Jo Jo called through the apartment, "Dante thinks he's gonna hitchhike to Vermont!"
"He said what!?" Mrs. Williams called back.
Dante sighed. "Man, why you gotta drag your mom into this?" He muttered.
"Dante, what're you talking about, goin' to Vermont?" Mrs. Williams joined them in the kitchen and fixed Dante with a look.
"I'm going to Vermont," Dante said again with a shrug, "I don't know what else you want me to say about it. I'm going. Consider me gone."
"Honey, you can't just hitchhike--"
"Why not? Are you gonna stop me? 'Cause I gotta say," Dante laughed, "you might not wanna do that."
"Did you just threaten my mama?" Jo Jo looked at Dante incredulously.
"What if I did!?"
"I'll smack you upside your dumb head, that's what! Now stop talkin' crazy!"
"Boys, don't fight," Mrs. Williams said, stepping between them. "Now, Dante.. Why do you think you need to go to Vermont?"
"I don't know! I just do! There's something there, I can feel it!" Dante stormed out of the kitchen.
"Well, when are you leaving?" Jo Jo followed after him.
"Like right now," Dante answered, sitting down on the floor to pull on his shoes.
"Right now!? What about Spike, and Theo, and Quin?"
"They're dicks, and they hate my guts. What about 'em?" Dante glanced up at Jo Jo.
"Well you can't just run away without saying anything to them," Jo Jo insisted.
"You can tell them what happened. I'm out."
---
Mrs. Williams insisted on paying to put Dante on a train. He thanked her, managing to be nice for once. Sitting for ten hours on a train to get to Vermont was a significantly better option than hitchhiking.
She also insisted on sending him off with a backpack full of stuff. He had some of Jo Jo's old cloths, which were all way to big for him. He had a toothbrush and a bunch of other hygiene-related items. Snacks. Books (which he didn't bother telling her he wouldn't, couldn't read). A twenty dollar bill, and five dollars in change. A slip of paper with various phone numbers on it in case something happened to his phone. And Jo Jo slipped an extra pack of cigarettes in while his mother wasn't watching.
Dante was hiding in the closet-sized bathroom of the moving train. He stared at his phone, biting his lip. If he called Jo Jo's cell right now he'd be sent to voicemail. Jo Jo was almost certainly in class. Dante's phone was dying, and he'd left the charger in his apartment. So if he was going to do it, it had to be now.
Dante sucked in a breath and pressed the button, bringing the phone to his ear and holding his breath. Voicemail. Just like he thought.
"Jo Jo, it's Dante. I have to tell you something, and my phone's dying so you can't call me back. Just listen.. I really like you. Like, more than I probably should. Like.. I might be a little gay. Actually, girls freak me out, so.. defiantly, really gay. I just.. I figure I'm never gonna' see you again so it's okay to tell you now. I'm really sorry what I said about Hanna. She's not stupid, I just can't stand the sound of her voice. I was being a dick, and I'm sorry, and you're like the best friend ever for putting up with my bullshit. I treat you like crap and I'm a shitty person, and I'm really, really, really gonna miss you."
Dante ended the call and pulled his knife from his pocket. He opened it, hands shaking, and looked at it intently for a while. Then the train lurched, and he closed it again. "No, Dante," he said to himself, "that's stupid. You're gonna seriously hurt yourself. You're smarter than that. Just wait." He closed his eyes and tried to breathe.
Many hours later, Dante hopped off the train in Burlington. Mrs. Williams had asked him to call when he got there, and the thought suddenly filled him with dread. What if Jo Jo answered the phone? Dammit, forethought wasn't one of his strong points.
He found a pay phone in the station, hesitated, then took a deep breath and called.
"Williams residence, Kayla speaking."
"Hey," he said, "it's Dante. I'm not dead or anything."
"Oh, Dante! How was the trip."
"Long and boring."
Dante heard Jo Jo's voice in the background. "Is that D? Gimme the phone!"
Panic washed over him. "Hey, nice talking to ya'. Gotta go. Bye!" He hung up quickly. Heart racing. Trembling. He took several deep breaths and left the station in a blur of adrenalin.
"Right," he muttered, walking down a random street, "I'm here, Universe. Now what do I do?"
Dante lived on the streets for a couple weeks. He stretched the money he had for as long as he could, eating only once a day from the dollar menu at McDonald's. By the end of week two he was almost out of cash and getting seriously sick of burgers.
He'd had a vision in that time, and though he couldn't remember the details anymore, he remembered a face. That was starting to fade too, and he hoped he would still recognize it when he saw it. It was hard to think on shitty sleep, one cheap burger a day, and no coffee. He was about out of cigarettes too. It'd be time to start picking pockets again soon if he couldn't find a way off the streets.
---
Dante sat on a bench by a bus station, watching the people who passed by. His stomach growled, but the thought of eating another McDonald's burger made him want to throw-up. Maybe now was the time to start pickpocketing again. Ten bucks could get him something with a real vegetable in it (he didn't count half wilted lettuce as a vegetable).
He stood up, steadied himself, and shouldered his backpack. His head was spinning all the time now. Not enough food. Not enough water. Not enough sleep. He had a whole new respect for the homeless. His life had been crap before, but at least he'd had more than one tasteless burger a day. At least he'd been able to sleep inside.
Oh, man.. I should call them again and let them know I'm still alive. Dante furrowed his brow at the thought. It was the middle of the day though, so Jo Jo should be at school. He could just call their home with the change he had left and leave a message.
Dante found a pay phone and called. "Hey," he said when the answering machine picked up, "It's Dante, I--"
"Dante!"
"Shit! Jo Jo!? The hell are you doing home?" Dante panicked, his heart pounding.
"Last day of school was yesterday, man!"
"Fuck! Really!?"
"Dude, what the hell!? You leave me that message, and then don't let me talk to you!? The hell is your damage?"
"Is that a serious question!?"
"Look, D, I don't care. I kinda knew anyway, I mean.. it's really obvious that you hate women, so.."
"Shit. Shit. Shit!" Dante pinched the bridge of his nose and bounced on the balls of his feet. "I didn't want to have this conversation with you right now!"
"Dude, I'm telling you I'm fine with it! Chillax a little! You can't just tell me something like that and expect to never talk to me again! You're insane if you thought I would just shrug that shit off!"
"Okay! I get it! Jesus!"
"Hey, forget about that for a minute. How are you? What are you doing?"
"I'm.. alright," Dante said, his tone softer now. "I'm basically just.. waiting around I guess. Pretty much out of money, but y'know I know how to get mo--" Dante glanced up as a man walked past, and something twitched in his brain. "Hey you!!" He shouted, and the man glanced over his shoulder. Dante gasped. "Hey, Jo," he said into the phone again, "I gotta go. I'll explain later!" He hung up the phone and ran after the man he'd just seen.
That was the face! He knew it. He could feel it. That was the guy! "Hey, wait! Wait!" Dante caught up with him and touched his arm. The man spun around, and Dante stepped back with his hands in the air. "Hey, just.. Just listen t' me for a sec. I'm not gonna do nothin to ya. It's just.. I've seen your face before, and I think you can help me!"
