Categories > Original > Romance > A Kitten In a Dog-Eat-Dog World
Chapter 3
There is no way I’m going to survive. But I at least have to try. As I walk away from the alleyway, I think about my options again. Did I really want to do this? My first night had been less than desirable, and now I had no money, clothing, or hygiene items. Then it came to me: I would have to beg.
I stood outside a pharmacy. “Please, do you have any money?” I asked shyly to the first couple. They looked at me curiously and then the woman shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said and they walked away quickly.
When I was little, I vaguely remember my mom and I, walking out of a restaurant. Our tummies were full and we were feeling very sleepy. A man came out of nowhere. “Please spare some money?” he pleaded. “I’m trying to buy me some dinner.” His scratchy voice was the dead giveaway of a smoker. My mother recoiled from him like he had some disease. I looked at him with wide eyes. Why was everyone treating him so unkindly? Why was he so dirty, and his clothes so torn? Later, my mother said, “Never give any money away to homeless people. Whatever they have done was bad, and landed them where they are right now. They are bad people that deserve what they get.”
I wonder if that’s how people are seeing me right now. It is my fault I’m here, true, but I wouldn’t have to beg if that old lady hadn’t stolen from me. I was startled out of my reverie by a family coming out of the store. “Money? Do you have any money?” I pleaded. The mother swept up her toddler in one swift movement and pushed the 8-year-old boy behind her. “No, I’m sorry,” said the father and they hurried away.
My first two experiences were the nicest. There were people who just walked away in disgust, or worse, ignored me. After 4 hours of “begging” I was ready to give up. I tried one last time. “Please!” I said desperately. “You don’t even have to give me money. Any food will do!”
“Here,” said the mother of a baby in her arms. She fished around in her purse and found a Tupperware container of cheerios. “I know it’s not much, but…” she trailed off apologetically.
I took it. “It’s so much!” I say enthusiastically. “You’re the nicest person I’ve met all day! Thank you!”
She smiles. “You look a little young to be out on the streets.”
“Yeah, well, there was no alternative for me,” I shrug.
“I come here every other day for baby supplies,” she says. “I can bring you something more substantial next time.”
“That would be great!” I smile.
She says goodbye and we part. I eat about a third of the container; I might not get dinner tonight. I start walking in a more abandoned part of the city. The brick walls of the buildings are covered with ivy, making the old and shabby look rustic and regal. My stomach growls and I sigh. I hadn’t prepared myself for the lack of food. I’d thought I would have enough money at least until I turn 18 in 8 months, if I only spent it on cheap food. I sink down to the floor in an alleyway. They are all starting to look the same.
My stomach growls painfully again and I pull out the cereal, eating slowly. I will leave a third for tonight. But as I’m nibbling, a rather mangy and pathetic looking cat paces near to me. The dirt-encrusted feline is obviously hungry. “No…” I groan. I’m a sucker for animals. I won’t last 5 minutes rejecting the cat with its huge eyes, which are worse than a puppy’s.
“I need to eat, too!” I sigh, examining my shaky hand.
Suddenly, I hear laughter. It immediately sounds bad, and my senses warn me. Of course, like the horrifically curious girl I am, I stay where I am to listen. “Hey, look, it’s the little homeless boy!” says one. Uh oh. Bullies.
“Guys, just let me go,” says another voice, vaguely irritated.
“You got any money on you, Boy?” Yet another voice. There is a yelp.
At this point, I jump up. I run towards the sound. “Stop groping me!” says one voice and I leap from out of the alleyway. Three bulky high school guys have a man pinned up against the wall.
“Let him go!” I hiss. “Is this really necessary? Why don’t you just get some money from your parents?” Okay, so I’m not the best at comebacks.
“Ooh, look, a pretty little homeless girl,” says one leeringly. “I’ll take her over the money any day.” I make a small sound of disgust. All of the guys are distracted now. I see the one pinned down, mouth slightly agape. He is the one who shared the bench with me last night. Suddenly, a leg kicks out, and then a fist, and before I know it, all four guys are engaged in a fight loaded with testosterone. Then, as quickly as it starts, it ends. The high school guys are either a) on the ground, b) in a headlock, or c) running away.
