Ghetto

by M L Sparrow

  Lifting his head for a moment, he asks, “You okay?” Nodding, breathless from what I’m about to do, I reach down and pull my t.shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside. Sins’ indrawn breath makes me blush. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers reverently, touching a finger to one of the many freckles decorating my pale skin.

  “You’re not too bad yourself,” I reply, brushing the soft blond hair back from his face, “has anyone ever told you that you have the most spectacular eyes?”

  It’s his turn to look embarrassed, colour rising in his cheeks. “They have now.”

  “Kiss me again,” I demand, cupping the back of his neck, urging him down on top of me. He’s heavy, but it’s a nice weight as his tongue dances with mine, our breaths mingling. Grabbing the bottom of his t.shirt, I try to yank it off, but it gets caught on his head and we both end up laughing as he’s forced to sit up and untangle himself. His shirt joins mine on the floor and is joined by my jeans several minutes later, leaving me in only my underwear. A hand braced on either side of my head, he lifts himself up to admire my pretty lace underwear.

  “Pretty,” he states, running a finger over the waistband of my knickers, “I think I like you dressed all posh. Saw a picture of you on a billboard earlier, in a pretty dress with your hair and makeup done all nice.”

  “What,” I tease, “you don’t like me in hand-me-down rags that are several sizes too big?”

  “I like you whatever you wear, though I’m beginnin’ to think I prefer you wearin’ nothin’.”

  “I guess we’d better test that theory out then, hadn’t we?” I murmur, arching up off the bed to reach behind me and unclasp my bra. The cups sag and I shrug the straps from my shoulders, revealing myself to his hungry gaze. Swallowing tightly, he licks his lips. Slowly, nervously, I hook my thumbs into the sides of my knickers and begin easing them down.

  “Sunny!” A loud shout makes us both jump, springing apart, eyes turning towards the door.

  “You said he wouldn’t be home for hours,” Sin hisses, scrambling for our clothes.

  “He never usually comes back early.”

  “What the hell are we goin’ to do?”

  “Doors lock,” I command, hearing them click shut at my demand. “You need to hide.”

  Glancing around, his gaze settles on the wardrobe and he heads towards it. His hands search the wood panel, desperately looking for the handles, when he can’t find them he attempts to prize them open before casting me a panicked look over his shoulder. Still struggling to pull my jeans on, I stumble over to him, placing my hand on the screen set into the door. After scanning my palm, the doors slide open and Sin jumps inside so that I can close them again.

  “Sunny, are you here?” The light on the door flashes red, indicating someone trying to get in without permission. “Open this door now.”

  Dressed once more, my hands tremble as I try to straighten the rumpled bedcovers. “Just coming. Give me a second.” Physically shaking, I glance around the room, checking the wardrobe door is shut, before noticing that the film is still showing on my laptop. Rushing over, just as my dad knocks impatiently on the door, I shut down the screen.

  “Doors unlock.” The light flashes green and a second later the door slides open, revealing my dad standing on the other side.

  “Sunny, where have you been? That party was really important to my career, do you understand how bad it looked that you ducked out early? You were barely there two hours. Emilie was very upset that you left.”

  “I’m really sorry, Dad, I started to feel really unwell,” I lie, heart pounding. “I tried to tell you that I was leaving, but you were talking to someone and I didn’t want to interrupt. I was going to send you a message when I got home, but I must have fallen asleep. I’ve only just woken up.”

  Frowning, he looks me over, before commenting, “You do look a little flushed. Have you checked your temperature?” I shake my head no and he continues, “Well, I’ll make you an appointment with Dr Wong in the morning, in the meanwhile get a good night’s sleep. I’ll give your apologies to Emilie.”

  “A doctor’s appointment isn’t necessary,” I say quickly, “I’m sure it’s just a cold.”

  “Well, that may be, but you know how these things get on top of you and you don’t want to get ill again.” With that he turns and leaves the room.

  Following him out into the hall, I ask, “Are you going back out again?”

  “I was going to go into the Office and get some work done, since I’m wide awake, but I can stay if you need me to.”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He leaves without any further arguments. Silently, I stand and watch the elevator doors close, then wait several minutes to make sure he doesn’t come back for anything. When I finally force myself to move, my legs are shaking. Sucking in a deep breath, I catch sight of Sin’s shoes beneath the table by the elevator and thank God my dad didn’t notice them. Hurrying back to the room, I shut and lock the door just to be safe, before going over to open the wardrobe door. Sin’s glaring at me from the shadows.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I throw up my hands and take a step back as he emerges from his hiding place. “He never usually comes back so early.”

  “You already said that,” he snaps, irritation clear in his tone, but despite that when my lips twitch upwards his quickly follow suit. What was it about a lucky escape that made someone feel so jubilant and bullet-proof? Without thinking about it, I lean in for a kiss and he responds.

  Several minutes later, when the adrenaline has dulled, I pull back, panting profusely. His breath is hot and heavy against my lips. “You should probably go.” His huff of laughter makes me smile and I lean my forehead against his shoulder; I see the irony, too. All night, I have been the one begging him to stay a little longer and now I’m telling him to go, though it’s the last thing I want.

