Ghetto

by M L Sparrow

  When his turn comes, he approaches the man without hesitation, confident without being cocky. It’s all an act, both his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, bearing his forearms and showing off the pretend Brand for all the world to see. If the policeman looks too closely the game will be up; it’s not quite the right colour or font and if checked it definitely won’t register to anyone in the system. But, it turns out my fears are irrelevant, because he is allowed to breeze straight through without a second glance. I blink in surprise.

  Heading in my direction, Sin keeps his pace even and unhurried, his face neutral, until he turns the corner and then a grin transforms the harsh angles of his face. Scooping me up in his arms, he spins me around and I wrap my arms around his neck, throwing my head back as I laugh, mindful to keep the volume down in case we’re overheard.

  “I can’t believe it worked! He didn’t even look, what a stroke of luck,” I exclaim.

  “I know,” his smile is huge as he spins us in another full circle, “I was brickin’ it for a while. Didn’t think it would work.” One of the strong arms wrapped around my waist crushes my chest to his, as his other arm lifts, his hand palming the back of my head, pushing it down so that our lips touch. Electricity sizzles between us for a bare millisecond before he pulls away. “Sorry,” he murmurs, a hint of red in his high cheekbones.

  His grip loosens and I start sliding down his body. My toes touch the ground, but I’m not ready for the moment to end, so I cling. Keeping my arms twined tightly around his neck, I force him to stoop down to my height. When he does, I brush my lips gently across his, before drawing back to meet his gaze. Standing frozen in place, my muscles tremble in anticipation as I wait for him to give me a sign. It comes in the form of his eyes flickering from my own down to my lips.

  I’ve never kissed anyone before, don’t really know what I’m doing, but that small encouragement is enough to bolster my confidence and spur me on. His hair tickles my fingers as I knead the back of his neck. The wiry muscles in his shoulders flex. Our lips press together, moving against each other, his are dry and cracked but that doesn’t matter. For long moments it’s nothing more than the joining of lips, then I feel the wet slide of his tongue and my heart begins to race. I strain up on my tiptoes, trying to get closer.

  “What ya doin’?” The voice makes us both jump. Our teeth clash and my forehead bashes his nose. Springing apart, we both twist around to face the intruder, Sin with a scowl and me with a blush. Kit grins back at us, the mischievous gleam in his eyes said his question had been redundant.

  “What the hell’d it look like we were doin’?” Sin snarls, glaring at his brother, whilst pinching the bridge of his nose. The teenager just laughs.

  Chapter 13

  It’s nightfall by the time we arrive back at Base; it takes us hours to skirt around the police who are locking down the Ghetto. There were entire sections that had become no-go zones and we don’t see many people on the streets, only those with no homes to hide themselves within. The night is dark and threatening and I’m glad when we finally each the building I have begun to think of as home. Yawning, I step over the threshold, following Sin and Kit. The door has been kicked in, the place searched, but since there is no one lying in wait for us, I assume they didn’t find anything incriminating. Just to verify that there isn’t anyone in the building who shouldn’t be, Sin does a quick sweep, leaving me and Kit standing in the hallway.

  When he comes back, I’m anticipating being taken to my room so that I can go to sleep, however, that doesn’t happen. “Some guys are back already,” Sin says as he walks towards us, “they’re in the rec-room. Sunny, why don’t you go hang with them? Kit, I need a hand with some’it.”

  “Er, okay,” Kit answers, looking confused.

  Reluctantly leaving the boys to whatever they have to do, I veer off towards the rec-room. Inside, half a dozen men are sprawled around the TV. For a change they’re not playing games, instead, music is pulsing around the room, the TV screen glowing one colour and then another, patterns swirling in time with the beat. Exuberant voices are talking loudly over one another, laughing, celebrating our lucky escape.

  “Here she is!” someone yells as I enter the room and a cheer goes up. “Come sit down, baby girl.”

