Ghetto

by M L Sparrow

  The door opens with a creak, obscenely loud in the silence. My footsteps pad softly against the floor as I wonder down the hall towards the rec-room. Once I locate my shoes amid the mess of bottles and several people who are passed out on the floor, I put them on and leave the room.

  Aimlessly walking the halls at night feels strange and forbidden, as if I’m somehow pushing my luck, yet at the same time it’s liberating. On the second floor, light is seeping out from beneath on of the doors I pass and as I draw closer I can hear voices within. Curiosity compels me to get closer, straining to hear what the muted voices are saying. Eavesdropping appears to have become a nasty habit of mine.

  “Lockdown is gonna make it a real bitch to get the deliveries.”

  “We don’t stand a chance of getting through all those patrols.”

  “They’ll shoot anyone they see out after curfew.”

  “Best not be seen then.” That was Sins’ voice, cool and matter of fact, an underlying touch of wry humour that I’m not sure anyone else detected.

  “You can’t expect us to go out there with the police swarmin’ like locus. They’ll catch us.”

  “What could they do to us?” Sin demands harshly, “Put us in the Ghetto? Starve us? Take away our rights? They’ve already done it! They could beat us, kill us, but if we’re gunna keep strugglin’ every day in this hell hole then we may as well die.”

  For a moment there’s silence. And then everyone starts to talk at once. Some agree, others continue to protest loudly. Their words are all jumbled together, becoming indecipherable. That’s why I don’t hear the footsteps.

  “You’re all bloody crazy!” a voice yells, so close that I jerk my head back. The middle aged man with greying hair who yanks it open draws back at the sight of me standing there. For a long moment he just stares at me and then his face scars over with anger. Spinning around to face the room, he jabs a finger aggressively back at me, demanding, “What the hell is she doin’ outa her cell?”

  Reclining in a bare-boned wooded chair, balancing on its’ back legs, Sin answers calmly, his eyes catching and holding mine, even though he’s talking to the other man, “She’s proved her loyalty, she can do whatever she wants.”

  “You’re just gunna let her wonder around willy-nilly? She’s the Presidents’ daughter! Are you crazy, boy? You’re gunna run us into the ground. You’re gunna get us all killed.”

  The chair legs clatter to the floor.

  “Are you questioning me?” Sins’ voice is ice cold, but his expression is anything but as he confronts the older man, standing to tower threateningly over him. “I made this group, I built it up from nothing. Because of that I choose what we do, when we do it and how we do it. If you don’t like it leave.” He looks around the room, fixing every single person in turn with a hard stare, before asking, “Does anyone else have a problem with how I run things?”

  Nobody else speaks up. The other man looks around for some support, but no one will meet his gaze. Slowly his face begins to turn red with outrage and, without a word, he spins around and storms out, pushing roughly past me. The rooms’ occupants all watch his dramatic exit and once he’s gone those eyes turn to me. Embarrassed by the attention and feeling as if I’d somehow caused the confrontation that had just taken place, heat suffuses my cheeks and I fidget uncomfortably.

  “Um… I’ll just go now.” Turning to leave, I make it halfway down the hall before Sins’ voice makes me pause.

  “Wait.” A second later he appears beside me, his hand warm on my lower back as he steers me around and walks us in the opposite direction, past the open door to the room where the other men remain, staring out at us uncomprehendingly.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, staring at the ground because I can’t look at him now without remembering that he saw me puking my guts up.

  “I’m gunna show you my favourite spot ‘round here.”

  Instead of leaving the building like I thought, we head up towards the roof. Opening the door that leads out into the cool night air, Sin ushers me out and leads me over to the edge. There’s no guard-rail, or anything to stop you accidentally falling over the edge, so I don’t get too close, but Sin goes straight over and stands there with his toes practically dangling. I don’t immediately understand why this is Sin’s favourite place, since all that can be seen are the brick and concrete buildings rising up on all four sides of us, but I don’t say anything and then Sin glances back and beckons me over. Once I’m within reach he repositions me and I can see it. The breath catches in my throat. It’s beautiful. A miracle view. Through the narrow gap in the buildings, I can see the bright lights of the city reflected in the glimmering water of the river, like a panoramic photo framed just for us.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I murmur.

