Chapter 2
He did, of course, see her again, about a month later, although that month had not been kind to her.
The bag was long gone, her things sold, one by one, for food, until the bag itself was stolen, along with the only things she'd refused to sell. The last of her memories, taken. Her coat had nearly been pulled from her, torn, and very poorly patched back together, much like the stitching of her one pair of gloves, falling slowly apart, the fingers coming undone, leaving the tips of her fingers bare, and blackened with dirt. And where at first she'd been somewhat paranoid about keeping as clean and tidy as possible, in spite of sleeping rough, by the time she ran into the cowboy again, she'd given up, hair twisted into an unkempt knot, face a bit darker with a layer of street grim that just wouldn't go away, the color of her clothes faded into a dull greyish sort of color, the fabric starting to thin and fray, seams and hems coming undone from constant wear and tear.
Those were just the outward changes, but they eerily mirrored her emotional state, and the boy with the cowboy hat found it hard to tease her when their paths finally crossed again, the smile he'd been wearing falling when he caught sight of her, only barely recognizing her by her coat, and the color of her hair. Her face was a little gaunt, and his eyes were drawn to a faintly fading bruise that curled along the side of her cheek to her neck, just barely visible over the collar of her coat.
"You didn't take up selling newspapers or flowers, I see." His eyebrow arched ever so slightly at the girl leaning heavily against the stoop railing of one of the parish churches in his selling territory. She looked mildly hungover, or at the very least, like she hadn't gotten any sleep in days.
"Who the hell're you?" The way her voice slurred, just slightly, made her realize she was still a bit drunk, although the drinking had ended hours and hours before. She closed her eyes, rubbing at her forehead, and snuggling slightly against the stonework, against which she'd been sitting for so long that it was starting to radiate her own warmth back at her a little. "Oh, that newsie. I think you were right. It wasn't that bad, then. I didn't know how bad it could be."
"What happened?" He frowned, shaking his head. She'd clearly lost her way, horribly.
She laughed, bitterly, a slightly crazy hint to it, a wild, unhappy sound. "Life. People. Alcohol." She'd never been allowed to drink, before, and even when she'd been living on her own in the rooming house, she'd never bothered to try it. But she'd found in the meantime that alcohol had the useful effect of making her forget how horrible her life had become.
"How do you pay for that alcohol?" The newsie sighed slightly, his arms crossing, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He sensed he already knew, and when she didn't answer, or meet his eyes, he frowned harder. "You don't have to do that, you know. There are other options."
"Are there? I'm not good at anythin else. Hell, I'm not even good at -this-, but I get by, and I only get hit every once and awhile." The longer she spent wandering the streets, the more and more she had begun to regret turning down the foreman's horrible son. A lifetime subjected to him would have been better than a short life on the streets. "Anyway, it ain't your business, cowboy hat...boy. So, just leave me alone."
"I could do that." He replied, shaking his head. He already felt guilty about it, and he knew that insisting on helping a girl like her would only upset his sweetheart, but Sarah had an equally big heart, and she'd eventually understand. "But then I'd have to live with knowing you're out here like this, and I can't do that. C'mon, I've got a place you can sleep for awhile. I'll have to do some fancy bargaining, but the owner shouldn't give me too much trouble, if it's just until you can find someplace better. It ain't a fancy hotel or anythin, but it's warm."
She resisted his attempts to get her to her feet, but she'd lost so much weight over the last month or so, a bad side effect of eating only enough to not starve, that she couldn't stop him, really. She stumbled to her feet, falling against him before pulling sharply away as soon as she was steady, arms crossed over her stomach, keeping her coat shut, shoulders hunched. "What if I don't want to go?"
"Do you really want to stay here?" He asked, as he started steering her in the direction of the lodging house, more focused on finding the right argument to make to Kloppman that would make him agree to let the girl stay in the attic for a day or two, until he could get her settled and selling newspapers or some such. After that, he could just walk her over to the rooming house the newsgirls who worked closer to the bridge lived in, and once she was in their hands, he'd feel better about everything. Buf if he took her there now, he had the feeling she'd just bolt. The local newsgirls were a bit clannish, and off-putting on a good day, but if they felt like someone didn't belong, they could be downright horrible, he'd seen it happen. The best thing would be to ease her into their little group, a bit at a time.
"I don't even know your name. You don't know mine. Why are you doing this?" She had given up, letting him steer her, mostly because, in general, her will to resist had long since been shattered. He was stronger than she was, so, she let him drag her off- it was pointless to struggle with someone stronger than herself. They always got what they wanted, anyway.
"I know your name. It's Goldilocks. And mine's Cowboy, so there you go. I'm doing this because I had a chance to help you before, and I didn't, and look where you are now. I feel responsible." It was silly, and he knew it. He wasn't actually responsible for the girl's actions. But he still felt guilty, a swirling guilt, mixed with something else. A gleam. And idea he wasn't happy with, one he wanted to forget, push aside, ignore. He did, clinging to the guilt to keep from thinking darker thoughts. He tried to focus on the thought that if he'd offered to show her how to sell newspapers that first afternoon, she might not have ended up where she had.
"It not your fault I'm an idiot." Her voice was small, and she seemed to shrink a bit into herself at the thought of how stupid she really had been in the last month or so. Everything had fallen apart, so quickly, and she was so tired. Hopeless had been following her since long before she'd met this boy, but it had blanketed her so completely that it had begun to feel normal. She couldn't even fight it. She didn't even have it in her to tell him her name wasn't Goldilocks. It wasn't the only condescending nickname she'd been given lately, and it wouldn't be the last.
Glancing at her, the newsie sighed a bit, wondering if the girl had ever actually been happy, or if she'd always just been like this. She reminded him a bit of one of his friends, in her sort of helpless acceptance of hopelessness. "Alright, what's your real name, anyway? I have to have something to tell Kloppman."
She blinked, somewhat startled, up at him, a frown curling the edges of her lips down just a bit, eyebrows creasing. "Amanda. My... my friends call me Mandy." It had been a very long time since anyone had bothered to ask her name, or anything about her, beyond what her company might cost them.
"Alright, then, Mandy. Lets get you warmed up." The lodging house wasn't anything special, but for him, it was home, and hopefully, the girl next to him would at least be able to rest for a moment there.