  Locating the voice in the sea of faces all turned towards me, I head towards Brody, a man I sometimes play video games with. A space is cleared so that I can take the seat next to him and as I sit down he claps me on the back, so hard that my still tender ribs wince in pain. “We all heard about you savin’ our fearless leaders’ ass today. Well done, baby, have a drink, you deserve it.” There are several bottles being passed around and one heads our way when Brody snaps his fingers for it. Passing it to me, he urges, “Drink, drink. It’s good for ya.” Taking the unmarked bottle, I lift it to my nose and take a sniff. It smells strong. That suspicion is verified when I take a mouthful. Coughing, spluttering, I lift my hand to my mouth as my eyes water. It definitely has more of a kick than champagne, which is the only alcoholic drink I’ve ever had.

  “What is that?” I choke.

  “Whisky.” Brody grins, “It’s homemade.”

  “It’s strong.” I lick the taste off my lips. Brody laughs, slapping my back again as he takes the bottle from my fingers and takes a healthy swig.

  With the alcohol burning a hole in my stomach, I sit back and listen as the men joke with one another and I soon find myself joining in. The second gulp of whisky doesn’t taste quite so offensive. The third is actually quite nice. Everything is kind of hazy from that point onwards, the voices around me dull and a relaxed numbness settles over me as I slump back against the sofa cushions. Somehow I find myself leaning back against Brody, with one of his arms slung over my shoulders. He smells like B.O and for some reason that makes me giggle. The bottle is making another round of the room and when it passes us, Brody grabs it. After taking a drink, he holds the bottle to my lips and tips it up. Most of the amber liquid ends up dribbling down my chin, which also makes me laugh and the rest of the room joins in.

  “What is goin’ on?” Sins’ voice suddenly cuts through the hilarity, hard and unamused. “I told you to look after her, not get her plastered!” Bleary eyed, I sit up straighter and turn my head in search of him, only to find him standing right in front of the sofa. How he appeared there is beyond me, maybe he’s magic, like a fairy. The thought of Sin with little fairy wings makes me cackle like a lunatic.

  “Bloody hell,” Sin curses angrily, “she’s totally trashed.”

  “Trashed.” The word tastes strange in my mouth. “Trashed. What a weird word, don’t ya think? Tr-a-sh-ed. How many syllables is that?”

  Brody’s body shakes as he laughs, telling Sin, “She’s a real chatty drunk, can’t get her to shut up.”

  “Get your hands off her,” Sin snarls, his face twisted into an angry mask.

  “Uh-oh, you made him mad,” I whisper in Brody’s ear. A second later I’m yanked off the sofa and onto my feet. My legs wobble, but Sin’s there to hold me up. “Oh my God,” I gasp, clinging to the front of his shirt, “is that an earthquake? The ground is shaking.”

  “It’s not the ground,” Sin snaps, “it’s you.”

  “Don’t be silly.” I give his chest a little slap as I shake my head. The movement makes me feel sick, so I rest my forehead against his arm, but that doesn’t make it stop. Pressing my lips together, one hand clutches at my stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “I bet you don’t.”

  “Think I’m gonna be sick.”

  “I ain’t cleaning it up,” one of the guys yells and the others laugh.

  “Idiots,” Sin growls and a second later my legs are swept out from under me. My head spin and I groan. “Hang on, darlin’.”

  The next thing I know, we’re moving. Closing my eyes helps reduce the nausea and before I know it a door is creaking open. Cracking open my eyes, I watch as Sin pushes the door open with his shoulder. Inside the bathroom, he set
s me on my feet, but keeps a firm grip on my arm in case I topple. Confronted with the stained, off-white toilet, I suddenly don’t feel so sick anymore.

  “I think I’m okay now,” I confess quietly.

  “Just wait for it,” Sin advises, moving away to lean against the wall now that I’m steady, arms crossed over his chest. Gripping the edge of the sink in front of me, I blink at my reflection in the small, cracked mirror. Everything is muddled in my mind, I can’t quite seem to hang onto one thought. It scares me.

  Flustered, I spin around to face Sin and almost lose my balance. “What’s happening to me?”

  “You’re fine, darlin’, just drunk. Never been drunk before?”

  “No! And I don’t like it. Make it stop, I don’t like it.”

  “You’ll be fine in the morning.”

  “It’s boiling in here. Why is it so hot?” I moan, plucking at my t.shirt, which feels far too tight. “Has someone turned the central heating up?”