Dante explained the visions he'd been having, trying not to come off like a crazy person. As it turned out, the guy was from some place called Hammel. Something about.. Meta something or other.. Dante was really hungry, and frankly he was starting to fade a bit. The important part was that this guy was going to take him to this Hammel place. Granted, Dante didn't know exactly what that was.. probably because his ability to pay attention was severely lacking at the moment. But he was getting used to just following where the Universe led him.
Hammel was, undoubtedly, the best place for Dante to be. He had a bed. His own room. Three meals a day. It completely made up for the year-round school thing (at which Dante had rolled his eyes, but only because it meant he would have to get new homework systems into place much faster than he'd like). Nonetheless, it was a safe place.
However, Dante seemed to grow angrier and more bitter as time went by. Living at Hammel didn't inspire the grateful attitude that some other students seemed to experience. Instead of feeling gratitude for being plucked from his unfortunate life, he felt angry that others weren't so lucky. That it took being a freaky mutant to get a decent meal. It made him ill to watch people living in excess while there were millions living in poverty. There were people who couldn't feed their children. Couldn't put shoes on their feet. Struggling to survive in a world that told them it was their own damn fault for being poor. And he knew that he would eventually get used to the good life. Soon he wouldn't want to sacrifice his comforts. Soon he wouldn't even give the homeless man on the corner the change in his pocket. Soon he just wouldn't give a damn. He would just turn into one of those bastards on the street that he used to steal wallets from. Dante was selfish, after all.
Well, that's what he thought of himself anyway. His anger about the situation actually made it impossible for him to assimilate the way he assumed he would. He spent most of his time judging his classmates. Needless to say, Dante wasn't quick to make friends.
He seemed to be perpetually in trouble. He cursed too much. He was too quick to resort to violence. He talked back to his teachers. He got caught with things he shouldn't have. Within his first year at Hammel, he had at least five packs of cigarettes, a dime bag, and his switchblade confiscated. He got caught cheating on homework and tests more than a dozen times, and he was more familiar with the Hammel authority than he was really comfortable with.
By the time he was sixteen, Dante had settled down a bit. A bit. He was still angry as hell about everything, but he cursed less, anyway. He still couldn't stand his classmates, and mostly found them petty and insufferable. This still caused problems from time to time, since he seemed unable to hold his tongue. Depending on who he was verbally attacking, things sometimes escalated to physical violence.
Behavioral issues aside, Dante was at least trying to do his own homework now. It was harder to get away with cheating in a school where the teachers actually paid attention. He was getting help, though. Apparently he was dyslexic (a word which was ironically both hard for him to spell and say).
---
August 8, 2013
Dante shouldered his backpack and filed into the hallway with the other kids. His cell phone buzzed and he stopped, leaning against the wall, to pull it from his pocket.
"Jo Jo, what's up? I'm between classes, so make it quick."
"Dude, you're mom's on the news!"
"What!?"
"I'm looking at the local news, and there's your mom! She set fire to a liquor store!"
"She did what!?" Dante pressed a hand to his forehead. "Are you sure it's her?"
"Rebecca Russo, they just said it. I'm lookin' at her right now! They're takin' her in!"
Dante took a deep breath. "You know what? I gotta go to class. I still have nightmares about that bitch, and she can rot in jail for all I care!" Dante hung up and stormed down the hall to his next class.
He sat down heavily in the back of the classroom, not bothering to get out his books. He tapped his finger rapidly on his desktop and bounced his knee up and down. After a few seconds he got up again and left the classroom.
Dante all but ran outside and hid behind the building. He leaned against the wall and sank to the ground, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his backpack. His hands were shaking, and it took him a few tries to light his cigarette. For several moments he just sat quietly, smoking, staring. Then, halfway through his cigarette, he began to break.
A sob forced its way through and tears sprang to his eyes. He hid his face behind his knees and tried to be quiet. It was his fault. It was always his fault. If he'd stayed.. If he'd taken care of her.. She wouldn't have snapped like that! If he hadn't abandoned her--
"Stop, stop, stop!" Dante unfolded himself and leaned back against the wall. He tilted his head back, dragging on his cigarette. "It's not your fault," he whispered, "not your fault." He tried to remember the vision he had the night he left. If not the details, then the overall feeling. Leaving was the right decision. It was! There's nothing he could have done about this. She would have snapped eventually regardless of what he did. He had to keep believing that.
Dante pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He didn't like thinking about Rebecca. His heart was racing. She made him feel gross. Dante tried to breathe. He had to calm down. Get back to class. Ignore the flashbacks. God, he felt sick.
He pushed himself away from the wall, curling into himself and pulling back the cuff of his sleeve. He held his cigarette just above his wrist and stopped. No. Not there, somebody would see it. Dante shifted and rolled up his pant leg. He held his breath and pressed the burning cigarette against the inside of his ankle. He clenched his jaw. Eyes wide. Watching.
Dante tossed the cigarette aside and just sat. Breathing. His mind stopped racing. No more flashing images. With a sigh, he covered his face with his hand. "God.. I thought I was done with this," he muttered. It'd been a long while since the last time he hurt himself. Been a long time since he felt guilty about leaving.
this is what happened to Dante before Hammel.(Warning, mature themes: strong language, child abuse, self harm)
May 23, 2011
The alarm clock on the floor next to the couch was making that awful noise again. Dante's eyes opened and he scowled. He had nightmares all night again. "I'm up," he muttered, closing his eyes. The alarm clock persisted. Dante drifted off for several minutes then opened his eyes again. "Alright, alright. I'm awake. Shut-up!" Dante laid a heavy hand on the clock and sat up.
It was six AM. Dante covered his face with his hands and breathed, trying to convince himself that he really was awake. He felt sick. Images flashed in his head from the nightmares he'd had. He rubbed his eyes, frowning, trying desperately to stop thinking. Stop spinning. Stop seeing her behind his eyelids.
He slept on the couch in the living room, covered by a ratty blanket with holes in it. He didn't have a bedroom, and the thought of sharing a room with her made his skin crawl. Dante climbed out of bed, threw on a dirty shirt that he picked up off the floor, and knelt down to slid his hand under the couch cushion, pulling out the switchblade that he kept there. He opened it, and pressed his lips to the cool, flat surface of the blade.
Dante locked the bathroom door behind him and sat on the edge of the bathtub, looking at his open knife. He chewed on his bottom lip. Thinking. Debating. His nightmares made him feel disgusting. Like the blood in his veins was made of tar. Like he was being eaten alive from the inside out. Like.. well, it didn't matter. Dante inhaled and shook his head, pressing the blade to the inside of his thigh. The knife bit into his skin, and a sigh passed his lips. The pain made the flashing images stop. It made the gnawing anxiety in the pit of his stomach fade. The sight of his own blood stilled his mind. He was in control of this. This belonged to him.
Dante bandaged himself up and went to the kitchen. He peered into the coffee tin with a sigh. He shook it back and forth a couple times, watching the meager remnants skate across the bottom. This was going to be some weak-ass coffee. Dante opened the coffee maker and scrunched his mouth to the side. There was still coffee grounds in the filter from yesterday. He looked into the tin again, then back into the coffee maker. Finally he shrugged and dumped what was left in the tin on top of the once-steeped grounds already in the filter.
