by Emily Bourne
“Excuses.”
“They don’t like me. They don’t like me because of who I am.”
His father turns back. “What does that mean? Because you’re my son?”
Gene rolls his eyes. As if it’d be about you.
His father grabs him by the collar and lifts him so his feet are off the ground. “Answer me.”
“No, it’s not you. They don’t like me.”
His mother grabs her husband’s wrists. “Let him go. Gene, just tell us what happened.”
Gene wriggles out of his father’s grip and backs away. “They hate me because I’m gay!”
His mother gasps, clasping her open mouth. His father’s face reddens as he threatens, “Take that back.”
“Take what back?”
“You heard me. Take it back. I don’t want such filth spoken in my house.”
“It’s not filth. I’m trying to tell you who I am.”
His mother sniffles. “Oh, Gene, please stop it.”
He looks to his mother, heart breaking. “Stop what?”
“Don’t act stupid!” his father yells. “Now take it back.”
“Dad, I’m gay.”
Crack. His father’s fist connects with Gene’s cheek so quick he didn’t see it coming. The pain inflames behind his eye and drills into the top of his skull. He falls to his knees, clutching his head, his vision spinning and darkening.
“Get up,” his father taunts, his voice menacing.
Gene hunches over his knees, pressing his palm into his face to minimise the pain.
“GET UP.”
“Gene,” his mother cries.
Gene presses hard into his face. The pain worsens but is dulled by the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He stands and dashes to the front door, swiping his bag and racing out of the house.
“You get back here, you little bastard!” his dad calls out, but Gene doesn’t stop running. He runs faster than he’s ever run before. Faster than his thoughts can catch up.
Just run. Just get away. Get to anywhere. Anywhere is better than here.
Panicking
GENE only slows when his feet hurt. The run from Hamlet into the city was far, and he looks around for a place to stay. He grips the straps of his backpack, sure he’s not carrying any money with him. He sweats and gulps as the evening darkens the sky.
He moves from street to street until he winds up in the Nightclub District. His pulse thunders in his ears. Scantily dressed women in fishnet stockings and thigh-high boots walk the streets, waiting for cars to pull up. Men with long, neon strips of hair down the middle of their bald heads, cladded in studded leather, exchange bags of pills for cash in the alleys.
He hugs himself and walks close to the buildings, trying to not make eye contact with anyone as he passes.
Two sinister guys, with tattoos along their necks and sides of their heads, look him up and down. Gene quickens his steps and pulls his bag close, turning down an alley.
The men gain on him. Gene runs by a dumpster and turns down the next alley behind a graffitied building. He pants, heart pounding, and dives behind another dumpster. His throat is lit with flames from his panicked breathing. His chest rapidly rises and falls as he concentrates on the footsteps of the two men.
“Oi.”
“Ah!” Gene yells in panic.
“Shoosh,” a girl hushes, leaning over him, placing a finger over her lips. She wears dark sunglasses even though it’s night, and she angles her head to watch the other end of the alley. “What are you doing here?”
“Panicking,” he whispers, heart about to explode.
She anchors herself between the dumpster and the graffitied brick wall, her khaki bomber jacket ballooning off her thin frame. She rests a heavy, black steel-capped boot on a bag of rubbish and lowers herself to Gene. “Follow me.”
Gene gulps and ponders what else he has to lose. He fixes his bag to his back and follows the girl to the end of the alley.
She pulls at a wire fence and nods to him. “In.”
Gene grows pale but forces himself through the hole. Wire scrapes his bare forearms. He’s tugged backwards and is shaken with panic. His nerves calm when the girl sets his bag free from the wire it was snagged on.
“Got any food in that?”
Gene frowns. “No.”
“What’s the point of carrying it?”
He waits for her to lead, thinking about his most cherished possessions inside his backpack.
“I haven’t seen you around,” she says, pushing through a line of shrubs.
“I’ve never been around here.” His lip upturns as the leaves brush against his clothes.
“You’re too pretty for the streets.”
“Come again?”
“You shouldn’t be out here. Where did you come from?”
“My home. But I can’t go back there.”
“Why?”
Gene halts. “Hang on. Why should I spill my guts? What’s your story?”
She keeps walking.
“Hey, I asked you a question.”
“You want somewhere to sleep, or not?”
Gene groans and hurries to catch up.
The girl swings herself onto fire-escape stairs, and Gene stares at the rust and imagines her falling through a broken stair.
“You coming?” she calls out.
Gene inhales deeply and pulls himself up onto the first rung. He steps behind her and asks what her name is.
“What do you want to know for?”
Gene tsks. “Are you always so on guard? I’m Gene.”
“Gene?” She snorts. Sarcasm thick in her tone. “Your parents must love you.”
“Well, not really, actually. You happy now?”
She stops and looks over her shoulder at him, dark shades covering her eyes but her frown clearly visible. “I’m sorry. I don’t have parents either.”
“Well, don’t get me wrong, they’re alive and all, they just...” He shakes his head and gestures to his bruised face. “It’s complicated. Bad enough to not go back.”
She turns back and jogs up the next few steps.
“How long have you been living out here?”