  “Yeah, I should,” he sighs, pulling away. My body follows his instinctively, before I force myself to step back, putting some distance between us so that rationality has room to breathe. Looking up at him, I can see desire and self-preservation warring in the blue depths.

  Unfortunately, the latter wins.

  Chapter 20

  Despite the disastrous consequences if we’re caught, Sin and I meet up again the next night. Once more we return to the apartment and the first thing I do is show him the modifications I made to the security system after he left the previous night; now the Comm Panel by the door in my room will send us an early warning signal, in the form of a series of bleeps, if anyone gets into the elevator heading up to the penthouse.

  “That way,” I explain, “we have more time to get rid of the evidence and for you to hide.”

  “I feel stupid hiding in your wardrobe,” Sin scowls, even as he steps into the room and I automatically lock the door behind him, before going over to sit on the bed.

  “It’s no worse than hiding in a sewer. I can guarantee it smells a lot better.”

  Tilting his head slightly, he says, “It smelled flowery.”

  “That’ll be the lilac potpourri,” I inform him, motioning for him to join me on the bed. Coming over to sit next to me, he leaves only the tiniest slither of space between us, but still I feel the need to shuffle over until our thighs are touching. With only that point of contact, we sit there in silence. It is both perfect and torturous, however, I couldn’t seem to make myself talk, I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

  Suddenly, out of the blue, Sin breaks the silence. “I got you something.”

  “A present?” I ask, interest peaked.

  “Kinda.” Glancing away, he reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and fishes something out, handing it to me without a word. Taking the object, I turn it over in my palms with a frown. It takes me a moment to figure out what it is; I haven’t even glanced at my Typer Writer since I returned home.

  “This is a Type Wheel.”

  “That’s what you were lookin’ for, yeah?”


  “Yes,” I nod dumbly, “how did you find it?”

  Scratching the back of his head, still not looking at me, he answers, “I used the laptop to search what it looked like, then I got a few guys out lookin’ in the area we found you.”

  “You used the laptop?” I can’t quite keep the disbelief out of my voice.

  Shrugging, he admits, “Kit helped.”

  Grinning, I lean over to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “Thank you. It’s a really thoughtful gift, I love it.”

  Clearing his throat, he says gruffly, “Good, I’m glad.”

  Giving him another kiss, I jump off the bed. “Would you like to see the rest of it?”

  With a nod, he gets up and follows me over to the desk, standing back as I clear all the debris and shift the heavy, old-fashioned typewriter to the forefront. Grabbing my tool kit, I bend over and begin to fix the remaining piece into place. It takes longer than I’d originally thought; it’s fiddly and I have to remove several other pieces in order to fit the Type Wheel, before replacing them once it’s in. When I’m finished, I set my tools aside, straighten and step back, flexing my fingers. Turning, I find Sin standing in exactly the same place, watching me intently.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, shifting self-consciously.

  “I was just thinkin’ how smart you are,” he admits, before stating bluntly, “I don’t deserve you.”

  Heart clenching, I go to him because I can’t not. Cupping his jaw, I angle his head down so that he’s looking into my eyes, before saying seriously, “You’ve got it backwards. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. You’re a good guy, Sin, you just go about things the wrong way sometimes. Until I met you I was nothing but a spoilt brat.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and brushes his fingers down the side of my face, before tracing my lips with his thumb. Trembling, I lean into him and feel his arms wrap securely around me and I know where I belong. Without a doubt, this is where my loyalties lie.

  That very same night, I send the video viral so that the city can wake up to the truth. It is sent to every single email address originating in the city and surrounding areas, as well as school and government computers, all the electronic billboards and I even make it as a popup that will appear on all the News sites, even the most insignificant ones that people rarely read because they only print rubbish about alien abductions and the likes.

  Needless to say my dad is extraordinarily busy over the next few days with damage control. I don’t see him in all that time, though his PA does pop in to pick up several spare sets of clothes. The alone time doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it and it also means that I don’t have to hide my satisfaction from anyone. My dad, the President, calls the video a pack of lies, he tells people it is a terrorist attack, but, according to blogs and comments online, few people seem to believe that. Responses are varied, some find the treatment of the Ghetto folk appalling, while others think the so called ‘criminals’ are getting what they deserve, however, the images of starving children strike a chord with everyone. There are protests outside government building. Internet forums are set up specifically to discuss the issue. Food banks are created. There are reports of a group of teenage boys attempting to blow a hole in the fence using explosives; they were caught and arrested before they could complete the act and their continued imprisonment is another source of discontent in the city. Things are happening faster than I could ever have dreamed. A mixture of robotic and human guards, all armed, are posted around the Ghetto to make sure no one gets out and no ‘do-gooders’ go in. The government tries to take down the video and search for its creator, but I have covered my tracks and the beauty of my creation is that for every one that is taken down, two more appear in its place.

  In all the chaos, I don’t get chance to see Sin, nor is it safe to communicate online, not with all the extra security measures. If he could, I reckon my dad would simply shut down the internet temporarily, but our society relies so much on it that doing that would cause mayhem, it would mean the end of his term as President.

