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felix-loves-albert-and-ralb-blog · 5 years

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Losing My Mind Part Twelve: Albert

all previous chapters are tagged under “losing my mind” pairings: crack (jackcrutchie for all you nonbelievers), ralbert, spromeo, blush, newsbians, davey/happiness friendships: crutchie and albert, specs and albert and crutchie, albert and les, specs and crutchie, mush and henry, race and crutchie, specs and katherine warnings: all previous warnings, alcoholism, alcohol abuse, a glass bottle used as a weapon, drinking, racism, violence, blood, self-hatred, burns, abuse, swearing, homophobia, panic attacks, a bunch of other horrible shit, uh albert low-key hates himself, ableism, lots of characters have depression, and quite a few have anxiety editing: nope pov: albert

WARNING: THE F SLUR IS USED IN THIS CHAPTER. I STAR IT OUT TO CENSOR IT, BUT I AM WARNING YOU PRIOR TO READING.

(stuff in italics is flashback)

As soon as the door slams, I’m grabbed by one of the guards. He pushes me along the hallway behind Snyder, and whenever I slow down too much the guard smacks me on the back of my head. It seems almost like a game to him. We eventually arrive in front of Snyder’s office, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve been in this room only once, when I was 13 and had to sign the papers, but that was the only time. Jack was just in here, in a closet, and Race told me once about a time he snuck in to steal cigars. Snyder also usually has a boy bring him his supper in his office, but I’ve never been chosen for that unpleasant task. But now I’m sitting in the hard-backed chair, dreading the punishment that is sure to come.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” Snyder asks, leaning back in his desk chair, his hands steepled together like the roof of a church.

“Blah blah respect, blah blah f*g, blah blah blah.” I say, trying to sound bored.

“I brought you here because I’m pissed off and you’re expendable.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I can kill you and no one would care.”

“So you’re gonna kill me?”

"Get me a drink.”

“What?”

“Get me a drink, Pretty Boy, I’ll only ask once.” Snyder points to a glass cabinet along the side wall, the shelves filled with bottles.

I get up slowly and walk over to the cabinet. I turn the handle and carefully open the glass door, revealing the stockade of bottles.

“Hurry up!” Snyder snaps.

I look at the array of bottles, scanning the labels. They’re all high in alcohol content, and they all look expensive. I grab a shiny green bottle from the shelf and close the cabinet again. I bring it over to Snyder’s desk and place it on the hard wood.

Snyder grabs the bottle, tears off the top, and downs it.

I’ve seen people drink before. My mom used to drink a bottle a night before I left. I’ve seen people drink, but no one drinks like Snyder. He finishes the entire bottle at once and then throws the empty bottle at me.

I don’t duck away fast enough; the glass shatters against my forehead.

Blood and pain, my head feels like it’s on fire. Cold liquid dripping down my face, a mix of alcohol and blood. My vision is blurry, but I manage to lift a hand to my head. The gash stings painfully, and now my hand is bloody too.

I try not to scream, I really do, but Snyder is shouting again and it doesn’t help the pain in my head at all.

The scream burns my throat and blurs my vision. I lean against the nearest wall to steady myself, gasping for air. I feel like I might throw up.

“Get me another drink.” Snyder orders.

“Why?” I ask. I’m surprised I can even form the word at all.

“Because I asked you to, boy.” Snyder says harshly.

“Why me?” My voice is hoarse. “Why waste your time on me if you keep insisting on how useless I am?”

“You’re stupid too, apparently. Higgins seems to think you’re a nice pet, and the only way to get to Sullivan is through his friends. The cr*p is tougher than I thought, but Higgins’ll break easily. Need I make it more plain?”

I want to make a snarky comeback, but I can’t. What can I say?

I know his plan. He’s going to torture me to get to Race to get to Jack. Kind of indirect, if you ask me.

“Kinda indirect, if ya ask me.”

“Another drink, Pretty Boy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t call me that, Spider.”

“I’ll call you what I want, now shut up and get me another drink.”

“No.”

I know this isn’t going to end well. There’s no way it can end well.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

“Make me.”

Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to-

“Fine.” Snyder says tightly, opening a drawer in his desk. He makes a big show of pulling the wad of fabric out of the drawer and waving it in the air.

I back up across the room, I can’t help it.

I’m an idiot, I should’ve just shut up and grabbed another bottle.

My back slams against the door, and Snyder is still advancing on me, grinning. I pull on the handle, but to no avail. It’s locked as always.

“Please.” I choke out.

Snyder only smiles and presses my arms against the wood of the door. I try to push away, but he’s stronger and healthier.

I scream, but then realize my mistake.

Snyder shoves the gag into my open mouth and ties the fabric around the back of my head to secure it.

I scream through the rough fabric, I scream as loud as I can, but the sound is muffled and pathetic.

Snyder leans in close to me and whispers in my ear.

“Another drink.”

He’s already sitting back down behind his desk by the time I come to my senses enough to register his order.

So I do as he says.

I silently walk to the cabinet, select a bottle, and place it on the desk. I duck away when Snyder throws it, leaving it to slam against the far wall instead of against me. After downing his third bottle is when Snyder finally gives me a break.

“Sit.” He directs.

He doesn’t sound nearly as scary when he’s drunk, but I know he’s still dangerous.

“You’re a problem, ya know that?” He says, his words slurring together. “All you newsies are troublemakers. Need ta learn the rules.”

I look anywhere but his eyes. I can’t make eye contact, especially not while he’s talking about his rules.

“Ya need ta learn a lesson, all of ya. But I suppose for taday we can start with you.”

Seemingly endless hits, pain that never wants to end. I grow to hate the wood planking of the floor of Snyder’s office, it only adds more discomfort. The beating is the worst I’ve ever received in my life, I just want an end to the pain.

But an end seems to be the one thing I won’t get, because Snyder’s drunken mind seems to be fueled by my pain, thus creating an endless cycle.

It must be two in the morning when Snyder finally finishes with me. He drags me out of his office and into a relatively small room down the hallway.

The room is empty, except for a horizontal bar placed a few feet from the ground stretching across the back wall of the room.

Snyder takes me to the back wall, and then proceeds to not only cuff my wrists together, but secure them so my arms are looped around the bar.

After securing me, he just stares at me for a moment.

“Do you want me to ungag you?” He asks suddenly. His voice is nice, it’s strangely off putting. Should I trust him? No. Do I have a choice? Probably not.

I hesitate for a moment before nodding.

“Good. All you have ta do is say a few words. You can do that, can’t you?”

I nod again, only because I hate being silenced.

“Good.” Snyder loosens the gag, and it falls around my neck. “Now there’s five rules you gotta say. Can you repeat after me?”

I nod.

Snyder’s smile grows.

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“Fuck you.”

The gag is back in my mouth and my head wound feels like it’s on fire.

Oh, that’s because of Snyder’s knuckles, three of which don sharp rings, have made contact with the gash and are trying to split my head open.

“Shall we try again?” Snyder asks, examining his bloody fist.

He uses his left hand, the not bloody one, to loosen my gag yet again.

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“Go to hell.”

My screams fill the room as Snyder’s fist strikes my head wound again, I start to wonder if this is going to be a pattern.

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“I heard ya the first time.”

“I can do this all night, don’t test me.” Snyder growls, and I can feel the glass shards cutting even deeper into my flesh.

“Please…” I gasp, the pain overwhelming me.

“All of this can end if you simply recite the rules for me. Easy as that.”

Snyder’s hand retreats, and the pain subsides slightly.

I can’t give in, I can’t.

Giving in is giving up, and I can’t give up.

I can’t be obedient and well-mannered.

I’m Albert DaSilva, I’m loud and rude and I definitely don’t follow the rules.

I’m not useless, I’m not someone’s object, I’m not going to give up everything I believe in just because some asshole wants to torture me and my friends.

In the Refuge it’s easy to lose yourself, on the streets it’s easy to lose yourself, and I really can’t afford to lose myself.

I can’t.

I won’t.

“I ain’t playin’ your game.” I choke out.

“We’ll see what you have to say about that in the morning.” Snyder grunts, and the gag is once again shoved into my mouth and fastened in tightly. “Sleep tight.” Snyder says sarcastically, and then he’s gone.

