tw - mentions of s/a

~

That night, I lie awake in bed, staring at my ceiling and counting the minutes as they go by. Jesse's words ring in my head, over and over.

All we ask is a little compromise.

My breathing is shallow, but I try not to panic. I tell myself that anything is better than living with my mom, but ironically all I want is to be with her in this moment. I push away those thoughts; if this is the price I have to pay to stay here, then so be it. It's not like it's any different than when I was with my mom.

It's one in the morning when I hear footsteps outside my door and then a soft knock. I sit up on my mattress, my heart pounding.

"C-come in," I say, but it's barely above a whisper. I guess whoever is behind the door heard, because soon Danny is there, smiling.

"I thought you'd still be up," he says, ducking into the closet as I stare at him. "Gosh, it is cramped in here."

"It's fine," I whisper. "Is it okay if I close my eyes?"

He frowns. "If you're tired, I'll be quick."

"It's just—" I swallow, "—most of the guys want me to keep them open."

He smiles, looking confused. "What do you mean?"

I stare back at him. Is he playing some sick joke on me? Does he want me to say it?

"Well, they want me to look at them while they . . ."

He still is pretending to be lost. "While they what?"

We stare at each other, and I can see the realization creeping up on him. Now I'm confused, too.

"Why do you think I'm here, Alex?" Danny asks slowly. Still I stare at him.

"For the compromise," I answer slowly, "for me to, uh — pay you? That's what Jesse meant, isn't it?"

Still, he stares at me, as if not quite believing what he's hearing.

"I-I left my clothes on," I mutter, growing nervous, "be-because most of the time they liked taking them off themselves. I didn't — I didn't know what . . . you'd prefer."

Danny's eyes widen, and he backs away, looking as if he's just been slapped especially hard in the face. He ducks out of the room with his hand over his mouth, dropping whatever was in his hand.

"Jess!" he shouts, turning. I jolt out of bed, really confused now. I trip over my sheets and fall, hitting my head on the corner of the doorway. I wince, feeling blood just above my hairline, but stand up nevertheless. Jesse barges out of his room, looking alarmed.

"What? What is it?" He looks from me to Danny, who grabs him and drags him downstairs. "What, Danny?"

I stand where I am, my heart pounding and my forehead sweaty. A door opens to my right, and DJ comes out, looking bleary. She spots me.

"Are you all right?" she asks as I stare at the top of the stairs, where Danny and my dad disappeared.

"Can it, Mustard," I snap, and she scowls.

"Forget I even asked," she grumbles, slamming her door and leaving me alone once more. I have no idea what to do. I hear a shout from downstairs.

"What?"

It's Jesse. I take a step forward, then rush to the landing, feeling my emotions rise. Jesse is sitting on the couch, looking like he just got shot. Him and Danny look up when I enter.

"Alex," Danny says gently, though he looks shaken, "why did you think that that was what Jesse meant?"

I feel lost. Was that not what he meant?

"I was there to give you new blankets," Danny explains slowly, as if seeing my confusion, "that's all. Why would you think that . . ?"

"Compromise," I whisper hopelessly. Danny looks to Jesse, who stares at me helplessly.

"Why the hell would you think that?" He suddenly raises his voice. "What—why—?"

Danny steps towards me as I scrunch my nose up and try not to cry.

"Alex, did your mom ever let . . ." He trails off, as if he doesn't want to even say it. "Did she ever let men into your room?"

I hesitate, then nod.

"And these men," he goes on, "they wanted things from you?"

I nod again, furiously wiping at a tear that escapes.

"And these men would pay your mom afterwards?"

"Before," I state in a whisper, then clearing my throat. "The—they'd pay before; my mom liked having the money before."

I chance a look at Jesse. He's quiet, his eyes wide and glassy.

"She would be with them first," I explain, as if it makes it any better, "and—and then if they wanted to pay more she'd let them into my room—"

"Stop it! God!" Jesse suddenly stands, looking as though he has no idea what to do with himself. "What is wrong with her!?"

"She'd give me a little!" I say desperately, trying to soften the blow somehow. "She — she would give me a dollar if they paid well!"

"Why are you defending her!?" Jesse shouts at me, stepping forward. Danny puts a hand on his chest, but he pushes it away. "Why the hell would you defend her when she did something so, so sick!?"

"I'm sorry!" I shout back hopelessly.

"You didn't even try to protect yourself!"

"I thought it was what you wanted!"

Jesse's face falls, and he leans back on his heels, looking shattered.

