The tears of thy innocence

Payphone

It was a relief when he stumbled into the phone box, the thin walls blocking out the most of the harsh rain stinging his cheeks. The blood crusted on his hands made his fingers stick and itch as the feeling of it wedged it's way beneath his fingernails.
"Fuck, I've only four coins..." he hissed, fumbling with four silver muggle coins from his pocket. Leave it to him to forget to grab the coin purse from the front table before he fell out the door.

He grabbed at the phone mounted to the wall, shakily Inserting the first coin and dialing a number.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
And rang.
It rang all the way through until the line dropped.

A little more panicky now, he shoved another coin haphazardly into the slot and dialed the number again. He didn't really think it through, why would they answer now after not answering before?
The phone rang.
And rang.
And rang.
And the it clicked.
Wait, the line picked up?
Sirius rushed to hold the phone flush to his cheek, breathing heavily into the receiver.
He hadn't thought to catch his breath before hand.

"Hello? Who is this?" The voice of James potters staticky voice hit his ears and he sighed with relief.
"Pro- James, James- please I need some he-"
The line cut.
What?
Why... why would he cut the line?

Sirius knew he was still angry about the prank but he didn't know he was this mad...

Drat, only one coin left.

So the Potters were out of the question... and the Pettigrews were on holiday in America for the summer...
There really was only one choice left. But he doubted even more than he did the Pettigrews that he would pick up.

He put the last coin into the slot and very slowly dialed the Lupins number.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
And rang.
And then it clicked.
He perked up, hopeful for a moment, mouth opening to prepare speaking.
The line clicked.
The person on the other end had picked up the phone and set it back down, not even checking to see who called.

His mouth closed, knees giving out beneath him. Well that's that then. He's stuck in this random phone booth, bloody and bruised, probably bound to be caught by his psycho bitch of a mother and her damned guard dogs —Bellatrix and the like— and be burned at the stake by tomorrow night.

He let his head rest against the wall of the phone box, silent tears slowly trickling from the corners of his eyes as he allowed his battered body to rest, tension leaking from his taught muscles until he was slumped uncomfortably on the floor. The box was cold, rain could be heard pelting the sides.

Well, maybe if he's lucky he'll die before mother finds him.