With the coffee maker gurgling away, Dante poked his head into his mother's bedroom. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, preparing to wake her. "Rebecca," he said her name gently. Nothing. "Rebecca," he raised his voice. Still nothing. "Rebecca!"
"What!?" Rebecca lifted her head.
"Get up! You work today!" Dante snapped back at her. Rebecca groaned loudly and rolled over. Dante rolled his eyes and closed her door again. He needed to get dressed.
All of his cloths needed washed. Laundry was an expense that often fell to the bottom of the list. They were late on their rent this month. They were always late on the rent. Dante pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans and rifled through the cardboard boxes in the living room where he kept his cloths, looking for a shirt that didn't absolutely wreak. He found a red t-shirt and a cream colored button-up dress shirt.
"These go together, right?" He asked the bathroom mirror. He stared at his reflection for a moment, not sure he liked this combination. "Ah, fuck it. I don't care." Everything was all rumpled anyway. He leaned in close to the mirror to inspect a faint bruise by the corner of his mouth. "That's probably fine," he muttered, and lingered a second longer to fuss with his hair. It needed lightened again. His dark roots were showing, but it would have to wait. Dante didn't have a good feeling about shoplifting today, and he always followed his instinct on the matter. He pulled back from the mirror and ran his fingers over his multiple ear piercings. He was so bored with his simple captured bead rings, but anything worth stealing was always locked up. With a sigh Dante picked a simple stainless steel chain up off the sink and fastened it around his neck. He stared blankly at his reflection, then shrugged. "Good enough."
His mother still wasn't out of bed when he poked his head in again. He wrinkled his nose and went back to the kitchen. The coffee was ready, and he emptied the pot into two large mugs. One mug got cream and sugar, the other he left black. Dante took a sip from his mug and cringed. Weak-ass coffee. He took the sweetened coffee to his mother's room and set it on her bedside table.
"Hey," he said. Rebecca grunted. "Coffee. Wake up." Rebecca waved him off. Dante scowled and took a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable. "Rebecca, c'mon." He leaned over her bed and shook her by the shoulder. "You're gonna be late. Get up." He shook her again. "Rebecca!" And again. "Rebecca! You don't have time for this!"
Rebecca turned toward him suddenly, grabbing him roughly by the ear and yanking his head down to the mattress. "Knock it off!!" She shouted, letting him go again and covering her head with the blanket.
Dante stepped back from the bed and pressed his hand against his ear. He muttered a long string of obscenities and walked around to the foot of the bed. He grabbed fistfuls of blanket and pulled. "Get your ass out of bed!"
Rebecca made an angry, high pitched shriek, and scrambled to the end of the bed. Dante jumped back, but Rebecca grabbed the front of his shirt and smacked him across the face. "Don't," she smacked him again, "do that!"
Rebecca shoved him away and got out of bed, stomping her feet on the floor. She grabbed her coffee and stormed out of the bedroom. Dante sank to his knees, hand pressed firmly against his cheek. He breathed deeply. Eyes closed. Shaking.
Don't cry. Don't cry...
He furrowed his brow. Breathe. Breathe. He had to get up. Get ready to go. Dante opened his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He bit the inside of his lip until he tasted iron. You're okay. Bleed it out. You're okay.
Dante smelled cigarette smoke from the living room, and he emerged to find Rebecca smoking the butt end of something she dug out of the ashtray. "Sorry," she said, like that made everything better. Then she held her wrinkled cigarette end out to him. Dante's lip twitched, but that was the only irritation he showed as he stepped forward and accepted her peace offering.
"What do you want for breakfast?" He asked, exhaling stale cigarette smoke into the apartment.
"Uuum, I dunno. Whatever," Rebecca said, happily sipping at her coffee. Dante handed the cigarette back to her and headed to the kitchen, rolling his eyes.
She said whatever, but what she really wanted him to do was read her damn mind and figure out what she wanted to eat. They'd had so many fights because he made something she didn't want. Anyway, they were seriously running low on food, so breakfast would be whatever he could find.
Eggs. A slice of toast. Sautéed onion. He grazed a little while he cooked, but not enough to really call it eating. Regardless, he only made enough food for Rebecca. They needed to stretch what they had just a little longer.
"You're not eating before school?" Rebecca questioned him when he handed her a plate.
"Ate while I was cooking," he fibbed, "gotta go soon."
Dante returned to the bathroom mirror and inspected the side of his face. There would be a bruise. Again. It wasn't dark right now, but it would be. Dante opened Rebecca's makeup bag and fished out her concealer. He was getting pretty good at this by now. Hiding bruises. The only problem was that Rebecca's skin was a slightly different tone than his. It wasn't drastically different. Just enough to make blending somewhat difficult.
To be honest, there were very few traits that Dante shared with her. Rebecca was Italian, and Dante's father was some random Asian guy she met in a bar. She loved reminding him that he looked just like his father. Dante believed her, because he didn't look mixed at all. He looked straight up Asian. He didn't get Rebecca's strawberry hair, or her height, or her bone structure. The only noticeable trait they shared was their eye color.
Blue.
"Hey," Dante got Rebecca's attention as he walked hurriedly into the living room, stuffing books and papers and things into his backpack, "I'm gonna leave now. Make sure you're outa here by eight. Okay?"
Rebecca nodded then motioned to the plate of food in her lap. "This is tasty," she said.
Dante forced a smile. "Thanks."
---
Dante sat on the steps outside of his school, his backpack on the ground between his feet. He checked the time on an old pay-as-you-go phone, waiting for the usual crowd to assemble. Jo Jo was the first to arrive.
"Yo, D! You got the goods!?"
"Shut-up, Jo Jo! You know I do!" Dante grinned as Jo Jo sat down on the steps next to him.
"Hey, man, I'm just messin' with you," Jo Jo said, "but seriously, you got me covered?"
"Yeah, yeah." Dante opened his backpack and pulled out three sheets of notebook paper filled with equations. "You got what I want?" Jo Jo pulled a pack of American Spirit cigarettes out of his pocket and tossed them into Dante's open backpack.
"Thank you, sir," the older boy said when Dante handed over his bought homework, "you got expensive taste, man."
"Well, I figure if I'm gonna kill myself slowly, I might as well do it with class."
Jo Jo laughed out loud, "ain't nuthin' classy 'bout you, man! Shut yo' ass up!"
Shortly, another kid approached Dante and they exchanged homework. Several pages of math for a history paper. "Hey," the boy said, "You know the exam is today, right?"
"Ah, shit!" Dante scratched his head. "Any chance you can get the answers for me?"
"Not before class."
"Fuck. Alright. Get them to me tomorrow morning?" The kid nodded, and Dante looked over at Jo Jo. "You wanna skip today?"
"You know I do, man!"
Dante waited around for the rest of his crew to show up, finishing up his homework trades in the meantime. He was a wiz at math, not so much at anything that involved writing. He found reading difficult, and writing was beyond infuriating. Letters were confusing, his handwriting sucked, and Dante couldn't spell to save his life. He learned early on that he could trade math homework for just about anything.
Spike, Quin, and Theo arrived together, horsing around and looking like a regular bunch of thugs. Dante stood up on the steps when he saw them and shouted, "Hey, ass-holes! What took you so long?! We got shit to do!"
