Bayside Queens (BoyxMan)

2.

2.

Quinn

The car was still rolling forward when CJ popped his head above the roof of the car through his half open door.

"Get your hands off him kid!" CJ's deep, authoritative voice rang out across the street, making my bones shake.

I gulped as Brian's hands tightened around my neck, his face contorting with anger as I counted down from 10 like I always did, ignoring the searing pain in my windpipe. I had jumped out of the car only moments ago. Too bad I didn't have the sense to look outside before I jumped. Brian had been standing on the sidewalk with a group of friends. He smiled like the cheshire cat when he saw my feet hit the pavement in a stumble. 

As soon as I had counted to 7, Brian had cursed and let go, sprinting towards his gang in the alleyway between Thompson's and Acme, resounding shouts of "run!" coming from behind where I stood. I remained frozen for a second, my hand running over the already bruised skin of my neck. That was when I realized CJ had finally stopped his cruiser and was in the process of rushing over to me.

That's when I did what I always do. I ran.

I turned around and sprinted in the direction my assailant had just gone, dodging trashcans and dumpsters as the wet snowy muck beneath my Nikes flew up behind me and stained my jeans. Cries of my name-my real name-echoed behind me but I didn't stop. There was something about the swirly green of the officer's eyes that caused my heart to skip a couple extra beats. The quench in my gut as I thought about it pushed me to run further, harder.

As CJ's voice faded and the wind whipping down my trachea grew more painful, I stopped. Wheezing, I pressed myself against the dirty brick wall of the pizzeria, leaning over and inhaling deeply. It had been a long time since I actually had the chance to run away. Instinctively, I shoved my hand underneath my t-shirt, the pad of my thumb grazing over the all too familiar scar just beneath my lowest right rib. I shivered, then shoved the shirt back down.

I shook paralyzing images from my mind. It was just cold. Winters in New York were notorious for their subzero temperatures, and today wasn't an exception. I rubbed at the hairs sticking up on my arms. Probably should have brought a jacket.

With that thought, I stood up off the wall and took a deep breath, pulling my shirt up on my neck as far as I could before grabbing on to the wrought iron ladder that would bring me up to the roof. I pulled myself up once at the top, and stared. You could see a lot from here, but Bayside wasn't special. There weren't skyscrapers, flashing neon lights, no Broadway sign, no nothing. Just sad snow covered rooftops that made me cringe. I longed for the city. A place where no one knew your name unless they asked. Somewhere you could be anyone.

That's where I wanted to be.

But as I turned around and opened up the door and climbed down the staircase that led right into the utility closet of my employer, I was still in Bayside. And I was always going to be.

"Ey, Spinner, whaddya think ya doin in here? Get ya ass to the front. And grab an apron will ya?" Tommy's thick Brooklyn accent was something you got used to over time. I nodded and pushed passed him through the open door, instantly inhaling the scent of freshly made marinara sauce. All of Tommy's nephews and brothers and cousins were shouting at each other as I breezed by the kitchen, not bothering to stop and say hello. I didn't even stop at the front like Tommy told me to. I pushed right through all the coats on the backs of chairs, all the bundled up residents enjoying the "best Italian in town" and headed right through the front door as it signaled my exit with a high pitched chime. I didn't feel like working today. So I went home. Well, if you could call it that.