  “We don’t have heating.”

  “You should check the fire alarms then, ‘cos the building’s on fire.”

  “We don’t have fire alarms neither and there’s no fire.”

  “If you don’t have fire alarms how could you know?” I wipe at my brow with the back of my hand. I’m sweating. “You really should get them, you know, house fires are the cause of sixty-seven percent of deaths. Normally because of electrical faults.” I pause, “I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Don’t be dramatic,” Sin rolls his eyes at me, “we’d smell a damn fire before it fried us.” He’s barely finished when I vomit. Unfortunately it comes so quickly that I don’t make it to the toilet. It splatters on the floor between us and the sound and smell prompts another wave.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper weakly when it’s over.

  “It’s okay,” he replies haltingly, though the look on his face says otherwise.

  “So, so sorry,” I repeat, sinking down.

  “No, no, no,” Sin shouts, grabbing my arm and yanking me up, “don’t sit on the floor.” Backing me up, he shuts the toilet lid with a clatter, before helping me lower myself down onto it. “Stay here, I’ll be back. Put your head between your knees or something. If you’re gonna do it again, aim for the toilet this time.” All I can do is nod as he leaves the bathroom, though how he expects me to aim for the toilet when I’m sitting on it is beyond me.

  Returning quickly, Sin brings a glass with him, which he fills up at the sink, carefully skirting around the congealing pool of sick. It takes a while for the water to run clean. Brody is trailing behind him, using the doorway to prop himself up.

  “Ooh, you weren’t kiddin’. That’s rank, man.”

  “Shut up, idiot. You got her drunk, you clean up the mess.” Crouching in front of me, he takes one of my clammy hands into his and curls my fingers around the glass. It’s blessedly cool and I press it to my sweaty forehead, before bringing it down to my lips. I rinse and spit into the sink a couple of times to get the taste out of my mouth, then take a sip. The pure, clean liquid soothes my burning throat.

  “Better?” he asks, pushing the hair back from my face. Nodding, I take another cautious sip, praying my stomach doesn’t revolt. “Is it safe to leave the bathroom?”

  I take a moment to examine how I feel, before answering carefully, “I think so.”

  “Come on then.” Taking the glass, he sets it aside and then grips my elbow to help me up. Tucked into his side, I lean heavily against him as we leave the bathroom, abandoning Brody to his task.

  Craning my head to look over my shoulder, I see him staring after us in disbelief. “I’ll clean up,” I protest, half turning.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Sin growls, continuing walking and dragging me along with him, half carrying me, “he can do it.”

  “He’s more drunk than I am,” I lean up to stage-whisper in his ear, as if it were a secret.

  “It’ll sober him up.”

  “Oh, okay then.”

  I’m not really paying attention to our surroundings as we walk along, all my concentration is going into putting one foot in front of another and not face-planting, but when we stop and Sin pushes open the door to a small bedroom, I look up at him with a frown. “Is this your room?” My eyes go wide and I jab a finger at his chest. “I’m not having sex with you! Just ‘cos I’m drunk, doesn’t mean I’m easy.”

  “Calm down. You just chucked up, so no, I don’t wanna have sex with you. This is your room.”

  “No,” I shake my head, “my room is in the basement.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “‘Cos it’s cold down there and I’m tryin’ to be nice. You want it or not?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I squeal in excitement, doing a little jig as I cling to his arm, “thank you.”

  “Well, er…” he clears his throat, looking embarrassed, “you better go to bed.”

  Stepping into the room on my own, I stumble over to the bed and begin stripping off my clothes, almost toppling over as I bend down to pull off my socks. Where’d my shoes go? Throwing them over my shoulder, I look up to see Sin watching me as I clumsily push down my jeans. I’m not being sexy, I wish I was. But he’s still watching and I preen under the attention. Gripping the hem of my shirt, I try to draw it up over my head, but somehow I manage to get all tangled.

  When I can’t extract myself, I slump back on the mattress in defeat, crying, “Help! I’m stuck.”