  In short, everything is going extraordinarily well for our cause. That is until the gun smuggling is revealed.

  I’m awoken that morning by a knock on my door. Confused, I sit up, blinking in the darkness and shoving the tangled hair back from my face. “Lights on,” I yawn, lifting a hand to cover my mouth. Immediately the lights turn on and the black glass of the windows shifts to transparent, the bright light making me squint. It looks to be around midday. Rubbing my eyes, I call, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me,” someone calls back unhelpfully. It takes me a moment to realize who the voice belongs to. Pushing back the covers, I climb out of bed and pad over to the door.

  “Hey, Micah,” I greet him as the door slides open, “what brings you here?”

  “Your dad called me a couple of hours ago, asked me to come and get you all dolled up for a speech he’s making at one. I tried to let you sleep as long as possible, but we’re running out of time now, baby girl, so go take a shower and get your lovely self into the living room.”

  Still confused, I do as I’m told nonetheless. The shower wakes me up a little and the coffee Micah has waiting for me finishes the job. Nursing the steaming cup of heaven, I curl my legs beneath me on the chair as Micah dries and tames my hair into sleek ringlets instead of the usual mass of wild curls.

  “So what’s the speech about?” I ask, sipping at the coffee whilst watching him in the mirror placed in front of me.

  “I don’t know, darling,” he answers, “I thought you’d have all the gossip.”

  Shaking my head, I murmur, “I don’t know any more than you do about this.”

  “It must be something to do with all the protests going on at the moment,” he says conversationally, “your dad seems like he’s having a hard time of it at the moment.” Of their own accord, my eyebrows arch up incredulously. Obviously catching the expression in the mirror, Micah stops what he’s doing to ask, “You don’t agree?”

  “No,” I say after a moment’s hesitation, “I think the real people suffering are the people in the Ghetto, all my dad is doing is trying to prolong that in order to keep face.”

  “You believe those videos?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure,” his hands return to my hair, fiddling idly, “it looks real enough, but the more I think about it the less I believe our government could be responsible for something like that. Do you really think your dad would do that?” Clenching my jaw, I don’t answer and after several long seconds he goes back to preparing me for this afternoon.

  Once he’s finished and I’m all glammed up, my hair fixed to hide the silver hoops lining the shell of my ear, wearing a conservative, pure white dress coupled with a pair of ballerina flats, Micah leads me down to the lobby, where my dad awaits. Outside the building a small stage has been erected with a podium atop it and High-Tec cameras all around. A crowd is also beginning to gather, but is being held at bay by a line of uniformed officers. Amid the people are several handmade signs demanding ‘Freedom from the Ghetto’ and ‘Human Rights to All’. Though my lips don’t move, secretly I smile inside. Our message is being heard.

  “Bloody do-gooders,” my dad grumbles as he strides over to me, gesturing towards the protesters, “that’s all well and good, but what they don’t realize it that the people in the Ghetto are dangerous. They’re in there for a reason, after all. They’re criminals.” He looks at me, as if expecting a response. When I do nothing but shoot him a disgusted look, he frowns and turns away to let his PA straighten his tie.

  Seconds later we are being chivvied out of the door by a little man in a suit and I follow my dad up the stairs and onto the stage. Standing several steps back, I’m not really listening as he addresses the crowd gathered in front of him, as well as the people watching from the comfort of their own homes. I’m done playing the dutiful daughter; all these years I’ve listened to him prattle on
and on about politics and I’d believed him, like a gullible child I’d believed every single word that came out of his mouth simply because he was my father. And now his words had turned out to be lies. He may not even be aware of it, but he’s too pig-headed to listen to a word I have to say, despite the fact that I’m his daughter. So now, I don’t smile, I don’t wave, I don’t show my support because he forfeited the right to that when he refused to hear me out. This is the last time I stand by his side, I decide in that moment; I’m not the girl I was before my trip to the Ghetto and I don’t want to do this anymore.

  “The Ghetto is a prison for the city’s most dangerous criminals. The people who live there are unfit to join our society, they would cause pandemonium if released and crime in our city would triple. Rape, murder and robbery would become a common thing. As a father, I wouldn’t feel safe letting my daughter out alone if these people were free to roam around and I’m sure many of you feel the same way.” Outrage shoots through me like a jolt of electricity. How dare he use me as a tool to fool these people?

  “What about the children?” someone hollers from the crowd and there is a burst of angry agreement, before my dad holds up a hand for silence and a hush falls over the audience as everyone waits to see what he has to say.

  “The children in the viral video that has been circulating the internet are something we are looking into. Myself, as well as the rest of the government, were just as distressed as the public to see such young children living in such dreadful conditions and you have my word, as your President, that a thorough investigation is taking place in order to find out why those children are in the Ghetto. In all likelihood they are probably runaways who merely happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when that video was shot. But, of course, there is also the possibility that there are no children at all and that those images were fakes.” A ripple runs through the crowd, but I can’t tell if it’s dissention or acceptance off his lies.