"What?! What shit!? Nobody told me 'bout no shit we gotta do!" Theo shouted back, his arms outstretched and his chest puffed.
Dante mirrored his posture. "Bitch, I don't have to give you no advance warning! The hell do you think this is!? A democracy? We do what I say!"
Dante laughed loudly and glanced over his shoulder at another group of boys who were lingering outside. They were leering at him. Dante glared. Jo Jo glanced back as well, having noticed Dante's sudden change in demeanor.
"Fuckin' bangers," Dante whispered, "looks like they're trollin' for a fight. Lets go--"
"Hey! The fuck are you jack-asses lookin' at!?"
Dante's eyes flashed and his head whipped around to stare daggers at his crew. "Quin! Shut the fuck up!" He and Jo Jo ran down the steps to meet them, and Dante reached up to grab Quin by the hair. He pulled the other boy's head down so he could hiss in his ear. "Those guys are in a gang! Are you trying to get us fucking killed?" He let go of Quin's head and glanced back up at the boys who'd been eyeing them. They were pacing around, staring down at Dante and his crew.
"We gotta go. We're ditching, today," Dante said, lighting a cigarette and leading his crew away from the school.
"What, you're afraid of a couple a' gang bangers?" Quin taunted, grumpy from being manhandled.
"Oh yeah, Quin," Dante scoffed, "I'm a puss because I don't wanna get stabbed today. Right. No, we're ditching because I have a history exam."
"Man, why do you care about your grades so much?" Quin asked.
"Because," Dante blew smoke in Quin's face, "I don't wanna give them an excuse to meet Rebecca."
"Why do you do that?" Spike leaned forward to look at Dante around Quin's shoulder.
"Do what?"
"Call your mom by her name. It's seriously weird, dude."
Dante sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you high? We've been over this before."
"Hey, I think he was high that time too," Jo Jo laughed.
Dante snorted. "She doesn't act like my mother, so I'm not gonna' call her that." He angrily flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. "Hey, someone buy me a bagel. I'm fuckin' starving."
The boys stood outside of a small bakery, bagels in hand. Spike was smoking a joint. "Ok, here's the plan," Dante said, "we're goin' hunting in Midtown. Spike, please tell me you're sober enough to handle Time Square." He reached over and plucked the joint from spikes fingers, taking a long drag before giving it back. "I'm not hunting your ass down again."
"I'm good. I'm good. That was a one time thing, man. It was bad shrooms, I swear!"
Dante laughed, and proceeded to mock Spike. "Bitch calls me, 'oh my god, D, I'm lost! I don't know what's goin' on! Where the fuck am I!?' Mother fucker was standing right in front of fucking St. Patric's Cathedral. Could not figure out where he was!" The boys howled.
"Hey, man! I was straight up trippin'!" Spike defended himself. "Trippin' hard core, man! That was some scary shit, dude!"
"So nobody's getting lost in Time Square today?" Dante confirmed, still laughing.
"No sir! I'm good."
"Alright." Dante grinned. "Lets get the fuck outa' Brooklyn."
---
The crew stepped off the subway. Dante already had a couple wallets stashed in his backpack, as well as a few cell phones and an mp3 player. The busy subway station was perfect for pickpocketing, and significantly less risky than doing it on the train like they had just moments ago. If someone caught you picking pockets on the train, there was nowhere to run.
Dante made eye contact with Jo Jo, then lifted his hand and tugged on his right ear. Jo Jo nodded and passed the signal on to the rest of the crew. Dante was the watch dog, and the holder of the goods. The signal was straightforward: Right side open.
Dante lingered by the tracks like he was was waiting for another train, backpack hanging off his right shoulder, zipper slightly open. He slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and kept one eye on his crew, the other on station security. One by one they brushed past him, slipping stolen items into his bag.
Rule number one was "don't stay too long." Especially in the subway station. Security would notice if you just hung around. Make one sweep and move on. Spike brushed past him and headed for the exit. Casually, Dante checked his phone, then followed after his crew. He lit a cigarette as he left the station, and bumped into a business man on his way up the stairs.
"Hey! Watch it!" Dante shouted, pocketing the man's wallet.
At the top of the stairs Dante grabbed the railing to steady himself. He felt dizzy suddenly. His vision fuzzed, and he tried to blink through it. To focus. But his mind wanted to wander. He felt like he'd just taken a killer hit from Spike's bong, and his mind raced ahead of him so fast that he couldn't keep up.
It only lasted for a few seconds. He hadn't realized that he couldn't hear the city until the sound came flooding back to him.
"D! Yo, D!"
Dante raised his head and looked around. His crew had gathered around him, and they looked nervous. "What?"
"You okay, bro?" Jo Jo asked, his brow knit. "You need some coffee, or like a burger or somethin'? You ain't been eatin' again. I can tell."
Dante scowled. "I just ate, man. You fuckin' watched me do it!"
"Yeah? What'd you eat yesterday?"
"I.. I don't remember. Toast? Look, I'm fine! Can we just get to work!?" It wasn't really a question. Dante was prone to punching his friends in the face if they didn't do what he wanted. Especially when he seemed groggy and confused. Jo Jo raised his hands in defeat and took a step back.
"Hey, whatever you say, man," he muttered, "you're the boss."
Dante pushed past his crew and headed down the sidewalk toward their usual haunt. He took about five steps and stopped. Staring. Unblinking. He felt like he was remembering something that hadn't quite happened yet. His mind kept trying to process that weird fog he'd just experienced, like the answer was in there somewhere. Suddenly he turned around and walked the other direction. "Not that way," he mumbled.
"What? D, where you goin'?" Quin asked, and the crew echoed his concern.
"Not that way!" Dante repeated, shooting an angry glare over his shoulder.
"But, D--"
"Don't fuckin' argue with me!!" Dante shouted, stopping and turning around. "Bad shit is that way!" He pointed in the direction they usually went. The direction he was leading them away from. "Don't ask how I know! I just do, aight!?" Dante's crew just stared at him. "Look, if you don't trust me, y'all bitches can just fuck off!" His eyes shifted past his crew to the street corner behind them.
A police car rolled through the intersection, heading in the direction that Dante didn't want to go. "See!?" Dante snapped his fingers and pointed. "Fuckin' NYPD cruisin' 'round down there!" The crew all turned around to look. "Fuckin' question my judgment," Dante muttered, turning. "Well, c'mon! Still got shit to do."
---
There was a pretty good haul today. The boys hocked their goods at a seedy pawn shop, and used some of their cash to pay an older man to buy them booze. They hid behind some bushes in Central Park and waited out the rest of the school day, getting drunk.
"So," Jo Jo said with a sigh, passing the bottle to Dante, "Hanna broke up with me. Apparently her dad doesn't like me."
Dante snorted and cracked a devious smile. "It's because you're black, isn't it?"
Jo Jo laughed, "no, man! Didn't you know? We got a black president now! racism is over."
Dante rolled his eyes. "Right, I totally forgot."
"Really though, it's because I'm seventeen."
"How old was she?" Dante raised an eyebrow.
"Fifteen."
Dante scoffed. "Really? He flipped over that? Well.. She's a bitch anyway."
"Hey, man, don't say shit like that! I liked her!" Jo Jo exclaimed.
"D," Theo laughed, "you think everyone's a bitch."
