Somewhere

Chapter 1

 My bedroom door slammed shut and I listened to the click of the lock. My father's loud, heavy footsteps marched away, and I heard him grumbling angrily to my mother. My mother didn't have much of a response. She never did. She might have been the quietest woman in the world. She was more ghost-like than human. Silent, negligent, unreachable.

I stood, hands balled into fists at my side, facing my door, shaking from rage and desperation. This was a typical punishment of mine: getting screamed at and berated before being locked inside my room without dinner. It had been happening for years, and every time it did, my resentment grew. I wanted to scream back in my father's face, run around and wreck my room in an uncontrollable act of defiance. I had managed to withhold this unfair treatment for just over an hour by my interaction with Riff and Tony, and then by walking around aimlessly while the sun set over the city. But I could not avoid it forever.

I did not scream, I did not tear my room to pieces. Instead, I turned and marched over to my bed. Despite my growling stomach and the familiar cramps of hunger, I crawled onto the covers and stayed there. I sat stone still, anger radiating off of me like heat. Unfair, unfair, unfair. My mind was like a broken record, skipping and repeating the same thought over, and over, and over. The moon crawled its way across the sky, the minutes trudging by. My displeasure stayed reluctant, never diminishing. Unfair, unfair, unfair.

I had driven myself crazy by the time the sun peeked over the horizon.

I clambered out of my bed and tugged on the door handle. My father hadn't unlocked it yet. I don't know why this surprised me, as most of the city was still asleep at that hour. I tugged again, pulling, willing it to move. I wanted to get out of the apartment. I wanted to get down to the docks and wait for Riff and Tony's arrival. I wondered if they'd show up together simultaneously, or separate. I'd been wondering a lot about them throughout the night. They were the distraction from my anger; something to look forward to. Mysteries yet to be solved.

I knew that running down the fire escape was a possibility. The window lock was broken, and the only thing stopping me from leaving was the hidden fear of more punishment. I had already dug myself a hole, and if I stepped any further out of line, I wouldn't be able to climb out of it. I anchored myself next to the door and watched the sky from my window, waiting for the sound of footsteps and the click of the lock- which showed no signs of coming soon. The house, for once, was utterly silent. It was almost eerie; the apartment was never quiet.

My eyelids were heavy, and I was waiting for so long that I began to drift off. I fought to stay conscious, and eventually began to pace around my room in an attempt to wake myself up. The only thing that truly pulled me from my sleepiness was the shuffle outside my room, the turn of the lock, and the creak of the door. I scrambled to my feet and looked at my father through the crack in the door. He was in desperate need of a shave, and he scratched his balding head before stepping aside. "Get out and don't come back until you have somethin'."

"Alright." I said, unenthusiastically. Finding something for him to sell was the last thing I was thinking about. Today was the start of something new, something exciting, and something great was coming. It was right in my grasp, and I hurried out of the apartment without eating breakfast. My hunger could wait.

The west side was alive now. The streets were flooded with people, whom I ignored. I weaved my way down the street, my destination clear in mind. I strolled right past Doc's without a second glance, taking every shortcut I could find. I was starting to think that I'd be late, and they'd go about their day without me. "Morning" was a very broad amount of time. I did not want to miss it.

I wedged my way through the gap in the fence, passing by an abandoned car. This corner of the city was quiet and isolated, but unsafe. The area had become a junk-yard of sorts- trash and cars and empty crates and barrels tossed carelessly aside. I kicked at an empty can, sending it flying of course and out of sight. The docks themselves were rusted, broken down, and wilting into the Hudson below. I clambered up the steps, to find the docks completely empty. My heart sank. Maybe my worry had been justified, and I was late. Or maybe I was just early. Why should I worry over two strangers? I was almost desperate to see them, to know them. To be more than strangers. I wanted to have something outside of the apartment and my parents' negligence.