The Darkness Inside Me

6 - Pathetic

Having the time to do whatever you wanted... That was something Juice never had before. When he was a kid, his mother always made him do chores; when he worked for the mob they always told him what to do, and things hadn't been that different with the Sons. There was no such thing as a vacation. Sure, in prison he'd had plenty of time, but no freedom.

And now he had all the time in the world — but no clue what to do with it.

Being alone wasn't his thing. He could go into town, but what then? What would he do? He had no friends to hang out with and he neither knew how to make them. His brother was barely at home and he didn't say much about his activities. Usually, Juice just laid on the couch and watched Netflix, yet it wasn't enough to distract himself. Bad memories kept his mind busy, about the traumatic events in prison and the bitter ending of his life as a Son. The faces of his former friends flashed by. Chibs. Jax. Tig. People he had considered as friends, as family, but who'd delivered him to a rapist and a murderer.

He exhaled shakily. He had to do something, had to keep himself busy. Taking a walk, going to the mall... However, that thought called up his anxiety immediately. What if the Sons knew that he was here? What if they'd sent someone after him? What if the mob got wind of it? He barely knew his way around here, he had no idea where to run to. Isaiah would be out in a few weeks. Would he still want to hang out? Or had it only been prison talk and would they go their own ways? A few days ago, he had considered writing the guy a letter. Should he really do so? Inside, he'd told him everything, but doing the same on paper was too big a step. Furthermore, he'd just gotten his freedom back, against all odds. He couldn't start to nag about little things, right? If his brother found out, he would be disgusted with him and he might even send him back to prison.

No — he couldn't give in to his fears. He'd done that for far too long, and this time, his fears were irrational. Harlem was enormous; as long as he was careful, nobody would be able to find him. His ties to his past were cut, the phone and debit card Shades had given him new. He had to believe that someone as powerful as Shades — who'd been able to set him free despite getting life — would also make sure that no one could find him here.

Despite his pep talk, his fingers were shaking as he tied his shoes. A little walk, he could do that. He just needed to take small steps.

On his way downstairs, he had to suppress the urge to go back twice. Yet he pulled through, telling himself he would be back in prison next week if he kept hiding like a wounded animal. Shades might not have said it out loud, but he knew his brother found him a pathetic guy—a disappointment.

It was cold outside and he pulled his jacket closer around him. The air was a threatening grey as if it also wanted to chase him back inside. Was it an omen?

You're talking about the sky, Juice! Don't be such a damn pussy.

Juice averted his eyes and started his walk. Just a walk around the block. His hands already felt clammy when he rounded the first corner. The rumbling of a bike in the distance made him flinch; the sight of a man with greasy black hair made him freeze. He'd never known that a simple walk could be so stressful. He breathed rapidly — if someone would start to talk to him right now, he would surely panic.

But nobody spoke to him; nobody looked at him. When he passed a metro station, he doubted. Would he go back to Harlem's Paradise? To see if his brother was there — or maybe he could stroll around the neighborhood, just like a few days ago?

In a flash, he remembered the friendly face of the woman in front of the church. Her warm smile, the non-judgmental look in her eyes... He shook off the image. It was ridiculous. As if she would give him a second look once she knew about the things he'd done. She had just been polite, that was all.

But it was exactly what he longed for. Someone nice — someone with no ulterior motives.

. . .

An hour later, Juice was staring at the sign again. Victory - Evangelical Church, he read. He sat down on the second step of stairs leading to a closed real estate office. He lighted up a smoke and sighed; he had no idea what he was doing here. No way that he was going inside. Was he hoping that the woman would see him and start a conversation? Shame filled his heart. What had become of him? He no longer dared to take the initiative and he had traveled for over an hour only to see the smile of a woman. He was disgusted with himself. He was so weak. So pathetic. No wonder everyone spitted in his face.

The accusations buzzed through his head while he was sitting there on these stairs. He wanted to leave, but his legs felt too heavy. His fists were clenched, his nails cutting the soft skin of his palms.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

He was supposed to be dead.

It started to rain, night fell. He still couldn't find the strength to get up. He was just sitting there, his body ice-cold, tears mixed with raindrops.

He felt unworthy to catch the raindrops; he wasn't even worth breathing in oxygen.

Suddenly, someone laid a hand on his knee. Juice shifted aside; he felt the hand sliding to his groin.

"Daddy's here, little boy. Are you going to be a good boy tonight?"

Panic squeezed his throat and he shoved back across the bed, away from the grinning face of Ron Tully.

Something hard pressed against his lower back, making his vision less blurry.

He wasn't in his cell. He was outside in the rain.

And the man who'd knelt next to him wasn't his cellmate, nor did he touch him in intimate places. Nevertheless, Juice felt as filthy as when the man would have touched him there.

The stranger had warm brown eyes and thick, curly black hair. Juice estimated him somewhere in his fifty's.

"Are you alright? Why don't you come in? We have warm soup and it's dry." The man nodded to the other side of the road, to the church.

Quickly, Juice shook his head. "N-no, thanks," he stammered.

He didn't belong there.

The man smiled and nodded as if he understood. "I will bring you a bowl of soup. And an umbrella."

Juice failed to object.

This is what you wanted, right? That someone looks after you?, a voice sneered in his head. That's why you're here, hm?

So desperate. So pathetic.

It made him feel so sick he was sure he couldn't eat a damn thing.

The man turned around and headed to the building. Juice wanted to get up, wanted to leave, but it felt like he was cemented to the stairs. He couldn't move. His heart was racing in his chest, and a wave of fear washed over him, even though he had no idea what scared him so much.

But the fear was there, undeniably, and it flogged him like the lashing rain. And, weak as he was, he couldn't think of a way to defend himself against it.

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