  “Yeah,” he agrees, but when I glance over my shoulder at him he’s not looking out at the city. “How you feelin’ now?”

  “Good, thank you.” I can feel the blood filling my cheeks as I fight my embarrassment to say, “I’m so sorry about last night, especially for, you know, vomiting in front of you. Everything is kind of fuzzy after that, so I hope I didn’t do or say anything too inappropriate.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  I begin to shake my head, but then fragments of a memory begin to come back to me. Blanching, I ask, “Did I come onto you?”

  “Yeah. Can’t say I minded though.” His grin is a slash of white across his face, making him look young and carefree.

  “But we didn’t...” I trail off uncertainly, looking up at him for an answer.

  “No.”

  I feel a pang of rejection, but then I frown, remembering. “I woke up naked.”

  “That was all you. I wouldn’t take advantage like that.”

  “Oh… That’s noble.”

  “Not something you expected?”

  There’s a note of bitterness in his voice that makes me turn away from the view to face him, though the night shields most of his features from view. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Shrugging, he diverts his gaze back to the faraway city, without a word. Doing the same, I find myself leaning back against him. Even more surprising is that, instead of pushing me away or stepping back, Sin wraps an arm loosely around my waist and rests his chin on the top of my head.

  After several minutes of silence, I manage to pluck up the nerve to ask, “How come your foster parents didn’t like you?” With his good looks, I imagine he had been a beautiful, blue eyed, blond haired little boy – hard not to love. As soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize that I have absolutely no right to ask such a question. Maybe I’m still drunk?

  However, surprisingly, Sin answers after a long, sullen moment, tipping his head back to stare up at the stars glittering above us. “They never wanted me, it’s not like I’m their kid. I just got dumped on them. And worse, the woman who left me paid them in jewellery.” It takes me a moment to understand the contempt in his voice, but then I realize, in the Ghetto jewels are not a tradeable commodity. Who wants pretty baubles when they are missing the bare necessities? Here, a loaf of bread is worth more than the most precious gems.

  Shaking his head, Sin continues, “As far as I know they’re still hidden beneath the floorboards and Cara only gets them out to count sometimes.” I assume Cara is his foster mother and I can’t help feeling a rush of animosity towards her, but then Sin shrugs. “Could’a been worse though. They weren’t cruel, just ignored me most of the time. And I got Kit,” he adds after a moment’s pause, affection in his voice.

  “Were they the ones who named you?” I ask softly, dropping both my hands to lightly grip the arm wrapped around my waist, rubbing my thumbs over his skin, feeling the ridges where the mud had dried. Scratching at the pretend Brand, I watch it flake away, knowing the reason for the name as he nods.

  “What happened to your biological parents?” I enquire, tilting my head back to look at him.

  “Don’t know, don’t care.”

&
nbsp; “How can you say that? Don’t you want to know them? Don’t you want to know where you came from?”

  “No.” Total, harsh honesty rings in his voice. “They left me.”

  “But…”

  “Sunny,” his voice holds a note of warning, his arms flexing around me, “drop it.” Graciously, though unwillingly, I let the subject go and we stand in silence until he asks stiffly, “What about your mum? Don’t ever hear of her in the News.”

  It feels like revenge. A perfectly aimed jab that slides right between my ribs and deep into my heart. For a moment I can’t breathe, but then I push back the instantaneous pain that always comes with any mention of my mum and don the mask I usually wear when confronting the media.

  “She died giving birth to me,” I inform him matter-of-factly, chin up, eyes staring straight ahead.

  “Sorry,” Sin says after a pause, “I thought she was dead, but I brought it up ‘cos I’m an arsehole.”

  The unladylike snort that escapes me is more surprised than anything else, but after a moment to think, I shake my head, relieving him of some of his guilt. “I’m not disputing the fact that you’re an arsehole, but in this particular circumstance I’m also partly to blame. I made you uncomfortable, you were just returning the favour.”

  “Don’t make it right,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.