“Get away from here,” hisses the man. “Now.”
“We’ll be back,” says the obvious leader menacingly. “But not for you. For her.”
I can barely stop the horrified gasp that rises up. I swallow it back down as they walk off. “Thank you,” we both say at the same time.
“No, I’m the one who should be thanking you,” says the man sincerely. “Without you, they would have taken all my money!”
“Well, I didn’t have much to lose,” I mutter. “That was me this morning.” Again, I’m struck by those emerald eyes looking intently at me. He’s curious; concerned.
“What happened?” he asks.
“An old lady stole my stuff,” I mumble sheepishly.
“What?” he asks. I’ve spoken too quietly.
“An old lady stole my stuff,” I mumble at the same decibel, quite stubbornly.
“Repeat it again?” he asks. “Sorry.”
“An old lady stole my stuff!” I cry. He grins.
“Those old ladies. What did she do, hit you with a purse?” he laughs.
“It’s not funny!” I moan. “She took all of my money.”
His expression turns to one of concern. “Anything I can do to help?” he asks.
“No,” I lie. Him helping me would damage my pride. Begging was better than responding to his charity.
“Got some pride left in you, huh?” he asks. I flush and bite my lip. How am I supposed to respond to that? Apparently, I don’t need to, because he continues with a smirk. “We could partner up. You wouldn’t need to sacrifice your pride, because you can give me something in return. If we work together, we are bound to survive. I have money and resources, and you, with your lithe body, can fit into places and get more sympathy from strangers.”
Wait, hold up. Lithe body? Is he really talking about me? Does he know what he’s talking about? He laughs at my expression. “You really don’t know, do you?” he says. “Tell you what. You can stick with me for a day and see how you like it compared to your experience alone. What do you say?”
I want to say yes. I really want to say yes. Not only is he tall, dark and handsome, but also there’s something about him that promises refuge. On the other hand, he just made a remark about my body. I didn’t want to ally with a womanizer…did I?
There is no way I’m going to survive. But I at least have to try. As I walk away from the alleyway, I think about my options again. Did I really want to do this? My first night had been less than desirable, and now I had no money, clothing, or hygiene items. Then it came to me: I would have to beg.
I stood outside a pharmacy. “Please, do you have any money?” I asked shyly to the first couple. They looked at me curiously and then the woman shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said and they walked away quickly.
When I was little, I vaguely remember my mom and I, walking out of a restaurant. Our tummies were full and we were feeling very sleepy. A man came out of nowhere. “Please spare some money?” he pleaded. “I’m trying to buy me some dinner.” His scratchy voice was the dead giveaway of a smoker. My mother recoiled from him like he had some disease. I looked at him with wide eyes. Why was everyone treating him so unkindly? Why was he so dirty, and his clothes so torn? Later, my mother said, “Never give any money away to homeless people. Whatever they have done was bad, and landed them where they are right now. They are bad people that deserve what they get.”
I wonder if that’s how people are seeing me right now. It is my fault I’m here, true, but I wouldn’t have to beg if that old lady hadn’t stolen from me. I was startled out of my reverie by a family coming out of the store. “Money? Do you have any money?” I pleaded. The mother swept up her toddler in one swift movement and pushed the 8-year-old boy behind her. “No, I’m sorry,” said the father and they hurried away.
My first two experiences were the nicest. There were people who just walked away in disgust, or worse, ignored me. After 4 hours of “begging” I was ready to give up. I tried one last time. “Please!” I said desperately. “You don’t even have to give me money. Any food will do!”
“Here,” said the mother of a baby in her arms. She fished around in her purse and found a Tupperware container of cheerios. “I know it’s not much, but…” she trailed off apologetically.
I took it. “It’s so much!” I say enthusiastically. “You’re the nicest person I’ve met all day! Thank you!”
She smiles. “You look a little young to be out on the streets.”
“Yeah, well, there was no alternative for me,” I shrug.