"I can't do this."

I watch him go. He turns and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. I take a half step towards him, then think better, and look to Danny. He looks lost, and I turn on my heel and rush out of the living room, out of the kitchen, and out of the house.

Tears are now streaming down my cheeks as I screw my face up to try and stop myself from crying. The cold night air dries them hard against my skin, and as I jump the backyard fence and find my way onto a street parallel with the Tanners', I let them fall freely.

I begin to run, because what else will help this constricting feeling in my chest? I sprint as fast as I can as long as I can, until I've completely forgotten where I am and have no clue how to get back to the house. My socks are soaked through from the dewy grass, but I leave them on. Part of me likes the feeling of not knowing where I am, because it matches how lost I feel on the inside.

It's dark, and as my lungs begin to burn too much to breathe, I stop running and collapse on a nearby patch of grass. My chest heaves up and down, and I cough, trying to catch my breath.

I find myself wishing I had alcohol with me. I try to think of a place I could go to get some. I push myself off of the ground and begin walking again, my mind focusing on getting a drink so I don't have to think about what just happened. I don't want to think about their faces. I don't want to think about Jesse leaving.

So I walk, twisting down different roads and roaming aimlessly for half an hour until I begin to recognize the streets I'm on. I get a sudden idea, thinking back to Leslie and her convenience store. It's a stretch, but it's my only option; I head West.

For a woman that was so untrusting of me, I'm surprised she let me see her put in the code for the back door of the shop. I turn down the alley, heading for the entrance when two dark figures push off the wall next to me.

"Isn't it a little late to be out, girlie?" says one of them.

It's two men. Well, boys, really. Likely in their late teenage years and looking like they're no stranger to the streets. I give them a side glance, but I don't stop walking.

"Hey, I said something to you!" the guy calls after me, but I don't look back. I hear their footsteps approach, and a hand on my shoulder. I turn around and push him, hard. He stumbles backwards a few feet, and his friend steadies him.

"What the hell! You little—!"

I turn away from him, still not speaking. I know the best way to shake touchy men is to ignore them, but right now I've got too much anger in me. I silently beg them to leave me alone.

"Hey! You!"

Two pairs of hands grab me this time, and I shake myself away.

"Hold her down!" shouts the first guy. His friend, who happens to be larger and stronger, pushes me against the alley wall.

"Got nothing to say?" asks the first guy, grinning with yellow teeth at me. I can smell whiskey on his breath as he leans in close to my face. "Cat got your tongue, pretty?"

I wait for him to get close enough, then launch my head forwards and into his. He yells and falls backwards, and I take the chance to kick the other guy in the shin. He grunts, and I make a run for it, only for the first guy to tackle me to the ground. He gets on top of me, slamming me into the ground. I squirm, and he punches me in the eye, hard. I use the momentum of his hit to shove him off of me, and I stand as he rolls.

The second guy grabs me, and I jam my heel into his foot, bringing my elbow into his nose. He lets me go, and I back up two steps, turning to face them as they regain their composure.

My chest heaves up and down, but not as rapidly as theirs do. I smirk a little, raising my fists.

"What, you gonna take us both on?" laughs the first guy, and his friend guffaws in response.

"If I have to," I answer, widening my stance. Suddenly, the second guy lunges forwards, and I duck under his punch, jabbing my fist into his kidney. He doubles over, and I turn to the first guy, grabbing his fist as it flies towards me and pulling him over my foot. He stumbles, and I kick him in the back, sending him into his friend. I know it's a fight I'll lose. I could run, but my pride makes me stay. I laugh, which makes them angry.

One of them lets out a battle cry, and he goes to tackle me. I sidestep out of the way and trip him so he face plants, but I'm not quick enough to duck under the other's fist. He hits me in the cheek, and I go flying, hitting the ground hard. I skin my hands, and don't have time to get up myself before I'm pulled to my feet.

"You filthy little—"

"Hey!" comes a new voice, and the guy turns around. I take the chance to knee him in the crotch and push him off of me, but he doesn't try to attack anymore.

Leslie comes down the steps, holding a baseball bat and an angry expression.

"Get the hell out of here, you vermin," she growls, holding up the bat as if to swing.

The boys waste no time, sharing a look before stumbling over one another and out of the alley. I take my sleeve and wipe my cheek with it, eyeing the blood before glancing at Leslie.

"I had it," I say promptly.

"Sure you did, kid."

We stare at each other for a minute.