I’m left alone in a locked room, gagged, arms held above me by tight metal handcuffs.

Alone.

It’s a strange word, alone.

Jack always said he could be alone but not lonely.

Sometimes I feel lonely when I’m not alone.

Well right now I’m alone, and I don’t know how to feel.

A lot of times my own thoughts can be too much to handle.

And my thoughts are what keep me from sleeping.

I spend the whole night staring at the door opposite me, letting all of my thoughts and worries and ideas swarm my brain.

I guess I fell asleep eventually though, because it’s the slam of the opening door that wakes me up, and I instinctively try to move my arms before remembering the events of the previous night.

“Lookie here, Morris, he’s awake!” A voice croons.

I blink my eyes a few times to clear my sleep blurred vision, and see none other than the Delancey brothers. Great.

“How’d ya sleep?” Morris asks tauntingly.

I’m gagged, can’t he see that?

“Looks like Red’s finally gonna get what he deserves.” Oscar says, stepping closer. He looks me over for a second, and for a second I think I can see a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

“Let ‘im breathe, Mo. I wanna be able ta hear ‘im scream.” Oscar says next, almost casually.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Oscar Delancey?

He’s a manipulative piece of shit, he’s always been.

When we first met, I was 9 and Oscar was 10. Morris was 9 too, but I never knew him as well as I knew Oscar.

Oscar always called himself the brains, he would do most of the talking. Morris was shy, and he still is. He doesn’t talk much, he uses his fists instead of his mouth. I know why, it was because of the shit hand that life dealt him, but I always can’t help but wonder.

What would’ve happened if the three of us had stayed friends?

What would’ve happened if I hadn’t become a newsie, hadn’t met Race?

Or what if they had said yes? What if they had become newsies with me, learned that they didn’t deserve all of the shit their uncle gave them?

But that’s not what happened.

I became a newsie.

I met Race.

Oscar and Morris took the jobs their uncle offered.

I grew closer together with Oscar, and then we grew apart.

I tried to reach out to Morris, and he found out my secret.

I lost my friends and I lost myself.

I got kicked out of my house and taken straight to the Refuge.

Things were never the same.

Things will never be the same.

Morris throws my gag on the floor with disgust, and I take a breath.

“Why’re ya doin’ this?” I ask.

“It pays.” Oscar says simply.

“It pays.” I roll my eyes. “Always about the goddamn money.”

“Enough talking, Red. Morris, I think he’s a bit too comfortable.”

A boot smashes into my ribs, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying out.

I don’t want to have to deal with this again.

I spent all of last night trying to deal with hits and kicks and insults, and now I have to wake up and deal with it all over again?

I tune out the brothers as they take turns punching me and throwing insults in my face.

Maybe if I pretend to be unconscious they’ll leave me alone?

Crutchie said it worked for him, why shouldn’t it work for me?

I let my body go limp and let my eyes fall shut. I try not to flinch as Morris’s brass knuckles graze the open wound on my head.

“He’s unconscious, Os.” I hear Morris say in his low tone. “The boss won’t know if we lay off him. I don’t wanna hit ‘im when he’s out.”

“Yeah, we’ll jus’ sit an’ play cards or somethin’ ‘til he wakes up again.” Oscar agrees.

I hear footsteps moving away, and I’m assuming the brothers have moved to a spot on the opposite side of the room.

So now I get to sit with my thoughts for a while. Yay.

“I don’t like that we’se doin’ this.” I hear Morris say. “It’s jus’ beatin’ on folks that’re already hurt. Folks who deserve it, but c’mon, Os. Look at ‘im. I hate his guts, but he ain’t even fightin’ back or nothin’.”

That’s probably the most I’ve ever heard Morris talk.

He’s never liked me, he never has, so he never talked to me as much as Oscar did when we were friends.

“I know, but it pays an’ we could use the money. ‘Sides, this is what he deserves, right? For what he did.” Oscar comments.

So Oscar is still living that lie.

What I did.

It wasn’t me.

It was Oscar’s fault.

The events play back in my head, clouding my worry filled mind.

“Red, I gotta tell ya a secret.” Oscar whispers.