"Well, clearly she didn't like you that much, Jo, or she wouldn't let daddy make that decision for her!" Dante lifted the bottle to his lips.
"Wow, D. Could you be more of a dick about it?" Jo Jo said.
"Probably," Dante laughed, "she dressed like a slut. She was dumber than a box of fuckin' rocks. She sounded like a moron every time she opened her mouth, and frankly you could do a lot better."
Jo Jo gave Dante a look.
"Yo, dude," Spike said, "I think that was a rhetorical question, not an invitation."
"Woops." Dante was still laughing.
"Hey, man, divi up the cash!" Quin said suddenly, reaching over to grab the bottle from Dante's hand.
"Hey, piss off!" Dante pulled the bottle out of Quin's reach and lifted it to his lips again.
"C'mon, D! Divi it up before you're wasted!"
"I can count drunk!" Dante shouted, "too late anyway. Ha!"
Dante was a lightweight. He was barely 5'1, and somewhere around 90lbs the last time he checked (which honestly was a while ago). It didn't take very much to get him hosed, especially since he wasn't eating much these days.
Jo Jo took the bottle from Dante, still looking a bit miffed. "C'mon, D. He ain't gonna stop till he gets his money. Just do it."
"Aight, aight," Dante muttered, pulling a stack of bills out of his backpack. He counted it with surprising speed, then divided the number in his head and started counting out everyone's cut. Shamelessly, his own cut was significantly larger than the rest of his crew.
"Hey, man!" Quin started, and Dante glared at him. "Why d'you always get the biggest cut!?"
"'Cause I'm about t' get evicted from my fuckin' apartment, you greedy bastard! That's why!" Dante yelled, "anyone else about t' be sleepin' on the streets?" He paused for half a second. "Well!?"
"No," the boys looked down and mumbled their answers.
"I didn't fuckin' think so! Now shut your dumb ass up." Dante huffed and laid back on the grass, looking up at the sky. "I hate this place. Y'all bitches can go t' hell." Dante crawled to his feet and walked away. He didn't go far. Just to the other side of the bushes they were drinking behind.
"The hell's his problem?" He heard Quin say.
"Hey, lay off. Things'r rough," Jo Jo said.
"He acts like we don't have shit to deal with," Theo chimed in, "I gotta' buy shoes for my little sister with this. It ain't like we're rolling in it over here!"
"Yeah, and that little fucker punched me in the jaw last week!" Spike was getting in on it too, "I didn't even do nothin', he was just pissed. Tired of bein' his punching bag, man."
"Guys, c'mon," Jo Jo's voice again, "you know what he deals with at home--"
"Everyone's parents knock them around!"
"Spike, that's not true," Jo Jo said, "my parents've never laid a hand on me. Y'all's parents are fucked up. Think whatever you want. I'mma go find him."
Jo Jo came around the bush and looked down at Dante. Dante was crouched down to the ground, scowling at the grass, tearing layers of skin off his fingertips with his teeth. Intently. Jo Jo had Dante's backpack in hand, and he knelt down to talk. "I knew you didn't go far," Jo Jo said quietly, "you like to eavesdrop."
"Yeah."
"You wanna' go home?"
"Yeah."
---
Dante lingered outside of his apartment building, smoking a cigarette with Jo Jo. He'd been silent the whole time. Brooding.
"So," Dante spoke finally, "you think you know what I deal with at home?"
"I know that there's makeup on your face right now because she hit you again."
Dante looked sideways at Jo Jo, his head down, cigarette hand hovering close to his lips. "It's worse than that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's really bad, Jo. It's..." Dante trailed off and abruptly dropped his cigarette. "Never mind. I'm drunk. Forget it. The fuck are my keys?" Dante shoved his hands into his pockets, found his keys, and immediately dropped them. "Shit!"
Jo Jo picked them up and unlocked the door. "Chill out, man," he said, holding the door open and handing Dante his keys. "Try to relax a little before she gets home, aight?"
Dante nodded, and disappeared inside.
He opened the door of his apartment and immediately bristled. Something was off. Suddenly he didn't feel so drunk. He smelled cigarette smoke, and he could see Rebecca's shoes strewn across the floor. After a second he heard a sound. She was crying.
Quietly, he set his backpack down by the door and checked his pocket to make sure he had his knife. Then, Dante went warily to the living room. "Rebecca?" He said cautiously, "what happened? Why are you home so early?" Dante stood stiffly in the doorway, dreading her answer.
"Dante." She was sitting on the floor. A bottle of vodka laid on its side in front of her. Half empty. She looked up at Dante with wet, swollen eyes. "I got laid off!"
Dante's heart sank, and a wave of anxiety crashed over him. He felt too warm. Blindsided. Why did everything always go wrong? This was just too much. He was already shoplifting things like dish soap, and shampoo. He regularly stole toilet paper from school. Some weeks they lived on bread and cheese, and sometimes that cheese was stolen. They ate shitty processed food that made him feel sick and bloated. They didn't even have anything of value to sell at this point. The only thing they had going for them was the roof over their head, and they were about to lose that too. Why did all of the things he needed to live cost money?
He sighed and leaned against the door frame, pinching the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers. He was trying not to panic. They couldn't afford this. "Did you get laid off, or did they fire you? Because there's a difference!"
"I got laid off!" She cried, shooting him an offended glare. "I don't know what we're gonna do! We don't have food! Or rent! We're gonna' get kicked out! WE'RE GOING TO BE OUT ON THE STREETS! DANTE, WE'RE GONNA BE FUCKING HOMELESS!! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, DANTE! WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO!!?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Dante screamed at her. "How the FUCK am I supposed to know!? I'M FOURTEEN, DAMMIT! THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO!?"
"I don't know! I don't know! I DON'T KNOW!! But we HAVE to do something!!"
"SO STOP YELLING AT ME!! You're not HELPING!" Dante pressed his hands to his head, trying to think. Trying to stop shaking.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Rebecca snapped at him, getting unsteadily to her feet, "you're right! I shouldn't be so upset! I'll just go find another job! Oh wait, I forgot-- THERE AREN'T ANY!"
"So why don't you put on that slutty dress of yours and go stand on the fucking street corner!?" Dante regretted those words even as they were leaving his lips. He started to back away, but Rebecca was too fast.
With two long strides she was on him and she grabbed Dante by the throat. "What did you just say to me?!" Rebecca snarled and shoved him against the door frame. Dante couldn't have answered if he wanted to. He could barely breathe. Rebecca squeezed. "You're a disgusting child! You know that?! Saying things like that about your mother!"
She let go of him and turned away sharply. Dante coughed, and fell to his knees. He watched Rebecca's feet, pacing back and forth across the living room floor. "Bitch, don't call yourself my mother," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?!" Rebecca stopped pacing to glare down at him.
Dante jumped to his feet, pulling his switchblade from his pocket and pointing it at her. "Don't call yourself my mother!! And don't fucking touch me!"
"You won't cut me," Rebecca taunted him, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him.
"You wanna test that theory?" Dante cocked an eyebrow.
They locked eyes. Frozen in standoff. After a minute Rebecca threw up her arms. "What are we doing?! We can't be doing this right now! We have a serious problem, Dante!" She put her hands on her head and sank to her knees. Sobbing again. "They're gonna throw us out! We're gonna starve in the streets! I don't know what to do! I can't do this! I CAN'T DO THIS!"