“I started younger than you are.”
“I could be twenty-five.”
She snorts. “Nice try. I’m twenty-five. You look twelve.”
“Oh, c’mon. I’m fifteen.” He raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’ve been on the streets since before you were twelve?”
She ducks into an open window, dodging the question. Gene takes the hint she won’t talk about herself and chucks a leg over the windowsill and pushes himself inside.
“Oof. What is that?” Gene retches, slamming his palm over his mouth while pinching his nose. His eyes water and stomach churns from a pungent, grotesque smell he doesn’t have the capacity to describe. There’s something dead in here.
“Keep moving,” she orders, stomping through open and torn bags of rubbish.
Gene gags as he moves through rotten food and piles of old belongings left to decay. “Why did you bring me here?”
“It’s safe.”
“Safe? Not from disease.”
She spins around, blonde hair whipping around her head as her hands grip around Gene’s throat. He gasps for air as her fingernails dig into his throat.
She moves her face as close to his as possible. The breath from her nostrils puff into Gene’s mouth as he strains for air. Sweating, he stares at his fearful expression in the reflection of her dark shades.
“You want me to throw you out the window?” she whispers. Crunches sound below their feet as she forces him backwards in one step. “Huh? Rather try your luck outside with the junkies and the gangbangers?”
Gene squeaks mid-gulp and shakes his head. His eyes are moments from popping out.
She releases him, and he drops to his knees, gasping to refill his lungs. His hands press into the floor and even though he’s clutching sticky and wet things in the muck, he doesn’t c
are. Adrenaline shakes his body as a voice in his head tells him to get up.
“You coming?” she asks, walking away from him.
He lifts his head and swallows what feels like broken glass. He eyes her boots and his fists curl as anger lights in his chest. “Who are you?”
She keeps walking.
“Hey!” he yells. “Tell me who you are!”
She stops but doesn’t turn around. “Get your arse up.”
He groans, hurting his throat further, and pulls himself up. He wipes his palms over his pants and immediately regrets the decision. He picks up his backpack and flings it over his shoulders.
He catches up to her. “I think I deserve to know your name.”
She huffs a response.
“Are you helping me, or getting ready to kill me?”
“If you don’t shut up, I will lead you to your death.” She crouches and pushes on a section of the wall and opens a hatch. “In ya get.”
Gene backs up. “Oh, hell no.” Every horror movie he’d ever seen flashes in a montage in his mind.
She dips her glasses, showing the top of her eyes, and whispers, “Get in.”
Something strangely calming rushes over Gene, and he crouches down beside her and crawls into the space.
He sits with bent knees and finds he can’t stretch any further.
“I’ll come back for you in the morning,” she says, closing the hatch.
“What? No!” he yells, kicking the faux door.
She pulls the covering back and tsks. “Calm down. I’m not going far. Now shoosh before you tell the whole planet about my hidey-hole.”
Gene’s heart bashes against his ribs and the sweat is slick down the sides of his face. “Don’t leave me.”
She puts a finger to her lips and then draws a cross over heart. She closes the hatch and leaves Gene in darkness with the sounds of his breathing and her disappearing footsteps.
Help
JAZZ tightens the laces of the size too big, running shoes she found in the donations. She put the Baby tee back on and found shorts that are a size too small. The elastic of the shorts digs into her stomach as she runs. But she’s grateful. Grateful to be moving again.
The guilt of not checking in with her gym has weighed on her, but she knows they will be fine. There is a contingency plan for her absence. She has stepped away at the last minute many times in the past. Any time her father asks her to join him at a corporate retreat or a conference out of the city. Marcus will manage just fine in her absence.
She stops. Marcus? She dismissed him. He had been her second in charge. Jazz huffs and picks up her pace. Whatever, they’ll have figured it out.
Her ponytail swishes against her back as she runs, bypassing the Nightclub District. As she runs the streets grow grittier, the graffiti more prominent, and the buildings more dilapidated. The windows are broken, boarded, or barred. Jazz slows her pace, panning the neighbourhood. Her hand rests on her hastening heart. Her breathing is shallow as her mouth hangs open. People live like this?
She picks up her pace as residents move in and out of buildings. Myra accused her of not knowing what it’s like in The Limits and it has played on her mind. She needed to experience it, to see it, not to be told about it from the perspective of upper class eyes.
She never thought it was actually this bad. It’s not fair. If everyone from Sovereign Hill shared a small portion of their fortune, they could restore this place and give the people here a real chance at education, employment, and happiness.
When Jazz returns to shelter she goes to the bedroom to get ready for a shower. Myra and Taz’s bed is empty even though it’s so early. They are not in the bathroom when Jazz takes her shower so expects to see them in the common room or dining room once she’s ready.
As the water runs over her head and down her hair to her back, Jazz lets the images of The Limits replay in her mind. She can’t remember the last time she reflected so deeply on something that didn’t have a money-making angle behind it, or data to import into a spreadsheet. Her concern was the people, not figures. If she can use her finance skills to help them, she will. But she wants to connect. She wants to learn about them and help them find themselves. This is the first time she feels real, like her identity is finally revealed after years of suffocation.
