Newsies: On the frontier.

Chapter 10: Delancey boys.

Enjoy! :)

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Chapter 10: Delancey boys.

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It felt like someone had cut my heart out, and forced me to eat it. I was sick with heartache. I felt like I'd been hit by a trolley, like a horse had trampled my heart. I didn't think I could cry so much, but I could of easily filled two buckets of water. I sat against the wall of an alley, my yellow dress splattered with mud - but it didn't bother me. I was in no state to care how I looked. I could of been in the most ugliest dress in the world, and still not of cared.

I felt dead. I felt like I had died, and this is what it felt like. I was just there, I was a nothing. I couldn't feel the cold on my skin, or the breeze blowing my hair. I couldn't feel the hunger of my shrinking stomach, or the call for sleep from the brain and sunken eyes. I didn't care how I ended up. I just didn't. Because it felt like that all I had believed in was for nothing. Jack had shown his true colours, and so had Spot.

I hated boys. I had no one to trust, even Crutchie couldn't look at me. Mush and Richie avoided my eye, Sweets, Issaac, Davey and Jonsey looked down in silence, while Jack made me look like a fool. And I hated him for it, I truly hated him. The way he had his way with people - or girls. The way he could hypnotize you into doing what he wanted. He wanted me for the strike, and I said no. I got out. And then he replaced me with the evilest girls I could think of. I felt unwanted. I felt un-needed.

I didn't have to live, I could die, and no one would miss me. Not Jack and the other newsies, and certainly not my parents. They'd only get publicity, and that's what they want. I was honestly born with unwanting parents. And it's awful. If they didn't want me, then why put me through this torture? It was pathetic. It was sad, and very depressing. I didn't feel like I needed to live. I was bored with life. But it was the only life I had. And it felt like a waste. But I was a waste.

'Well looky here.' The shorter boy said. His hair was covered with a black bowler hat, and he wore a red undershirt and black cut off shorts. His grey suspenders glimmered in the low sunlight. 'You lost sunshine?' He smirked. He rubbed his jawline, and it just reminded me of Jack.

'Yes, I 'tink she is.' The taller one said, they looked alike.This boy wore a blue shirt underneath a vest, with brown pants. They were both well built, and had cutting features, they were both attractive, you could say. But both, extremely vulgar.

'How do yous' do?' The shorter one said, tipping his hat to me. 'The names Oscar.' He smirked, his eyes blatantly staring me down. He reminded me of Jack with his stare, but they were more greedy than Jacks, they were more, sexual.

'And I'm Morris.' The taller one said, standing next to Oscar. He leaned his elbow on his shoulder, as he mimicked Oscar's blatant stare. He tipped his hat slowly, revealing a bunch of brown strands of hair that curled at odd angles.

'We're the Delanceys, may or may not of - heard of us.' Oscar sneered, he pulled away from Morris, taking a step closer to me. I knew who they were from the second they came into view. And I knew what they did, I had to get away, fast. I stood up from the ground, brushing down my dress. I flashed a fake smile.

'Nice to meet you.' I said, before turning and briskly walking away. I could hear them chuckling behind me, before Oscar grabbed my elbow and yanked me into his arms. He gripped my wrist, and held me tightly up against him. Morris began to scoff, as Oscar breathed down onto me. 'Let me go.' I pleaded. My abnormally large eyes stared up to his murky grey ones, hoping for my release, but he didn't.

'Say.. Yous' wouldn't happen to know a Jack, would'ya?' Morris smirked, moving around behind me, so I was sandwiched between the two boys. I bit my lip, trying desperately not to show signs of weakness, such as crying.

'N-No.' I whimpered.

'And yous' wouldn't happen to know that theys' striking?' Oscar snickered, pressing himself harder against me. I started to be crushed between the two, Morris's hands finding my neck, and rubbing his thumbs down my spine.

Oscar leaned forward, brushing his lips along my cheek, just like Jack, and whispered into my right ear. 'Because Pulitzer wants to know a few things.' I shivered as he stroked my cheeks, brushing my hair away. Morris did the same, leaning over and whispering in my left ear. 'And yous' know a few things'.

I struggled in their grip. As soon as I moved, their hands clamped down like irons, locking onto my limbs. I twisted around, but they wouldn't let go. 'NO!' I squealed. Morris's left hand covered my lips, muffling my voice. I opened my eyes wide in shock, trying dearly not to smell his gross hands.

'If ya' won't come happily, we'll have to make ya'.' Oscar chuckled, gripping my wrists so tightly I thought they were about to break off. He dropped my hands, and took a step back. Morris held my mouth, but managed to gather my arms behind me, with one of his hands. Oscar took a run up and punched me in the stomach, and that's were I blacked out.

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Waking up in a cold, dark, dank room isn't the best thing in the world. Not to mention how much pain I was in. My stomach stung, my lip seared, and it felt like someone was hitting my legs, arms and head with a rock. I groaned in pain, clutching my throbbing head. I blinked back the tears, my eyes adjusting to the room. I was on a stack of papers, in some sort of basement. Everything was in the shadows, and I don't think I've ever been more scared.

'Hello?' I whimpered. My voice cracked with fear, I gripped my arms as I began to tremble, my lips quivering violently. Then he appeared, in a red dressing gown, and black slippers, Joseph Pulitzer came into sight. He had glasses and a long beard, and hardly any hair to boast of on his head.

'Hello Anastasia Picket.' He grinned, his cheeks turned up in an evil smile. I winced at him, crawling back along the makeshift bed. 'Do not fear me, child.' He cooed. He came into the light, and he was even worse than he was in the shadows. Layered with wrinkles, and moles and age spots. 'I simply want answers, and you will answer, won't you?' He asked. I nodded my head quickly, I didn't want to mess with Pulitzer. 'Good.' He continued. 'Is Jack getting Brooklyn involved?'

'He tried.' I answered.

'And did they accept?' He asked.

'No.' I said truthfully. I wasn't about the lie to the most powerful man in New York.

'What would Jack do to get you back?' He asked. I was struck up on this question, and had no idea what he meant by it.

'Pardon?'

'Would he stop the strike, if you life were - say - endangered?' He smirked. It was so ugly, it sent shivers up my spine. 'If Oscar had a knife to your pretty little throat, would he drop the strike to let you live?'

I was speechless. He probably wouldn't. He'd let me die, most likely. And that was one scary thought. 'He doesn't care for anyone but himself.' I sighed. It was so true. Jack was the most gallant and selfish person I'd ever met. And my father was George Picket!

'Well. We can always try.' He sneered, and left me in silence. And now, I think, I'm more terrified than before.

Will Jack let her die? Or will he swoop in and save her. Well - who knows? It's Jack.