Dante slowly lowered his knife and slipped it into his pocket. He watched her for a moment, then sighed. He covered his face with his hand and shut his eyes. Breathing. Thinking. Rebecca continued screaming and rambling about how they were going to die horribly.
"Rebecca," he said finally. He couldn't listen to her scream any more. "Rebecca," he knelt down, "it's gonna be okay--"
"It's NOT going to be okay, Dante! We have no money, and YOU think I'm a terrible mother!"
"Shh-shh. We- we'll figure something out. We always figure something out." Dante placed a hand on her shoulder, deciding not to address the 'terrible mother' thing. Because she really was, and Dante didn't have anything nice to say about it. "Remember the last time we lost our apartment? Jo Jo's family let us stay with them, and everything was fine. Okay? Look at me." Dante put his hand on her face and lifted her chin. "Hey.. I have friends, and at least one of them still likes me. We're not going to sleep on the streets. Okay?"
Rebecca sniffed, then lurched forward and wrapped her arms around him. She cried into his shoulder. "You really think so?"
"Yeah," Dante said.
"We're really going to be okay?"
"Yeah."
"And you still love me?"
"...Yeah." Dante felt sick. That was a lie. He didn't hate her, but he couldn't truthfully say that he loved her. It was complicated. His relationship with her was filled with excuses and justifications. She's under a lot of stress. She's unstable. She needs medication. It's not her fault. Being this close to her always made him nervous. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was shallow. He was more afraid of her than anything. Rebecca gathered him into her lap and clung to him. Dante tried to breathe deep.
He was waiting. Dreading. Maybe he could get away before she did anything. Maybe he could detach himself before the thought crossed her mind. Rebecca pressed her face into his neck, and his stomach turned.
"Dante," she said his name. "I love you so much." She pressed her lips against his skin. Dante swallowed. Closed his eyes. Don't cry. He felt her tongue on his neck. Her hand on his chest. Teeth on his ear.
"Rebecca, don't," he gasped, and held his breath. He couldn't do this. Not again. Not right now. Rebecca ignored him. Her hand was under his shirt. "I'm serious. [/i]Don't![/i]" He pulled away from her and tried to reach for his knife.
He was starting to feel dizzy again.
Rebecca grabbed his wrist and squeezed. Dante's vision was starting to haze over. He recognized this. This had happened earlier. He tried to blink through it. To stay present. Rebecca was saying something he couldn't hear. Her voice was so far away.
She sounded angry though. Dante's head was spinning. He needed to get his knife, but everything was spinning. Falling. Rebecca was moving. Standing. Still holding onto his wrist. Twisting his arm. Shouting. Fear coursed through him along with pain.
"Rebecca! Don't!" He pleaded, his own voice sounding muffled in his ears. "Please, Rebecca! Stop! You're hurting me!" She said something back, but he couldn't understand her words. Everything was coming through a fog. He blinked rapidly, trying desperately to clear the haze from his eyes.
His arm hurt. She was going to break it. He knew. He could see everything now. Dizziness turned into clarity. Startling, terrifying clarity. He could see all of the paths. All of the choices. The universe expanded before him, and he was afraid.
It came like a rush. Every possibility was laid out before him like a map. If he stayed with her. If he murdered her in her sleep. If he called the police. If he set fire to their apartment... Most of the paths lead to bad places. Places he dreaded ending up in. His life was going to fall apart. Things could only get worse from here.
Unless he left. Unless he ran away from here. He had to get out. Had to get away from her. Disentangle his life from hers. Remove himself from the mess in her corner of the map. She would drag him down. Nothing good would happen if he stayed. He couldn't help her. Couldn't fix her. If anything, he was just enabling her. He had to accept that, and just--
"AAAAAAHH!" Dante screamed as his bones cracked. Tears sprang to his eyes. Pain coursed through him. His arm felt like it was on fire. He was jerked harshly away from his visions, and everything was too bright and too loud. Rebecca was screaming.
"Oh my god! Look what you made me do! Why do you have to push me away!? I've given EVERYTHING for you! This is all YOUR FAULT, Dante! I shouldn't have kept you! Your USELESS!!"
Dante cradled his broken arm against his chest and glared up at her. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was trying desperately to hold onto what he saw. The clarity of his vision. It was fading fast, like a dream. Already, he couldn't remember most of it. There had been so many paths. They were all a blur.
He knew one thing: he had to leave. Tonight.
Rebecca's angry words washed over him, and he cringed against her shouting. She kicked him several times while she ranted, punctuating her disappointment. Then finally, after what felt like hours, she ran out of things to scream at him, and he glanced up at her. She looked disgusted.
"Stop crying," she spat, wrinkling her nose, "boys don't cry."
He watched her bare feet as she walked away, and flinched when she slammed her bedroom door. Slowly, Dante stood and shuffled into the bathroom.
He crawled into the bathtub and curled himself into a ball. Gasping for breath and pressing his face against the hard porcelain, Dante cried. His arm throbbed. I should have just gone along with it. He'd done it before. Many times. He'd never tried to say "no" before, and he wasn't sure the broken arm was worth it. I really need to go to a hospital. He sat up, trembling. Whimpering. With a clumsy hand Dante pulled his phone from his pocket.
"Williams residence, Kayla speaking."
"Hey, Mrs. Williams," Dante said, his voice shaking, "It's Dante. Is Jo Jo around?"
"...Yes. Honey, what's wrong?"
"I--" Dante held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Stop crying! "It's complicated," he said.
"Don't give me that. You lived under my roof for five months. You're family, whether you like it or not. What happened?"
"Can I come over?" He asked, struggling for coherence through the biting pain.
"Of course! Just be safe, okay?"
"Always," Dante grunted, standing up. "I'll be there soon."
---
Dante had slipped out of the apartment unnoticed, but hadn't managed to bring anything with him aside from what was already in his pockets. The evening was cooling off, and he shivered, wishing he'd grabbed a sweater. Dante kept his head down as he walked the twelve blocks between his apartment and Jo Jo's. It was the longest twelve blocks he'd ever walked.
Finally he was being buzzed into Jo Jo's building and climbing the stairs to his apartment. He knocked on the door, and was met almost immediately by Mrs. Williams.
"Good Lord, honey, what happened to you?" She reached out to him, and Dante flinched away. He took a step back, holding his arm against his chest. "Oh my god-- Jo Jo!" Mrs. Williams called over her shoulder. Jo Jo came running. "Take this boy to your room and figure out what happened. He looks terrified." Mrs. Williams cleared out of the doorway, and Jo Jo extended his hand toward Dante.
"C'mon," he said. Dante looked at his hand warily, and quickly slipped into the apartment without touching him. He headed straight to Jo Jo's bedroom and laid down in his bed. "Dante," Jo Jo said, closing the door behind them, "what--"
"My arm's broken," Dante said, staring at the wall. Unblinking. "She broke my arm." He squeezed his eyes shut. "She broke my fucking arm!"
"Dante.." Jo Jo sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Dante's shoulder. "I--"
"Don't touch me!"