“Ya can tell me anythin’, Os. We’se best friends.” I whisper back. “I won’t tell no one, I promise.”

“Okay.”

A breeze passes over us, and I look over side of the roof while Oscar composed himself. I can see people bustling around the sidewalk, and carriages trotting by below.

“I’se a f*g.” Oscar says quickly. “Ya can’t tell Morris, ya can’t tell my uncle, an’ ya can’t tell Higgins.”

“I ain’t gonna tell!” I insist. “But… why’d ya tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know who else ta tell. Ya can’t hate me, please. I know I’se wrong, an’ I didn’t wanna be this way, but it jus’ happened. I feel gross, but I still wanna be best friends. It don’t matter that you’se normal an’ I’se not, right? I mean, I get if ya hate me-”

“I don’t hate ya, Os.”

“Really, Red?”

“Of course not.”

Should I tell him?

No, I shouldn’t.

I’ll tell him later, right now it’s his time.

If I had told him then things would’ve turned out very different.

Or would they have?

Wouldn’t the same thing have happened, just sooner?

I didn’t feel the same as he did about me, I only understood how he felt.

I know that doesn’t make sense, but it does.

Although it didn’t matter whether or not I told him then because it happened a few weeks after, we were in an alley, smoking and talking.

“Os, what’re you-”

I’m cut off by his lips on mine, and I’m too shocked to pull away.

What is he doing?

“DaSilva!”

I wrench myself away from Oscar, but the damage has been done.

There’s Morris, standing at the front of the alley, eyes alight with anger.

“What the hell, Red! You’se a f*g!” Oscar shouts, and I want to protest, but Morris is charging towards me, his fists clenched, and I’m suddenly on the floor.

What happened?

Oscar tried to kiss me, it’s a misunderstanding!

But I can’t very well say that when my mouth is full of blood.

My mom found out about it the next day. I got kicked out.

The day after that Race got taken to the Refuge.

And then I got sent there too.

And Snyder seemed to know, how did he know?

Race got out before me, Jack broke him out before Snyder hurt him really bad.

But it took longer for Jack to get me out.

I was there for weeks, subject to beatings and slurs and the curse of loneliness.

Things were never the same.

I knew what society saw me as, still sees me as.

I learned my place.

I know my place but I refuse to stay in it.

I refuse to give in.

The strike is about standing up and fighting, and that is exactly what I intend to do.

“You’re fuckin’ assholes, both of ya.” I shout across the room.

“Oh, so you is awake!” Oscar exclaims gleefully.

“Os-”

“Mo, he’s gettin’ what he deserves.”

“He ain’t even fightin’ or nothin’! He’s jus’ sittin’ there.” Morris says, crossing his arms.

Now this is a situation I never thought I’d see. Morris Delancey avoiding a fight? This is a perfect opportunity for me to open my big mouth again and fuck things up!

“Aw, is little Morris afraid of a scary f*g like me?” I ask tauntingly. “The only reason I ain’t fightin’ back is ‘cause ya got me all chained up like this! If ya wanna play, boys, jus’ lemme go!”

Somehow I’m smiling, laughing, even.

Have I gone insane?

Probably.

“You deserve this, Red.” Oscar sneers, strolling towards me.

“Do I now?” I say. “Because-”

I’m cut off my Oscar’s brass knuckles slamming into my jaw.

And then my shoulder.

My stomach.

Jaw again.

Stomach.

Shoulder.

Stomach.

Head wound.

“Stop!” The plea comes out of my mouth purely from instinct, muscle memory, but I can’t take the scream back now.

“You want me to stop, Red?” Oscar’s face is too close to mine, and his thick fingers are wrapped around my wrist.

I don’t say anything.

“I said do you want me to stop?” Oscar asks again, twisting my wrist. My nerves are howling and I can feel my bone bending.

“Yes.” I choke out.

“Beg me.” Oscar spits.

“Please, stop.”

“Sir.”

“Sir, please stop.”

“No.”

Oscar yanks his hand away, still holding my wrist, and I can hear the crack as the bone splinters and breaks.

I’m screaming, my whole body is on fire, and it seems like the pain will never end.