  We stand there, staring out over the Ghetto to the city beyond, once more in silence. The increasing wind ruffles the stretch of black water between the cities and whistles through the buildings, causing the sheets and tarpaulins, which people had tied over their windows in lieu of glass, to snap and ripple violently. However, blocked in as we are on all sides by much taller buildings, the wind barely touches us stood atop our stubby three storey building. Still, I shiver in the cool night air as thin ribbons make it through the concrete jungle to tickle exposed skin. Neither of us is wearing anything warmer than a t.shirt and behind me I can feel Sin’s body shivering in time with mine, yet we don’t make any move to go in. Goosebumps prickle up and down my arms and his hands move to rub them away.

  “I don’t talk about her much.” My voice, unexpected even to me, sounds loud in the sleepy quiet of the pre-dawn. I lower it even further as I confess, “I never knew her so I guess there’s not much to say.”

  “Did your dad tell you much about her?”

  “A little, but I’m not sure how much of it I believe. He always made her out to be some kind of saint. I don’t know if it’s even possible for someone to be as inherently good as he described.” Apparently she had been sweet, easy-going and overflowing with the milk of human kindness, to the point that she wouldn’t even kill a spider, though she was supposedly terrified of them. “And if she was everything he said,” I whisper, “then that makes me some kind of monster for depriving the world of her supreme goodness.”

  “That’s stupid,” he says bluntly. Unable to help myself, I jab an elbow into his stomach and hear a satisfying ‘umph’ in response. “Sorry,” he mutters, though he doesn’t sound particularly repentant, “but it is. It’s not like you had any choice about whether you wanted to be born or not.”

  “It’s not even that, really.” I frown, unsure why I am sharing so much of myself with him. “She purposefully gave up her life to bring me into the world…” Briefly, I give him the lowdown on why she died, before finishing pathetically, “She told my dad that she wouldn’t abort me because I might change the world, but I’m not like her, I’m not amazing and I don’t know how to be. I feel like I’m disappointing her and I wonder if she died in vein.” A single tear slides down my cheek and I quickly dash it away.

  “You’re only young.” With his hands heavy on my shoulders, Sin turns me around to face him, stooping down to look me in the eye as he says with utter seriousness, “You have plenty of time to make your mark, you’ll figure it out.”

  I nod, but my mind has gone in another direction, wondering what kind of mark he’s going to leave on the world. “What’s going to happen to Ely and the other guy who betrayed you, the one who told the boy it was safe to come out?”

  “Lee’s long gone. Rumour is the police cut him a deal, a free pass back to the city if he helped them. Lucky he wasn’t all that involved, so he didn’t have much to tell, nothin’ important anyway. He’ll be back though, no one’ll give him a job once they know he was here.” And they’d know, I think, the moment they scanned his Brand. No job meant no income, which in turn meant no home, no food, nothing. Sin was right; Lee would be back in the Ghetto in no time.

  “I think gettin’ sent back’ll be punishment enough,” Sin says after a moment’s thought.

  “What about Ely?” Something dark inside of me hopes Sin isn’t quite so lenient with him.

  “Why’d you care?” he asks, eyes suddenly guarded, body tense.

  “I want to know.”

  His mouth tightens momentarily, but then he shrugs. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

  I swallow tightly, already having my suspicions. “What does that mean?” He just stared down at me. “Is he dead?” I ask quietly after a minute. His silence confirms it. A shiver runs down my spine, but then I realize that the hollow, sick feeling that had been with me since Ely’s attack is gone. I’m not scared anymore.

  “I’m glad,” I say, running my hand lightly up his arm again. The surprise in his eyes lifts my heart.

  It’s early morning, when the sun is just beginning to peak over the rooftops in the distance, by the time we finally decide to go back inside. We spot several people in the halls, but the corridor leading to my room is empty, which just might be a blessing, because as we reach my door, Sin stops short, his cold hand still holding onto my numb fingers. His eyes stare into mine for a long moment. And then he kisses me. It’s a shock, but a pleasant one. One I embrace whole heartedly. My arms creep up around his neck, fingers tangling in the too-long hair at his nape. His lips, and mine, are cold, but they warm up quickly as they mesh together and his tongue is scorching.