Jo Jo pulled back and stood up. He lingered for a brief moment, then Dante heard him leave the room. He could hear the family talking in hushed, worried tones.
This is the right thing to do. I can't go back. Don't go back. No matter what, don't go back! Dante pressed his face into the mattress, sobbing again. His head was starting to ache.
He heard the bedroom door open again, and he held his breath, trying hard to stop crying. "Son?" Mr. William's voice. Dante opened his eyes. "We're going to take you to the hospital."
---
The trip to the hospital was a blur of light and sound. The headache was starting to outweigh the pain in his arm. He couldn't think. Mr. Williams stayed with him and handled the paperwork, telling him over and over again not to worry about the bill. They would take care of it. Dante knew they couldn't afford it, but he couldn't see any other options.
It was late when they returned with Dante's left arm in a cast. Jo Jo gave Dante his bed for the night, not wanting to make him sleep on the couch. Dante accepted the offer without saying much. He was tired and drained, and he went to bed without eating anything.
The next morning felt strange. Everything was changing, and Dante didn't know what to do. Everything seemed uncertain. He was anxious.
He and Jo Jo sat across from each other at the kitchen table, eating Cheerios and milk. Well, Jo Jo was eating. Dante was mostly playing with his, stirring them around the bowl, thinking.
"I have to go to Vermont," Dante said finally, not sure where that idea came from.
Jo Jo stared at him. "Vermont? What's in Vermont?"
"I don't know." Dante shook his head and stirred the bowl of cereal in front of him.
"Dante," Jo Jo protested, "You can't just go to Vermont! How're you gonna get there!?"
Dante shrugged. "Hitchhike?"
"Oh, that makes me feel better. For a second I thought you were gonna say somethin' crazy like, 'get into a car with a total fucking stranger!' D, do you hear the words comin' out your mouth?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but I have to go!" Dante dropped his spoon into his bowl and looked across the table at Jo Jo. "There's something there. I just know it, okay?"
Jo Jo shook his head. "You're insane."
"Insane or not, I gotta do it. I can't stay here. I'm not going back home, and I'm not gonna gamble with the foster system."
"So what? You just gonna hope that nobody finds you?"
"Gonna' hope the right people find me." Dante got up from the table and set his half-empty bowl of cereal on the counter.
"Mom!" Jo Jo called through the apartment, "Dante thinks he's gonna hitchhike to Vermont!"
"He said what!?" Mrs. Williams called back.
Dante sighed. "Man, why you gotta drag your mom into this?" He muttered.
"Dante, what're you talking about, goin' to Vermont?" Mrs. Williams joined them in the kitchen and fixed Dante with a look.
"I'm going to Vermont," Dante said again with a shrug, "I don't know what else you want me to say about it. I'm going. Consider me gone."
"Honey, you can't just hitchhike--"
"Why not? Are you gonna stop me? 'Cause I gotta say," Dante laughed, "you might not wanna do that."
"Did you just threaten my mama?" Jo Jo looked at Dante incredulously.
"What if I did!?"
"I'll smack you upside your dumb head, that's what! Now stop talkin' crazy!"
"Boys, don't fight," Mrs. Williams said, stepping between them. "Now, Dante.. Why do you think you need to go to Vermont?"
"I don't know! I just do! There's something there, I can feel it!" Dante stormed out of the kitchen.
"Well, when are you leaving?" Jo Jo followed after him.
"Like right now," Dante answered, sitting down on the floor to pull on his shoes.
"Right now!? What about Spike, and Theo, and Quin?"
"They're dicks, and they hate my guts. What about 'em?" Dante glanced up at Jo Jo.
"Well you can't just run away without saying anything to them," Jo Jo insisted.
"You can tell them what happened. I'm out."
---
Mrs. Williams insisted on paying to put Dante on a train. He thanked her, managing to be nice for once. Sitting for ten hours on a train to get to Vermont was a significantly better option than hitchhiking.
She also insisted on sending him off with a backpack full of stuff. He had some of Jo Jo's old cloths, which were all way to big for him. He had a toothbrush and a bunch of other hygiene-related items. Snacks. Books (which he didn't bother telling her he wouldn't, couldn't read). A twenty dollar bill, and five dollars in change. A slip of paper with various phone numbers on it in case something happened to his phone. And Jo Jo slipped an extra pack of cigarettes in while his mother wasn't watching.
Dante was hiding in the closet-sized bathroom of the moving train. He stared at his phone, biting his lip. If he called Jo Jo's cell right now he'd be sent to voicemail. Jo Jo was almost certainly in class. Dante's phone was dying, and he'd left the charger in his apartment. So if he was going to do it, it had to be now.
Dante sucked in a breath and pressed the button, bringing the phone to his ear and holding his breath. Voicemail. Just like he thought.
"Jo Jo, it's Dante. I have to tell you something, and my phone's dying so you can't call me back. Just listen.. I really like you. Like, more than I probably should. Like.. I might be a little gay. Actually, girls freak me out, so.. defiantly, really gay. I just.. I figure I'm never gonna' see you again so it's okay to tell you now. I'm really sorry what I said about Hanna. She's not stupid, I just can't stand the sound of her voice. I was being a dick, and I'm sorry, and you're like the best friend ever for putting up with my bullshit. I treat you like crap and I'm a shitty person, and I'm really, really, really gonna miss you."
Dante ended the call and pulled his knife from his pocket. He opened it, hands shaking, and looked at it intently for a while. Then the train lurched, and he closed it again. "No, Dante," he said to himself, "that's stupid. You're gonna seriously hurt yourself. You're smarter than that. Just wait." He closed his eyes and tried to breathe.
Many hours later, Dante hopped off the train in Burlington. Mrs. Williams had asked him to call when he got there, and the thought suddenly filled him with dread. What if Jo Jo answered the phone? Dammit, forethought wasn't one of his strong points.
He found a pay phone in the station, hesitated, then took a deep breath and called.
"Williams residence, Kayla speaking."
"Hey," he said, "it's Dante. I'm not dead or anything."
"Oh, Dante! How was the trip."
"Long and boring."
Dante heard Jo Jo's voice in the background. "Is that D? Gimme the phone!"
Panic washed over him. "Hey, nice talking to ya'. Gotta go. Bye!" He hung up quickly. Heart racing. Trembling. He took several deep breaths and left the station in a blur of adrenalin.
"Right," he muttered, walking down a random street, "I'm here, Universe. Now what do I do?"
Dante lived on the streets for a couple weeks. He stretched the money he had for as long as he could, eating only once a day from the dollar menu at McDonald's. By the end of week two he was almost out of cash and getting seriously sick of burgers.
He'd had a vision in that time, and though he couldn't remember the details anymore, he remembered a face. That was starting to fade too, and he hoped he would still recognize it when he saw it. It was hard to think on shitty sleep, one cheap burger a day, and no coffee. He was about out of cigarettes too. It'd be time to start picking pockets again soon if he couldn't find a way off the streets.
---
Dante sat on a bench by a bus station, watching the people who passed by. His stomach growled, but the thought of eating another McDonald's burger made him want to throw-up. Maybe now was the time to start pickpocketing again. Ten bucks could get him something with a real vegetable in it (he didn't count half wilted lettuce as a vegetable).