Adrian’s smiling face appears in her mind, and her smile pushes at her cheeks. I need to thank him for sharing this world with me. He taught her to be empathetic when interacting with people, to slow down and pay attention, and she is grateful. Skills she never thought were important before. She used to treat all her clients the same way, like ticking off a checklist. Now she allows herself to connect on a deeper level. To show true emotions and be present.
Jazz fans her face. Control yourself. She got a notepad and pen from Maria last night, and jots down another idea to keep the shelter afloat. She now has quite a list, and she is excited to share them with Adrian. Hopefully, somewhere, just the two of them.
Follow
GENE screams as the hatch rips open and sunlight streams into his tiny cave.
“Calm down,” she whispers, crouching by the opening. She holds out her hand. “C’mon.”
“You didn’t come back,” Gene says, shaking uncontrollably.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He grabs her hand. “Get me out of here.”
“I wanted you to be safe.”
Gene whips his hands from hers. “You need help!”
“Stop yelling.”
“Psychological help.” He pants, catching his breath. “What kind of twisted person locks someone in a wall cavity?”
“You weren’t locked in. You could have gotten out if you really wanted. How do you think I use it?”
Gene slides his phone into his backpack, and notices how crusty and raw his eyes feel. His phone has ten percent battery left. He used it all night as a light and didn’t sleep a wink. Instead, he sat terrified, hearing every small creak and loud bang.
“Let’s go,” she says, moving towards the window they came in.
Gene doesn’t move. “Tell me where.”
“I’m dropping you off.”
“You are giving me to a gang to be murdered?”
She laughs, lifting a leg out the window. “I wouldn’t have wasted the entire night if it were that easy.”
Gene grumbles and makes his way to the window. He thought he’d be used to the smell by now, but nope.
In the morning sun the stairs look more dangerous, but he rushes down to follow the troubling girl.
“Hurry up,” she calls out, not looking back as her heavy black boots stomp against the cement.
Gene wonders why he’s following her. She still hasn’t revealed her name or why she wanted to ‘help him.’ He’s sceptical of her help. He made it through the night, but, inside the wall cavity, he bruised his shoulders every time an unnerving sound from outside made him flinch or jump.
Gene catches up to the girl as she leads him out of the Nightclub District.
She points to a building at the end of an alley. “The guy in there will help you.”
Gene steps ahead of her and sees a guy with soft brunette hair and open body language. “Why? Who is he?”
When she doesn’t reply, Gene turns around. “Oh c’mon,” he whines, throwing his hands up when she’s nowhere in sight.
Gene digs his hands into his pockets as he looks back to the alley. The handsome guy, with the good hair, is talking to two people. His arms are folded and he is looking down. Sad. The people talking to him nod and turn away.
Handsome guy seems embarrassed or guilty. Gene dawdles his way down the alley, and passes the couple as one says, “He said we could try the church.”
Gene frowns. He’s turning people away. He stops in place and takes in the features of the alleyway. It’s a cleaner alley than he’s seen in the last twelve hours, but still a dump. This place is supposed to help me?
The guy stops by the door and stares at Gene.
Gene bites his lip and his fingers curl in his pockets, willing him to say hi. The guy’s head tilts and his eyes squint. Gene angles his head, realising he’d be taking in the bruises on his face.
The guy’s lips curl in a delicate smile. He waves and says, “You hungry?”
Gene’s heart rapid beats against his ribs. He clasps his hands together and steps forward. “You sure?”
The guy’s smile widens, and it’s like the sun appears for a second time. He beckons Gene closer. “C’mon. I need some breakfast myself.”
“Thanks. I didn’t know where to go.” Gene walks to the guy, looking over his shoulder for the psychotic girl. “Someone suggested here.”
The guy cranes his neck to see past the alley. “Someone was with you? Do they need help?”
“Tons,” Gene blurts. “But I doubt she’s willing to take it.”
The guy keeps his eyes focused on the street beyond the alley. “Tell me if you see her again.”
Gene shrugs. “Sure.”
“I’m Adrian,” he says, extending his hand. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Gene.” Gene winces at his hand. “I don’t know if you wanna shake my hand. I spent the night in filth.”
Adrian takes Gene’s hand. “I’ve seen worse.”
Gene jitters. A sensation buzzes inside him, like Adrian is the person who’s been missing from his life. He takes in the angles of his face and plans to find a way he can stay around him.
When their hands let go, Gene sucks in a breath and says, “And I’m gay.” He’s determined to never keep it a secret again.
Adrian waits for him to add more. “Ok.”
Gene’s eyebrows lift. “It’s ok?”
Adrian smiles. “Yeah, of course it’s ok. It doesn’t matter who you are, as long as you’re true to yourself.”
Gene’s mouth drops open. Adrian squints at him and Gene shakes out of it, saying, “Sorry, it’s just not the reaction I got at home.”
Adrian places a hand on Gene’s back. “Come into the dining room. You wanna talk it out?”
Gene blows out a breath as he and Adrian step into the building. “Maybe that’d be good. I can’t go home, and I sure as hell ain’t going back on the streets. Those gang members scared the crap out of me.”