A New Way of Living

Chapter Ten

Author's Note: I do not own West Side Story or any element of it.

In the station, Riff and Vivienne were sat on benches that sat across the middle of the room. It was busy - with officers fumbling and rushing around and other detainees scattered around on the benches with such mass that there was barely any space.

When they arrived, they spotted a few of the other Jets that had been nabbed at the scene. Ice, Mouthpiece, and Balkan sat on a bench, looking thoroughly annoyed with either themselves or the officers. Vivienne followed behind Riff and Diesel, deciding to sit herself down on the bench opposite them in order to distance herself as much as she could given the circumstances.

When one of the officers shoved Diesel down with more force than necessary, he looked up at him with a twitching face.

"Easy!" he yelled.

"Shut it," the officer replied, kicking the bench which shook the Jets as a result.

"Hey Krupke, no cell today? I want a private room," Riff called across the room, towards an officer Vivienne couldn't see from where she sat. However, the man in question got up and walked over to them, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Forget it. We're burstin' at the seams today. So I'm not all happy about you causin' trouble and bein' in here in the first place. So quit runnin' yer mouth," Krupke replied, staring down at with with an almost fatherly disapproval.

Beside Riff, Mouthpiece shook his head to himself, realising something. "Aw man, I was supposed to take Velma to the movies later. She's gonna be so pissed," he lamented.

Vivienne did not think to ask who Velma was, or even take in the various conversations around her. Her panic and disbelief in the situation was pulsing through her, tying her stomach into knots and creating a wave of nausea that she now knew she couldn't control. Not when the sound of phones ringing and officers chatting echoed in her ears and the foul stench of booze from the drunken man sitting right next to her on the bench hit her nostrils.

"Where's the bathroom?" she suddenly asked, looking up at Krupke.

"Nice try, kid," he replied, waving her off.

"I'm serious. I have..." She glanced around desperately, and lowered her voice when she thought of the only thing she could say. "...Women's problems."

Evidently, her voice wasn't low enough, and she caught the suddenly embarrassed looking glances of the Jets in front of her.

"Ew," Diesel muttered.

Krupke scratched the back of his neck, wracking his brain for a response. After a moment, he surrendered. "Ah, geez. Alright, come with me."

Leading her by the shoulder, he took her through the main doors doors and opened the door to one of the bathrooms behind her.

"Two minutes," he mumbled, not meeting her eye as she walked past. "And don't lock the door."

When she went into the bathroom, door shutting behind her, she barely had time to make it to the toilet before she began to vomit. As she retched, releasing whatever little food was in her stomach to begin with, she felt her eyes sting with tears. She had known this was bound to happen and she was furious with herself for letting it get this far. They were trouble, and only trouble.

When she had vomited as much as she could, she rose from the ground and went to the sink, washing her mouth out. As she looked in the mirror, she barely recognised who she saw - a tired and shaking thing with anger in her eyes. She then realised who she was really angry at. Suddenly fuelled by a new wave of rage, she stormed to the door and swung it open, met by a confused looking Krupke.