Bonded by the Blues | A Sander Sides Book

Chapter 23 - The Little Blue House: Part 3

Hiya guys! This is a pretty rough chapter, coz we're gonna visit Virgil's life. 

CW: Domestic Abuse, Swearing & Slurs. I've put a page break when that section comes up, feel free to skip, there's a recap afterwords. 

--Virgil--

My stomach was still queasy. Which wasn't an unusual feeling for me, to tell you the truth. I wonder how Roman seemed to have perked up from last night's... stuff. Every time I thought of him bile rose in my mouth. Not his fault, I just wanted time to process what had happened. I didn't want to deal with all that now. I blinked against the bright sun. It was way too early in the day to think. I hate mornings.

I had turned up at the University Administrations Office to collect my hostel room key, only to be told to come back in two hours. Ugh. Since I had nothing better to do - okay fine I was trying to ignore Roman - I decided to pop by home and grab a few last-minute stuffs before quitting the shit hole for good.

I slouched down Market Street. Dirty brown and beige two storied buildings lined either side - a dingy shop downstairs and the shopkeeper's family's small studio apartment above. On either pavement, there were stalls full of vegetables and clothes and knick-knacks spilling on to the road. Early as it was, the street was swarming with stingy customers and crafty shopkeepers, their arguments at a standstill like the honking traffic.

Why were humans so noisy?

I stuck my hands in my hoodie pockets and kept my head low as I skirted the crowd. I hated crowds but there literally was no other option. I'd be easily seen if I made it over the roofs. So, walk I must, and ignore the human excess around me. Mum texted me to get some bread, so I quickly bought a loaf at The Corner Shop. I didn't have any money on me, but Farood knew me well enough to know I'll make sure to pay back soon.

I took a left turn at the end of the street and was glad to get out of the worst of the hullabaloo. This road used to be a part of the market once upon a time, but with the Crown Supermarket opening uptown five years or something ago in 'that posh snub-nosed housing scheme' - my dad's sneering words, not mine, though I must agree - downtown business had shrunk. Market Street lost half its customers, and now big red closed signs greeted me on the smudged window displays of abandoned shops and empty apartments. Seriously, if people suddenly started singing Skid Row it wouldn't be out of place, but I sure wouldn't be caught alive here then.

We used to live here. My dad ran a music record store and my mum a factory rejects clothes stall outside. It wasn't bad back then. I got all the heavy metal tracks and grungy clothes I wanted. But we had to move too.

If you stayed on the main street, you'd think the market was thriving and everyone rolling in hard earned money. If you stepped into this road, it's a different story. But you'd see an even worse story where I'm heading.

I paused at the end of the road, and the weed strewn rail tracks greeted me. The Rail Yard and Central Station were just around the bend, so there were a dozen tracks, most of them rarely used. My home was literally on the wrong side of the tracks.

I could've taken the overhead pedestrian crossing but I couldn't be bothered. It kinda gave me a thrill to dash across the open tracks and flirt with death, coz I'm pretty sure the red warning signal was broken and changed colours whenever it felt like it.

There was no train in sight, so I started running. I was almost across when I tripped, a sharp pain snaking up from my left ankle. I landed on my fingertips and the ball of my right foot. I had perfected the art of falling safely. The ache didn't seem too bad, and my leg worked fine when a tried a few practice steps. Luckily, I hadn't scraped against any rusted iron.