Rebuilt

Chapter 21

AN: I would love to hear some of your feedback/reactions/opinions throughout the story!! Don't be afraid to comment!
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Sunlight streamed through Oscars dirty window. I tried my best to gently open my eyes and look around me, Oscar was nowhere to be found. The bathroom door was open, no one seemed to be inside. The bedroom door closed, as it was the night before.

I sit up, pulling up the strap of my tank top over my shoulder, yawning I attempt to rub the fatigue out of my eyes. The bedroom door opens and I groggily squint my eyes in attempt to see who was entering the room. A crisp smell immediately fills the room.

Oscar sat down on the bed and placed a plate of foreign food on the bed. "Sorry, I didn't want to wake you. I was just gettin' food."

I looked at his plate, there was a lot of food on it. It looked about as much as double than what he could eat in one sitting. Frowning I attempt to pick at the food, as a response Oscar swats away my hand.

"This," he dramatically points towards the plate of food. "Is all for me." He takes a strip of greasy meat and places it in his mouth.

"Asshole," I mutter.

He hands me the plate of food, "I'm just kiddin', Blades. You'se can have some too, it's bacon and pancakes."

I raise an eyebrow, "I'se never heard of either of those things in my life." Without hesitation I reach onto the plate rip off a bit of the fluffy cake-thing. I lick my lips after tasting it, "where has this been my whole life?"

Oscar chuckles, "I don't know but I'll keep in mind you have a fancy for pancakes." Pushing the white plate forward, he backed off the food, letting me take all I could eat.

Oscar was wearing a tight long sleeve black shirt, suspenders, long dark pants, and fancy, but scuffed up shoes. A hat sat atop his fluffy black curls, which he was always readjusting.

I finish eating all the food, staring at Oscar he stares right back. "That was fast," taking the plate he stands. "Why don't you get dressed, I'll put the plate downstairs, then we'll head out for the day. Sound good?"

I nod and stand from the bed, yawning I stretch. Oscar leaves the room and shuts the door behind him, I hear him clomp down the stairs and I peel off the black tank top Oscar gave me. Finding the shirt I wore yesterday, I pull it over my head. Pulling at my hair I work through the knots that were a result of a heavy and recharging sleep.

Tossing on my cap, I leave Oscars room doing my best to navigate down the stairs trying to remember where to turn. Entering a hallway I do a 360 looking around. Blank walls, painted a bland beige. I hear dishes clash, following the noise I turn into the kitchen.

Morris was leaning against the cracked counter, rag in hand cleaning a plate. Oscar was sitting on the counter, munching on a piece of bacon. Morris spots me first, scoffs, then smirks. Oscar notices me, his brown eyes grow wide as he hops off the counter.

"I thought the rat left last night, Oscar." Morris places the plate on the counter and approaches me.

"Gettaway from her, Morris." Eye still black, Oscar stands as if ready for another fight, rather it's against his brother or not.

Morris backs off, chuckling. "You'se have better not show up here again, bitch."

I sneer at Morris, shoving past him I hoist myself onto the counter. Taking a crispy piece of bacon off a plate, I plop it into my mouth. Chewing on it mockingly, I stare at Morris. I wasn't scared of him anymore.

Oscar busts out laughing, holding his stomach as he doubles over Morris growls and storms out of the kitchen. "Nice one," Oscar claps me on the back and helps me off the counter. "Ready to head out?"

I nod finishing the piece of bacon, "what 'bout Morris?"

I follow Oscar as he exits the kitchen and walk towards the front door, "he's probably far ahead of us by now. When he gets upset he walks fast." Oscar himself was quite a fast walker, despite being very far away from Newsies Square, we made it there in about ten minutes.

I follow Oscar behind the stack of growing papers, he walks up to his uncle. The fellas call him Weasel, except for Crutchie.

Crutchie's too nice.

"You now the rules," Wiesel said to me. "No Newsies allowed outside of da gate before the bell rings! Shoo!" He waved me away with his hands, cigar between his fat, chapped lips.

    Oscar puts up one of his hands and stops his uncle, "she's with me uncle.  No worries."

Wiesel looked puzzled, he thought for a second.  "You'se mean to tell me she stayed the night at our house?"

The brisk air was blowing at my hair, the sun was hidden behind a thick layer of gray clouds.  It was most likely going to rain.  Wiesel continued to look at the two of us, the cigar now between his finger.  One hand on his hip, he clearly was waiting for one of us to say something.

Oscar took the wheel, doing his best to defend the both of us and explain nothing happened.  His uncle wasn't buying it, "she better not be here tonight."  And with that he walked away.

"Sorry," I truly was sorry, his kind actions were being judged and ridiculed for no reason.  I'm just messing up his life, and with him living with Morris and his uncle I pretty sure he doesn't need me as an extra issue. 

"Oscar!" Morris shouted from behind me, I turned around and saw Morris standing with a paper bunched in his hand.  "C'mere."

Oscar walked over to his brother, the paper being shoved into his hands.  "Read it." Morris commanded. 

The blood seemed to leave Oscar's face, I could almost see his hands grow clamy.  I raise an eyebrow and walk behind Oscar.  I look at the paper.

The headline is impossible to read.  For me at least.  "What does it say?"

"'Teenage murderess loose after the recent shut down of juvenile prison.'" Oscar read slowly, clearly, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading. 

I rip the paper from his hand, I study it closely.  My eyes wander to the black and white photo taking up most of the page. 

A girl, sixteen, maybe seventeen.  Her hair a hurricane of frizz and light curls.  Shoes, almost falling apart.  She was clutching her arm, holding it close to her chest.  Her shirt ripped down the center.

I lower the paper.  Oscar looked at me with worry in his eyes.  We stare at each other.

"Blades," he points a shaky finger at the photo.  "That's you."