No Strings

How do you love Puppies? (Part 2)

We start off at the little alleyway behind our school. I cover my bruises, sealing away the vault of the terrible beating thrown at us last night.
Joey's eyes are lifeless, per usual; he's no longer hopping or skipping like the kangaroo child I've nicknamed him. The boy is lost in a world of his own.
"R-Remember..." My throat is scratchy, decaying, I swallow, "Before.... A-about the, uh...," I racked my brain. Kittens? Ducklings? My voice trembles, "T-The puppies I asked about?"
"Yes." He stares ahead, "Then they came."
"No, Joey, they didn't." I sigh; I wanted him to forget last night. Yet the weariness of my bones told me that was impossible.
"T-Those puppies...." I swallow again; if only I could rip my throat out, it was so bitten and cracked from screaming so much yesterday... "I... I told you..."
We paused and the sun was setting, marking another serenade of the night. Joseph huddled close to me, shaking.
"P-Puppies...?" He whimpered, gazing at the little blobs of fur tumbling in a cage. They yipped at each other.
"P-Puppies...." He bit his lip, as if to cry.
"What's wrong with ol' boy?" A husky voice made us both jump. I looked slowly to see a short, disabled man with heavy clothing. About to be age 37, I presumed. He lounged in his chair, sipping a beer that rested on a soaked, cardboard box.
"Little, boy, what's wrong?" He crackled, reaching out a hand to grab his arm. I stiffen, Joey struggles a bit.
"M-Monty..." His eyes pleads, looking at me. I draw a shaky breath. The old man chuckles an ugly, drawn out chuckle.
"Oh, little boy, don't be afraid! I'm as good as dead, trust me...," he grins, rolling in a fit of his own laugh.
"Sir, let my brother go you're scaring him...," I hiss. He halt mid-laugh, opening his squinted eyes. Licks his dry lips and drops Joey's hand limply.
"So be it. Young man, I saw you o'er 'ere, just tha other day, looking at my sweet lil' puppies...," he whistles through his teeth at them and the puppies stand erect, their floppy ears perked. I saw fear in their eyes. "Now, which one of them do you want?" He asked the puppies, pointing a shaky finger at me and Joseph. The pups whimper, a few looking to-and-fro, confused.
"Hahah-a! None?" He smirks, "Okay. Looks like you ain't getting adopted 'en!" The old man heaves a heavy laugh, scratching his exposed chest hair, white and straggly, just like his small beard. I blink.
"Sir, we ain't here for games..," I murmur, "My lil' brother needs a puppy for him's sense of respons-stability, if ye' understand where I'm goin'..."
"Haha, responsibility?" The man corrected, grinning a crinkly smile. He picks up a pipe, huffs a smoke. Blows it out slowly, weakly, and I scratch my nose at the scent of tobacco. The old man spits, "'Ere you go..."
He lifts up the smallest, the runt of the litter, a black-and-white pup with brown splashes and tosses it towards me. I catch it and it whimpers a bit, huddling to my chest. "On the house. And trust me, yer' house will have hell ta pay, ah-hahah!"
----
Joseph and I walked home, taking our time. The little puppy wagged its tail every now and then, sniffing when Joey drew his face near it. He winkled his nose, getting lick by the smelly little pup.
"Rather cute, huh Joey?" I smile, "If only it didn't have so many damn fleas..." I joked weakly.
"Stop doing that, Monty!" Joey protested, stopping. I pause, set the little pup down, lean down to tie a rope around its neck.
"What?"
"You aren't a curser...," his voice wavered and I looked up to see his lip tremble, "A-And you aren't a fiddler neither... We both aren't..."
I pet our new puppy, scratching his little floppy ears.
"I know...," I murmur, "I know we'll never be like them... We'll never be like these people in this town..."
"Why you faking it?"
"Look, Joseph, sometimes you just got to do what you got to do!" I sighed, annoyed with my own speech. He frowned. That man was connected to the pathological jerk "Ollie" Mom still dated; his eyes and ears were practically everywhere. I had to be really careful with my speech.
"I'm sorry, Joey...," I murmured, "We can't trust anyone.... Oliver's gang runs this town, you know..."
"It's okay..."

Lazily, the little puppy stumbled onto the carpet.
"What's wrong with him?" The little dog whimpered when I tried to pet him.
"He's like us, Joey... He's dead inside..."
"No, Monty, don't say things like that!"
"I'm sorry," I huffed. "I'm tired, let's get some sleep."
"Fine..." Joey wrapped the little puppy into his arms, stroking his fur softly. The dog sighed, licking his arm. "He likes me!"
"Huh, so he does."