“I come here every other day for baby supplies,” she says. “I can bring you something more substantial next time.”
“That would be great!” I smile.
She says goodbye and we part. I eat about a third of the container; I might not get dinner tonight. I start walking in a more abandoned part of the city. The brick walls of the buildings are covered with ivy, making the old and shabby look rustic and regal. My stomach growls and I sigh. I hadn’t prepared myself for the lack of food. I’d thought I would have enough money at least until I turn 18 in 8 months, if I only spent it on cheap food. I sink down to the floor in an alleyway. They are all starting to look the same.
My stomach growls painfully again and I pull out the cereal, eating slowly. I will leave a third for tonight. But as I’m nibbling, a rather mangy and pathetic looking cat paces near to me. The dirt-encrusted feline is obviously hungry. “No…” I groan. I’m a sucker for animals. I won’t last 5 minutes rejecting the cat with its huge eyes, which are worse than a puppy’s.
“I need to eat, too!” I sigh, examining my shaky hand.
Suddenly, I hear laughter. It immediately sounds bad, and my senses warn me. Of course, like the horrifically curious girl I am, I stay where I am to listen. “Hey, look, it’s the little homeless boy!” says one. Uh oh. Bullies.
“Guys, just let me go,” says another voice, vaguely irritated.
“You got any money on you, Boy?” Yet another voice. There is a yelp.
At this point, I jump up. I run towards the sound. “Stop groping me!” says one voice and I leap from out of the alleyway. Three bulky high school guys have a man pinned up against the wall.
“Let him go!” I hiss. “Is this really necessary? Why don’t you just get some money from your parents?” Okay, so I’m not the best at comebacks.
“Ooh, look, a pretty little homeless girl,” says one leeringly. “I’ll take her over the money any day.” I make a small sound of disgust. All of the guys are distracted now. I see the one pinned down, mouth slightly agape. He is the one who shared the bench with me last night. Suddenly, a leg kicks out, and then a fist, and before I know it, all four guys are engaged in a fight loaded with testosterone. Then, as quickly as it starts, it ends. The high school guys are either a) on the ground, b) in a headlock, or c) running away.
“Get away from here,” hisses the man. “Now.”
“We’ll be back,” says the obvious leader menacingly. “But not for you. For her.”
I can barely stop the horrified gasp that rises up. I swallow it back down as they walk off. “Thank you,” we both say at the same time.
“No, I’m the one who should be thanking you,” says the man sincerely. “Without you, they would have taken all my money!”
“Well, I didn’t have much to lose,” I mutter. “That was me this morning.” Again, I’m struck by those emerald eyes looking intently at me. He’s curious; concerned.
“What happened?” he asks.
“An old lady stole my stuff,” I mumble sheepishly.
“What?” he asks. I’ve spoken too quietly.
“An old lady stole my stuff,” I mumble at the same decibel, quite stubbornly.
“Repeat it again?” he asks. “Sorry.”
“An old lady stole my stuff!” I cry. He grins.
“Those old ladies. What did she do, hit you with a purse?” he laughs.
“It’s not funny!” I moan. “She took all of my money.”
His expression turns to one of concern. “Anything I can do to help?” he asks.
“No,” I lie. Him helping me would damage my pride. Begging was better than responding to his charity.
“Got some pride left in you, huh?” he asks. I flush and bite my lip. How am I supposed to respond to that? Apparently, I don’t need to, because he continues with a smirk. “We could partner up. You wouldn’t need to sacrifice your pride, because you can give me something in return. If we work together, we are bound to survive. I have money and resources, and you, with your lithe body, can fit into places and get more sympathy from strangers.”
Wait, hold up. Lithe body? Is he really talking about me? Does he know what he’s talking about? He laughs at my expression. “You really don’t know, do you?” he says. “Tell you what. You can stick with me for a day and see how you like it compared to your experience alone. What do you say?”
I want to say yes. I really want to say yes. Not only is he tall, dark and handsome, but also there’s something about him that promises refuge. On the other hand, he just made a remark about my body. I didn’t want to ally with a womanizer…did I?
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