A Place For Us

Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: I do not own West Side Story or any elements of it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Later, Darcy arrived back home just as the rain was beginning to fall. She went straight into her room and got changed for bed, moving aimlessly and robotically with as little effort as she could take. By her table, she placed the box Riff had bought for her and put her watch inside.

As she climbed into bed and turned out the light, she felt the swirling despair that sat in her gut. She wanted to talk to Riff again, for them both to apologise and hold each other once more. She believed him when he said he didn't know anybody would be at the station during their attack and she knew that even though he had denied it, she was sure that he had been deeply affected by what her dad had said.

Laying in the dark and listening to the rain hammer against the glass on her window, she wondered where Riff had gone and, more worryingly, whether he would ever come back.

On the street, Riff walked through the storm, moving in and out of the puddles of street light thrown down from the lamps above him. The rain poured down and stung on his bare arms, but he didn't care. He didn't care that it got into his eyes and ran down the back of his neck. All he could think of was Darcy. Of her disappointed look and her angry words. The awful things he had said, the awful things she had said, and all the awful things in-between that weren't spoken at all.

As he walked in the dark, thinking about her voice, her face, and the fact that all he wanted to do since he left was run back and sweep her up in his arms made him realise the one thing he had been too afraid to admit until now: he loved her. Completely.

He was in love with her and he had messed it all up. That thought made him indescribably angry. More angry than he had been at Shrank, more angry than he had ever been with any of the Jets. Hell, it made him more angry than any of the Sharks ever had.

He turned the corner, deciding to take a shortcut back home. When he began walking down the alley, he heard voices coming from the other end.

When he reached closer to the distant conversation, he saw two figures he wasn't familiar with. Sometimes, he forgot, the Jets and Sharks weren't the only people worth watching out for around here.

He walked past the two strangers, two guys with cigarettes hanging from their mouths huddled under a fire escape, and continued on his way.

"Hey," one of them called after him.

Riff glanced over his shoulder.

"What?" he asked, not trying to sound polite.

"This is our spot. Go another way."

Riff scoffed. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Riff, who could have continued walking, stopped and turned on his heel. He walked towards the two, feeling his blood rise to his cheeks.

"Look fellas," he said, casually. "I think you'll find that this is actually Jet territory. Which means that you guys are in the wrong place. Lucky for you, I ain't in the mood to teach you a lesson, so why don't you just skedaddle and get lost, alright?"

One of the guys, the bigger one, stepped forward. "I got no idea what you're talkin' about. Now get the hell outta here before we make you."

"Listen, asshole," Riff spat, feeling his rage electrify his body. Perhaps this was what he needed to get it all out. "I'm not gonna tell you again. You and your little buddy need to scram."

The other one stepped forward now, both figures standing face-to-face.

"Like I said..." Riff said, holding his ground. "This is Jet territory."