  I hear Sin muttering something, but the material muffles the sound and I can’t work out what he’s saying as he comes over to grab the shirt, yanking it roughly from me. Free, I scramble further onto the bed and sit cross-legged watching him as he frowns down at me. Momentarily, his eyes dart down to my cleavage and a silly grin blooms across my face. I have just enough sense left to realize that I will be mortified by my actions in the morning. Bad alcohol. Naughty, naughty.

  When he catches me watching him, his frown deepens and he snaps, “Get into bed.”

  Obediently, I crawl beneath the sheet and pull it up to my chin, peering over at Sin as he walks towards the door. “Don’t go,” I whine plaintively, “stay with me.”

  “No.”

  “Just ‘til I fall asleep?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “You won’t like it when you’re sober.”

  “I won’t mind,” I yawn, “promise.”

  Slowly, hesitantly, he makes his way back over to the bed after closing the door behind him with a soft click. Without the light from the hallway, the room is dark, with only the light of the moon coming through the window, so all I can see is a large shadow looming over me as he moves towards the bed. The mattress dips as he sits at the foot of the bed, his breathing loud and heavy in the silence. I find it oddly soothing; it’s like a voice in the dark shouting, You are not alone. Still, I want more.

  “Come closer,” I request huskily, patting the empty space beside me. Again he hesitates, but then slowly lowers himself stiffly down beside me, on top of the sheet, so that we’re lying face to face. There’s a decent amount of space separating us, but I quickly close it, snuggling into his chest despite his obvious reluctance. When he just lays there without moving, I sigh in disappointment. “Don’t you want to touch me?” I can hear him swallowing. I take that as permission. Grabbing a hand, I push it beneath the sheet. For a moment he’s frozen, then his fingers find the bare skin of my waist. The feel of his hand, big and warm and calloused makes me shiver. Wiggling impossibly closer, I kiss his cheek. I was actually aiming for his lips, but I missed.

  Leaning away from me before I can have another go, he says, “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

  Blowing a raspberry to show my distaste, I give his shoulder a little shove, pouting, “You’re no fun.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “So? Have you ever done it with a drunk chick?” I giggle, reaching back to unhook my bra.

  “Yeah, but not one that almost puked on me,” h
e answers bitingly, but I’m too far gone for his tone to hurt as I slide my bra straps down my arms. “What are you doing?” he suddenly demands and I laugh. Without a word, I lift my bra up, twirling it around my finger before letting it fly across the room. He just stares into my eyes, as if trying to gauge how far I’m willing to go with this. I grin back.

  “I’m goin’.” He goes to get up, but I cling to his arm, no longer amused. I’m suddenly absolutely terrified of being alone.

  “No, don’t go,” I plead, “I’ll behave, I promise. No more funny business. Please, don’t go. I don’t want to be alone. What if I get sick again? I don’t wanna be on my own if I’m sick.” Tears fill my eyes and my lower lip quivers.

  “Don’t cry,” he snaps harshly, which only makes the tears stream down my cheeks faster.

  “Why are you being so mean?” I sob, lifting my hands to cover my face.

  “I’m not…” he trails off and I can feel his hair tickling the back of my hands as he shakes his head. “Just stop crying, okay?”

  Sniffing, I drop my hands to peer up at him, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “Will you stay?”

  “As long as you go to sleep.”

  I nod, licking the salt off my lips. “I will, I promise.”

  “Go on then, close your eyes.” Laying my head back down on the pillow, I keep a firm grip on his arm so that he can’t just high-tail it out of here. “Close your eyes,” he repeats.

  Reluctantly, I do as I’m told, muttering, “I’m not a child.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  It’s pitch black outside the window when I awaken. Heart pounding, my eyes search the darkness. For a moment I can’t remember where I am or why I’m here and I panic, but then it all comes rushing back to me, along with a wave of crippling embarrassment. Did I really vomit on the bathroom floor, in front of Sin? Groaning, I sit up and rub my eyes. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton wool and there’s a dull but persistent pain in my right temple. Rubbing my fingers over the ache, I kick the covers from my sweaty body and twist around to bury my face in the pillow. I’m still too hot, so I flip it to the cool side and try again. When I still can’t get back to sleep, I push myself up and out of bed. Flipping on the light, I scout around for my shoes, but can’t find them. Vaguely I remember taking them off in the rec-room last night, so they must still be there.