He stood up, steadied himself, and shouldered his backpack. His head was spinning all the time now. Not enough food. Not enough water. Not enough sleep. He had a whole new respect for the homeless. His life had been crap before, but at least he'd had more than one tasteless burger a day. At least he'd been able to sleep inside.
Oh, man.. I should call them again and let them know I'm still alive. Dante furrowed his brow at the thought. It was the middle of the day though, so Jo Jo should be at school. He could just call their home with the change he had left and leave a message.
Dante found a pay phone and called. "Hey," he said when the answering machine picked up, "It's Dante, I--"
"Dante!"
"Shit! Jo Jo!? The hell are you doing home?" Dante panicked, his heart pounding.
"Last day of school was yesterday, man!"
"Fuck! Really!?"
"Dude, what the hell!? You leave me that message, and then don't let me talk to you!? The hell is your damage?"
"Is that a serious question!?"
"Look, D, I don't care. I kinda knew anyway, I mean.. it's really obvious that you hate women, so.."
"Shit. Shit. Shit!" Dante pinched the bridge of his nose and bounced on the balls of his feet. "I didn't want to have this conversation with you right now!"
"Dude, I'm telling you I'm fine with it! Chillax a little! You can't just tell me something like that and expect to never talk to me again! You're insane if you thought I would just shrug that shit off!"
"Okay! I get it! Jesus!"
"Hey, forget about that for a minute. How are you? What are you doing?"
"I'm.. alright," Dante said, his tone softer now. "I'm basically just.. waiting around I guess. Pretty much out of money, but y'know I know how to get mo--" Dante glanced up as a man walked past, and something twitched in his brain. "Hey you!!" He shouted, and the man glanced over his shoulder. Dante gasped. "Hey, Jo," he said into the phone again, "I gotta go. I'll explain later!" He hung up the phone and ran after the man he'd just seen.
That was the face! He knew it. He could feel it. That was the guy! "Hey, wait! Wait!" Dante caught up with him and touched his arm. The man spun around, and Dante stepped back with his hands in the air. "Hey, just.. Just listen t' me for a sec. I'm not gonna do nothin to ya. It's just.. I've seen your face before, and I think you can help me!"
Dante explained the visions he'd been having, trying not to come off like a crazy person. As it turned out, the guy was from some place called Hammel. Something about.. Meta something or other.. Dante was really hungry, and frankly he was starting to fade a bit. The important part was that this guy was going to take him to this Hammel place. Granted, Dante didn't know exactly what that was.. probably because his ability to pay attention was severely lacking at the moment. But he was getting used to just following where the Universe led him.
Hammel was, undoubtedly, the best place for Dante to be. He had a bed. His own room. Three meals a day. It completely made up for the year-round school thing (at which Dante had rolled his eyes, but only because it meant he would have to get new homework systems into place much faster than he'd like). Nonetheless, it was a safe place.
However, Dante seemed to grow angrier and more bitter as time went by. Living at Hammel didn't inspire the grateful attitude that some other students seemed to experience. Instead of feeling gratitude for being plucked from his unfortunate life, he felt angry that others weren't so lucky. That it took being a freaky mutant to get a decent meal. It made him ill to watch people living in excess while there were millions living in poverty. There were people who couldn't feed their children. Couldn't put shoes on their feet. Struggling to survive in a world that told them it was their own damn fault for being poor. And he knew that he would eventually get used to the good life. Soon he wouldn't want to sacrifice his comforts. Soon he wouldn't even give the homeless man on the corner the change in his pocket. Soon he just wouldn't give a damn. He would just turn into one of those bastards on the street that he used to steal wallets from. Dante was selfish, after all.
Well, that's what he thought of himself anyway. His anger about the situation actually made it impossible for him to assimilate the way he assumed he would. He spent most of his time judging his classmates. Needless to say, Dante wasn't quick to make friends.
He seemed to be perpetually in trouble. He cursed too much. He was too quick to resort to violence. He talked back to his teachers. He got caught with things he shouldn't have. Within his first year at Hammel, he had at least five packs of cigarettes, a dime bag, and his switchblade confiscated. He got caught cheating on homework and tests more than a dozen times, and he was more familiar with the Hammel authority than he was really comfortable with.
By the time he was sixteen, Dante had settled down a bit. A bit. He was still angry as hell about everything, but he cursed less, anyway. He still couldn't stand his classmates, and mostly found them petty and insufferable. This still caused problems from time to time, since he seemed unable to hold his tongue. Depending on who he was verbally attacking, things sometimes escalated to physical violence.
Behavioral issues aside, Dante was at least trying to do his own homework now. It was harder to get away with cheating in a school where the teachers actually paid attention. He was getting help, though. Apparently he was dyslexic (a word which was ironically both hard for him to spell and say).
---
August 8, 2013
Dante shouldered his backpack and filed into the hallway with the other kids. His cell phone buzzed and he stopped, leaning against the wall, to pull it from his pocket.
"Jo Jo, what's up? I'm between classes, so make it quick."
"Dude, you're mom's on the news!"
"What!?"
"I'm looking at the local news, and there's your mom! She set fire to a liquor store!"
"She did what!?" Dante pressed a hand to his forehead. "Are you sure it's her?"
"Rebecca Russo, they just said it. I'm lookin' at her right now! They're takin' her in!"
Dante took a deep breath. "You know what? I gotta go to class. I still have nightmares about that bitch, and she can rot in jail for all I care!" Dante hung up and stormed down the hall to his next class.
He sat down heavily in the back of the classroom, not bothering to get out his books. He tapped his finger rapidly on his desktop and bounced his knee up and down. After a few seconds he got up again and left the classroom.
Dante all but ran outside and hid behind the building. He leaned against the wall and sank to the ground, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his backpack. His hands were shaking, and it took him a few tries to light his cigarette. For several moments he just sat quietly, smoking, staring. Then, halfway through his cigarette, he began to break.
A sob forced its way through and tears sprang to his eyes. He hid his face behind his knees and tried to be quiet. It was his fault. It was always his fault. If he'd stayed.. If he'd taken care of her.. She wouldn't have snapped like that! If he hadn't abandoned her--
"Stop, stop, stop!" Dante unfolded himself and leaned back against the wall. He tilted his head back, dragging on his cigarette. "It's not your fault," he whispered, "not your fault." He tried to remember the vision he had the night he left. If not the details, then the overall feeling. Leaving was the right decision. It was! There's nothing he could have done about this. She would have snapped eventually regardless of what he did. He had to keep believing that.
Dante pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He didn't like thinking about Rebecca. His heart was racing. She made him feel gross. Dante tried to breathe. He had to calm down. Get back to class. Ignore the flashbacks. God, he felt sick.
He pushed himself away from the wall, curling into himself and pulling back the cuff of his sleeve. He held his cigarette just above his wrist and stopped. No. Not there, somebody would see it. Dante shifted and rolled up his pant leg. He held his breath and pressed the burning cigarette against the inside of his ankle. He clenched his jaw. Eyes wide. Watching.
Dante tossed the cigarette aside and just sat. Breathing. His mind stopped racing. No more flashing images. With a sigh, he covered his face with his hand. "God.. I thought I was done with this," he muttered. It'd been a long while since the last time he hurt himself. Been a long time since he felt guilty about leaving.