"Where are your shoes?"

"I ate them."

She rolls her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she asks suspiciously. I shrug.

"I was in the neighbourhood."

"Or you saw the code for my back door and thought you'd raid my store while I slept?" she asks nonchalantly, lowering her bat. "Well, you should know I change it every week, so you're out of luck."

I think she's bluffing, but it's hard to say in the dark. Either way, she turns and heads for the door, stopping to look back at me.

"You comin'?" she asks.

"Why?" I ask in confusion. She snorts.

"You gotta ice that." She points to my face. "I can't have my employee looking like a thug; sets a bad example for my brand."

I scoff, but see no other option. My head throbs from the beating it's taken, and I follow her inside at a slow, defeated pace. She turns on the lights, and the store illuminates. She walks over to the ice freezer and pulls out a bag, tossing it at me.

"Thanks," I mumble, pressing it to my cheek and alternating between that and my eye. Both are puffy, and I try to come up with what I'm gonna tell Jesse.

His name brings up the same feelings of anger and sadness. I doubt I'll have to deal with him much longer after tonight; I wouldn't be surprised if he sent me off to a children's home in the morning.

"You look like you've had a rough night," Leslie comments, watching me, "you know, even besides the black eye."

I shrug. "Whatever."

She continues to stare, so I look away, venturing down the aisle. All of her alcohol is behind the counter, but I don't need it anymore; the adrenaline of the fight seemed to work just fine.

"Don't you have someone worrying about you?" she then asks, leaning on the counter as I come back down the aisle.

"No," I answer shortly, and I wonder briefly if it's even a lie.

"Bullshit."

I look to her, and can't help but smile a bit. It's refreshing to hear a swear word. The Tanner household seems so devoid of them. I feel myself relax, realizing how on edge I've been since I arrived in San Francisco. Everything has been all messy, and I just need a break.

My eyes must've shifted to the bottles on the shelves, because Leslie follows my gaze.

"You know, you may think that drinking will make everything better," she suddenly says, her voice quieter and softer than usual, "but in the long run, all it does is hurt yourself and others."

I narrow my eyes. "What, you read that straight out of an AA catalogue?"

She digs something out of her pocket and places it on the counter, "five years."

I step forwards to see, and the light glints off the surface of a chip. The same kind of chips my mom would make me sit through a meeting to obtain. My eyes flash back up to hers, and suddenly I feel guilty.

"I'm not an alcoholic," I say.

"That's what I was telling myself at your age." She grabs the chip and leans back, placing her hands on the edge of the counter. Then, to my surprise, she pulls out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. I watch with narrowed eyes as she pours the liquid into each glass before placing one in front of me and one in front of her.

"What are you playing at?" I ask, glancing at the drink and fighting the way my hand itches towards it. She shrugs.

"If you're not an alcoholic, you won't pick up the glass."

"If you're an alcoholic, won't you?" I raise a challenging eyebrow, and she smiles.

"What do you think I did years of rehab for?"

I shrug. "The snacks?"

She chuckles, but shakes her head.

"I won't take it," I say firmly, sure of myself even though I'm dying for a drink.

"Oh yeah?" She raises an eyebrow, disbelieving. "And why's that?"

I smile knowingly, grabbing the glass and raising it to my mouth. "Because no matter how large my desire for alcohol is right now, my pride is bigger."

I grab the bottle and pour the contents back into it.

"And so is my desire not to become an alcoholic," I go on. "I've seen what it does to people."

I take her glass and dump it back into the bottle as well, then screwing the cap back on and pushing it towards her.

"So whatever test this was supposed to be, I won't take part in it."

She stares at me, then takes the bottle.

"I have to say, I'm impressed." She places it back on the shelf. "But I still advise you to be careful."

"Always am." I smile, pressing the ice pack onto my eye once more.

"Whereabouts do you live?" she asks, rolling up the sleeves of her flannel and standing up straight. "I can give you a ride."

"I'm not ready for what waits for me at the house," I respond.

"Well, you're gonna have to face it sooner or later," she says, "and I think you'll find that waiting will only make it worse."

I look at her, knowing she's right. Never mind Jesse, I bet Danny is worrying about where I am -- it's his fatherly instincts. Whether or not my real father even knows I'm gone doesn't matter; I made a promise to not be too much trouble, and tonight has been a big step in the wrong direction.

"Yeah, all right," I say, tossing the ice on the counter, "I'll take that ride."

"Smart girl."

"So I'm told."