  It is… everything. It swallows my whole world for the short time it lasts.

  However, it ends all too soon. My eyes are still closed when he draws away. Gently, he presses another chaste kiss against my lips and it feels almost like a thank you. Blinking open my eyes, I catch him staring at me, before he steps away and the moment is gone, as if it’d never been.

  “You should get some sleep,” he advises, his voice soft but gruff, “we ain’t got nothin’ to do today.”

  In answer, I simply nod, too dazed to say anything as I watch him walk away, glancing back over his shoulder before turning the corner and disappearing from view. Filled with girlish, romantic thoughts, I lift my fingers to my tingling lips, as if to hold onto the feeling forever. Sighing, I open the door and step inside, shutting myself in. Falling onto my bed, I curl up with a pillow held tight to my chest, but I don’t sleep.

  The next day, I’m disappointed by not running into Sin. I don’t even glimpse him in passing. At first I convince myself that he’s just busy; though he’d told me there was nothing to do that day, something may have come up that needed his immediate attention, he was the rebel leader after all. But by the fourth day I’m beginning to wonder if he could be purposefully avoiding me. But he was the one who’d kissed me in the hallway, it’s not like I’d forced myself on him… Not once I was sober anyway. Maybe he was embarrassed that he had kissed me, maybe he regretted it. With those thoughts, any romantic notions I may have had disappear under the onslaught of doubts. I’m so angry at myself, because I’d begun to dream of a future, a wedding, a gaggle of blond haired children. How pathetic was that? I barely even know the guy. Am I so desperate to be loved that I’ll settle for anyone? Despite this, I still ask Kit about him in a moment of weakness when we’re eating breakfast in the canteen. The answer he gives is worrying, but despite that I feel a flash of relief.

  “He’s in his room, he’s not feelin’ well,” Kit answers around a mouthful of watery porrid
ge.

  My relief is quickly drowned out by concern. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Dunno,” Kit doesn’t sound all too worried though, “but it’s not like him, he prefers to be doin’ stuff, ya know?” Nodding my head in agreement, I chew on my thumbnail as I think. Kit said he wasn’t feeling very well. It only takes a few hours for a wound to become infected and considering how unhygienic it had been down in the tunnels, plus the fact that the cut hadn’t been treated properly, it wasn’t that much of a leap.

  Standing abruptly, leaving my breakfast untouched, I demand, “Take me to him.”

  Though reluctant, Kit shows me to Sin’s room, after shovelling in the last few spoonfuls of porridge. As it turns out, his room is just around the corner from mine and I feel my stomach twist with guilt, because while I had been lying in bed at night, resenting him for ignoring me, he had been just a few steps away, possibly dying from blood poisoning.

  “He doesn’t want to be disturbed,” Kit reminds me for the umpteenth time. I ignore him and lift a hand to knock. “Okay, well, I’ll be off,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he backs away, “come find me later, if you survive.”

  Rolling my eyes, I let my knuckles fall against the wood. There’s no answer, so I try the door handle and the door swings open without resistance. Vaguely I’m surprised Sin leaves it unlocked, but then again, I don’t suppose many people would dare just waltz into his room without an invite.

  With the ragged grey curtains drawn the room is dark, but I can still detect a lump on the bed. As I step inside, I wrinkle my nose; it smells of sweat and stale bodies. Even as I stand there, undecided as to what to do next, a moan comes from the direction of the bed and my decision is made. The bedframe creaks as my feet take me closer. Beneath the sheets, Sin thrashes and finally manages to kick free of the tangled covers. He’s sprawled on his back, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and the bandages over his wound, which look as if they haven’t been changed since they were first put on. They had acquired a dirty, brownish hue and blood had seeped through from beneath to decorate the middle. Sweat glistens on his skin, beading on his upper lip, and when I lay a hand on his forehead he’s burning up. At my touch, his eyes crack open, but even though he’s staring right up at me I don’t get the impression that he actually sees me and a moment later they shut once more.