Once more blows rain down and I am powerless to stop them. More skin will fade to purple in the upcoming hours. I'm sure my screams can be heard by the boys but I can't stop. As soon as I can take a breath another blow has whisked it away.

I vaguely remember begging once more, not caring at how fucking pitiful I must sound.

Me, cowering in fear, begging for mercy, being struck by the ones I had called friends many years ago.

I’m a disappointment.

I’m trying to be strong, but I can’t be.

But I have to be!

Jack is counting on me, the newsies are counting on me.

I close my eyes and let myself sleep.

*****

A sharp blow to my jaw brings me back to reality.

“Wake up.”

I blearily open my eyes and see Snyder leering in my face.

“Gettin’ right ta the point, I see.” I say, practically coughing out the words. “Miss me more than Jack?”

“I just saw him actually.

“Our money, sir?” Oscar asks pointedly, holding out an open palm.

Snyder hands Oscar a wad of cash, and the two brothers leave the room, shutting the door firmly behind them.

“What did Race say?” I blurt out suddenly, not able to stop myself.

“Oh, so the dog misses his owner?” Snyder taunts.

“I-”

“He was on his hands and knees begging for me to let you go.”

“Yeah, right.”

I can’t believe that Race would do that.

“In fact, he offered to put himself in your place.” Snyder chuckles.

That I can believe Race did.

“But I think I’m too close to cracking you to let you go so soon.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I think I might need to shut you up by force again.”

“Try me.”

“Fine.”

When am I going to learn when to stop?

Never, apparently.

And now Snyder is holding up a rope and he’s tying it around my neck and he’s pulling it tight and I can’t breathe and my brain is working a mile a minute and why do I taste blood and I can’t take this anymore I don’t want more pain I don’t want to be locked in this room I don’t want to be silenced I’m not strong like Jack I can’t handle a beating a day I can’t handle losing this much blood I think my brain is about to explode.

“All of this can end.” Snyder says simply, and even though I’m not looking at him I know he’s smirking.

He’s won.

I can feel tears start to stream down my face, and I manage to choke out a sob.

I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to give up so quickly, but I have no other choice. I can’t take any more of this.

I’m not strong.

I’m 16, barely 16, I only turned 16 last month, and 16 is too young.

Too young for jail, too young for blood, too young for beatings, too young for torture, too young for all of this goddamn pain.

But Jack was here when he was 16, wasn’t he?

He was 16 the last time he was here, if he can survive I can.

“Fuck. You.”

Because I’m a stubborn piece of shit.

Because I don’t know when to shut up.

Because I don’t care if he kills me.

Because-

His fist is pounding into my skull and my vision disappears.

hope you enjoyed!

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felix-loves-albert-and-ralb-blog · 5 years

Text

Losing My Mind Part Eleven: Jack

all previous chapters are tagged under “losing my mind”

pairings: crack (jackcrutchie for all you nonbelievers), ralbert, spromeo, blush, newsbians, davey/happiness

friendships: crutchie and albert, specs and albert and crutchie, albert and les, specs and crutchie, mush and henry, race and crutchie, specs and katherine

warnings: all previous warnings, racism, violence, blood, self-hatred, burns, abuse, pretty boy used in a derogatory way, swearing, homophobia, panic attacks, a bunch of other horrible shit, uh albert low-key hates himself, ableism, lots of characters have depression, and quite a few have anxiety

editing: nope

pov: jack

You don’t know what happened, do you? Well I’m not surprised. Snyder won’t even let me tell the reader what’s going on! Wait, was I not supposed to say that? Probably not, but whatever.

You think I’m crazy now, don’t you?

You’re probably right.

Talking to myself in my head as if my life were a book that someone is reading.

Anyways, I remember waking up in the basement.

Race was still on the floor in the middle of the room.

When Race woke up I told him about my closet, but he didn’t say much to me.

And then Snyder came back.

“Tell me about the strike and I’ll let you go back upstairs.” He said.

I said no.

So did Race.

Snyder scowled and said he’d give us one more chance.

We refused.

So Snyder tied my wrists together and soaked Race.

I had to watch, helpless, as Snyder landed hit upon hit on my brother.

