Fighting Thrasher Jones

{4} Room to Breathe

I darted past the beaten bench that looked to be in much worse shape in the sunlight than it had when I'd used it as a temporary bed just last night. Skidding to a halt, I bent my knees and gripped my thighs in an effort to catch my breath as I scanned the line of apartment buildings for the one Hazel Eyes had thrown himself out of.

The events of last night rushed to my mind as I tried to remember which crumbling balcony he'd fearlessly jumped from. A speck of red amidst the depressing colors of brown and black caught my eye on the second story balcony on one of the run-down buildings.

It seemed to wave at me in the slight breeze, beckoning me to it. It was as if Hazel Eyes had left a sign for me; as if he were waiting for me to come back. With a shake of my head, I knew better than to think the boy with the angry eyes wanted me to come back. I shut down the thought, realizing that was exactly what I secretly desired.

I couldn't recall the last time someone had been waiting for me to come home; someone who wanted me to return.

Nevertheless, I found myself running straight for the red bandana even though I was fully aware of the fact that it was only a coincidence that the bandana had been neglected in plain sight. Large plumes of warm air rushed from my separated lips as the cold air seeped in, burning a fiery trail to my lungs as my footsteps pounded across the uneven concrete.

I didn't stop running until I was standing before a door that was cracked open about an inch, obviously unlocked. By now, my hair had escaped from the hair tie, causing the stringy strands to hang freely around my face. My cheeks were undoubtedly blotched a rosy pink as sweat beaded on my forehead. There was still no sign of Jackson, but I didn't think twice before I tossed the cracked, wooden door open and headed straight for the mahogany stairs.

I was unaware of how many other people lived in the apartment or if there even were other residents. The building was in poor condition and had definitely seen better days, but I knew first-hand about the struggles of finding a place to live.

Despite the issue of other people possibly living in the other rooms, my feet thundered all the way up the steep, creaky stairs. I blindly reached an arm out in front of me to knock away the stray cobwebs hanging from the molded ceiling as if they were reaching down to trap me. Only when I came to a stop at the landing of the second floor did I pause in my ascent to scour the hallway for the room at the end of the hall.

Drawing my fist back, I thrusted it forward and pounded on the door to apartment 2B with a bone rattling impact. Sharp splinters shot up my entire arm, but I ignored the pain as I continued to repeatedly strike the door.

"Come on, open the door," I muttered, biting my lip as the anxiety levels in my body rose to an all time high. I didn't know how much time I had before Jackson inevitably found the apartment that was no more than a few streets over from his own house.

I'd been about to slam my fist against the door with chipped, white paint one last time when it was suddenly yanked back. With my fist in the air, I met the surprised expression of a woman standing in the doorframe. Her full pink lips were parted and her mouth formed a perfect O as her black hair crashed in waves down the length of her back.

The beautiful girl starkly stood out against the dilapidated background, and for a while, neither of us spoke as my hand awkwardly remained in the space between the two of us.

Her wide, light brown eyes took in my battered appearance, drifting around my body before coming to a stop on the bruises that had turned the skin along my chin a deep purple.