AN: This was a request! Also, I want to make something clear before everyone reads this: I don't have any kind of experience with self-harm, and while I tried to represent it as accurately as I could, I don't know how realistic it actually is, and if it is innacurrate, and if anyone has any advice on how I'd be able to make it better, that would be greatly appreciated!
13-year-old Judy had no idea where she was. Though, she didn't care, either. She was in an alley, somewhere in Brooklyn. Tears were streaming down her face. She couldn't do it anymore. She just couldn't. For six years, ever since her parents died, she had been trying to find a job. And every time she found one she just couldn't keep it. She had been struggling, and struggling, and struggling. Especially after her younger brother had died, almost a month ago. It was her fault that he'd died, she hadn't taken care of him as well as she'd promised her parents she would, and now he was gone. After that, it became even harder for her, and she kept on struggling. And now. Now she was just desperate. She looked around, and, through her tears, saw a broken glass bottle a few feet away. She grabbed one of the glass shards, and took off her shabby coat, depositing it carelessly on the ground. She rolled up her sleeves, and slowly made a cut on her upper arm. She sighed at the relief the pain gave her, and made another cut, and she was about to make a third when someone started yelling.
"Hey!" Judy's grip on the piece of glass tightened, and she put her knees up against her chest defensively as an older-looking boy with dark hair and a newsboy cap came running into the alley. "What are you doing?" The boy asked her firmly, though she was sure he knew exactly what she was doing.
"None of your business." She mumbled. He crouched in front of her and took the piece of glass out of her hands before she could stop him. She let out a cry of indignation.
"You shouldn't be doing that, you know."
"It's none of your business!"
"I'm Spot Conlon." He was acting like he couldn't hear her.
"I don't care."
"What about you, who're you?"
"Leave me alone!" Judy screamed at him, fresh tears springing up.
"What's your name?" Spot paused. "You know what, that doesn't matter, you're coming with me."
"I am not – "And before she could get another word out, he easily picked her up, being careful of her arm, and started walking. "Let me go!" She started trying to escape his grip, but Spot just tightened it.
"Stop moving or I might drop you."
"Was that a threat?"
"That was a fact. If you don't hold still I might accidentally drop you."
"How do I know you aren't abducting me? What if you're taking me to sell me as a slave, or hold me for ransom, or rape me?" She listed all the horrible things that he could do to her, and Spot just laughed.
"Don't be so pessimistic. Trust me."
"I don't trust you."
"Yeah, well you wouldn't be there first. Here we are." He set her down, and she looked up at the brick building he'd stopped in front of.
"Where?" She tried to sound as disinterested as she could.
"The Brooklyn Lodging House. It's for us newsies. None of the other boys are here now, though." And he opened the door and walked in, leaving Judy with no choice but to follow him in, and all the way up to a small bathroom, where Spot was rinsing a rag with cold water. She gave him a questioning look. He shrugged. "You think I don't know how to treat wounds, kid? C'mere." She did, and he pressed the rag gently onto her arm. "You ever done this before?"
"...What?"
"You know, like, hurting yourself?"
"Oh. Um, not really. I mean, once or twice, maybe."
"You should stop. The more you do it, the harder it is to stop."
"How would you know?" Spot scoffed.
"That's none of your business. You got a place to stay?"
"No." Judy shook her head. "I mean, not really. I'm fine, though."
"You do now, you're staying with us here, and I'll see about getting you a job as a newsie around here, you seem tough enough, I think you can handle it. And with you here, I can keep an eye on you, make sure you stay safe."
"Stop! Just stay out of my life, it's not your business, so just let me go."
"Hey." Spot's tone was suddenly very firm and serious. "If I see something going on with a kid in Brooklyn, I make it my business. So yeah, you are now my business. Okay?" Judy was shocked. This was probably one of the nicest things anyone had ever offered her, since her parents had died, anyway. She nodded.
"Okay."