Race didn’t say anything, just let the hits come.

I tried to move across the room to help him, but my leg and restrained wrists prevented me from doing so.

I hated seeing him in pain like that.

But I think Snyder got bored with Race though, or even just frustrated, because soon he dragged Race away, out of the basement.

And then Snyder came back to deal with me.

My leg hurt a lot.

Snyder stomped on it, kept his boot pressed down on the surely splintered bone until I would say that one word.

I didn’t want to, I really didn’t.

But you don’t get it, I was weak, I was hurt.

“I can do worse.” Snyder growled.

“I ain’t gonna cave.” I said through gritted teeth.

“Or maybe I’ll just go through every one of your newsies until I get what I want. I’m sure that little boy can’t take as much pain as you can, Kelly.”

“No! Don’t!”

“Give me a reason.”

I didn’t have a choice.

“Davey!” I gasped. “He’s the brains!”

The pressure on my leg receded, and I regretted it.

I was put back in my closet and I was forced to listen to the conversation between Davey and Snyder.

Forced to listen as Davey took the beating I gave him.

I’m sick of being stuck.

Tied up in a closet while my brothers are suffering.

It’s been mostly quiet for today, but now I can hear yelling through the door, and I know that can’t be good for me.

“You can’t- you’re not- fine!”

There’s a crash and a swear, and I tense my shoulders, preparing for my closet to open and the next beating to begin.

And the door opens, and I am indeed greeted with a kick to my ribs, but instead of more hits I only get pulled up by my shirt collar and dragged out of the closet.

He can’t be taking me back to the basement, not this soon.

I told him Davey’s name, even if it was a day ago.

No, he’s not taking me to the basement, he just wants me at a better angle to put me in even worse pain.

And even worse pain I get.

I can feel blood dripping down from my nose, splattering across my shirt in shiny red drops, and Snyder’s fists feel like they’re made of fire.

He’s shouting at me, but it’s just the normal stuff I’m used to.

Useless, good for nothing, son of a bitch, bastard, disgusting, the list goes on and on.

I stay still and take the soaking, hoping that he just needs a punching bag to release his anger.

“You’re weak, Sullivan. Can’t even fight back anymore!” Snyder sneers.

“You’re an asshole.” I choke out through the blood.

“Pathetic. Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“At least I have the balls to fight for myself.”

“You’re not even fighting, Sullivan.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Can’t stand to live anything but your same old lie?”

“Let go of me and you’ll see.” I snarl.

“Fine.” Snyder shoots back.

I fall right on my ass, back still against the wall.

I don’t have enough strength in my leg to stand up.

I feel weak, stupid.

Snyder is laughing at me, he thinks this is hilarious.

“I think you need to learn to watch your mouth.”

His boot digs into my ribcage, and I grunt in pain.

Then he lifts me up my by shirt collar and drags me out of his office.

He must be taking me to the basement now, where else could he be taking me?

I’m scared.

I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared I’m-

“Your fearless leader.”

I’m on the floor of a bunk room, my arms in front of me, trying to catch my fall, and leg sprawled out awkwardly behind me.

Snyder’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, and he’s addressing everyone in the room.

Which room am I in?

Three, with Ten Pin and Grates?

Eight, with Split and Rob?

I push myself up with my forearms and I lift my head to see.

It’s all of my boys.

Every single one of them.

Mush, Finch, Mike, Specs, Elmer, every single one.

I knew Crutchie was here, I knew Race was here, I could assume Albert was here from Snyder’s reference to him, I knew Davey was here because I heard him through the door, but I didn’t know they were all here.

All of my newsies, everyone I swore to protect, everyone that I promised would never be put in this hell.

I failed.

I’m seeing all of them right in front of me.

And they’re all seeing me.

Every broken part.

I think Snyder leaves, because suddenly people are surrounding me.

“Give ‘im some space!” Mush directs.

Davey is here, in front of me, so is Race.

“Where’s Crutchie?”

I shouldn’t have asked that, I really shouldn’t have, but I can’t bring myself to care at this point.

Specs is here now, acting as a temporary crutch for Crutchie.

Crutchie, the only person I want to see for the rest of my life.

“Charlie,” I breathe, not caring who’s around. “I-I’se sorry.” I swallow my original statement, replacing it with a trademark guilty Jack Kelly apology.

“Don’t apologize, ya idiot.” Crutchie says, his voice both hard and soft. Race doesn’t say anything, just reaches forward to untie my wrists.

“He got ya shoulder again.” Specs comments.

“Sure did.”

I don’t want to do this.

I don’t want to pretend everything is fine when it’s clearly not.

“I can set it.”

“Thanks.”

Specs gets me.

He doesn’t talk too much or take too long to say what he’s thinking.

He’s quick to get to the point.

I lay down on my back, and Specs takes my right arm in his hands.

“Mush, grab me a sheet or somethin’.” Specs asks.

Mush nods and steps away.

I draw in a tight gasp of pain as Specs applies pressure to my shoulder and it pops back into place.

Mush hands Specs a sheet, and Specs wraps it tightly around my shoulder.

“Just dislocated, but ya should be careful for a little while.” Specs says matter of factly.

“Can-what the hell can he want this time!”

Loud footsteps again, and it seems impossible that Snyder can be back again after an absence of no more than five minutes.

“Line up.” The order comes as soon as the door slams back open, and the boys surrounding me all scramble into place. Specs helps Crutchie stand, and Mush helps me.

“I ain’t got all day!” Snyder shouts, and we’re suddenly standing in a line, not single file, but spread out so we can all see him and he can see all of us.

Snyder paces back and forth in front of us, scowling at every boy he faces.

He eventually comes to a stop directly in front of Albert, whose eyes are alight with both fear and defiance.

“You. Pretty Boy.”

I clench my fists, ready to do whatever it takes to keep my little brother from getting hurt, but Mush’s hand is clenched firmly on my shoulder, he knows what I’m about to do.

He knows how stupid it is, and I know it too, but I can’t let him take Albert.

“Don’t.” Mush whispers under his breath.

I grit my teeth and let Mush hold me back.

For now.

“What?” Albert asks the man facing him, his tone snarky. “Ow, fuck!”

Snyder has a fistful of Albert’s hair, nearly yanking it from his skull.

“Sir.” Snyder says shortly.

Albert’s teeth are clenched in pain, and I can tell he’s trying to avoid meeting eye contact with Snyder.

“There’s no need to call me sir, Spider.” He chokes out, somehow managing to plaster a grin on his face.

Snyder growls in frustration and anger and throws Albert backwards. He lands on the floor on his back.

“Get up and follow me.” Snyder turns on his heel and stalks back to the door as Albert struggles to push himself up off the floor. Race rushes to help him, taking his hand and pulling him up.

“Please, don't go. Lemme-”

“No, Racer.”

“But I-”

Albert opens his mouth to say something else, but apparently thinks better of it and stops himself. He gently tugs his arm away from Race’s grasp, takes off his hat, and puts it on Race’s head. Then he walks across the room to where Snyder is waiting in the doorway.

“Good boy.” Snyder sneers approvingly.

“Fuck you!” Albert shouts, shoving him against the side of the doorway.

And then the door slams shut and the lock clicks back into place, Snyder and Albert on the other side.

The room is silent for a moment, but then it all shatters.

Race runs to the door, banging his fists against the wood and shouting for Albert. Tommy Boy is the one to go up to him and pull him away.

“They’se just gonna get mad, Racer.” He says.

“I don’t care!” Race screams, his voice higher than usual. “I can’t let ‘im-” Race’s voice breaks, and he stops fighting Tommy for a second.

“I can’t...” He whispers, falling completely into Tommy’s grasp, his body limp. “Please...”

I can’t handle this.

I can’t handle being back here, having to be a leader and a parent and strong and confident and everything in the world at once.

I’m in so much pain, more than I could’ve ever imagined, I want to scream and cry and end this miserable existence.

“I’m taking a nap.” I say, and Mush helps me hobble over to an empty bunk.

I collapse on the mattress and let much needed sleep overtake me.

it’s a mess now but i promise this fic will have a happy ending

#losing my mind #newsies #newsies fanfiction #jack kelly #violence #swearing #homophobia #tw

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