The storm pounded outside the window, creating annoying pounds, taps, and howls. The nuns took great care and haste in making sure all the shutters were closed, but still a breeze escaped into the church’s rooms, awakening one of the people that, earlier, had been having comforting dreams.

The figure snored in awakening and rolled over, flopping a pillow over her head with one sweep.

Tap, tap, tappy, tap, tap, tap. There seemed to be a lot of tapping going on in the hallway.

The girl decided to try to ignore it.

Tappy, tappy, tappity, tap, tap, TAP! The tapping noises went on. She pulled open one of her eyelids and peered at her pocket watch that sat lonesome upon the bed desk. Eleven thirty-eight… Odd. The nuns were mostly asleep by about eight so they could awaken early for pass the next mourning.

Curiosity finally yanked her rudely from the cot she was laying upon and she walked to the door to creek it open, only to find a fully-dressed nun hustling past her dreary, simple room.

The floor was cold. Renny sneered at the floor and yanked the blanket from her bed and wrapped it around herself tightly, nearly looking like a nun herself in the process. She walked out, trying to get the blanket to drape onto the floor in such a way that her feet would step on it as she went, following one of the younger nuns until it lead to the medic room, where a boy was laying on a table, his arm cut deeply and his left leg looked like it was crunched by a club or something. The boy was about four years older than her and taking the pain bravely as the nuns tried to patch him up. She stood there for a while, watching the lamplight flicker in the background, then finally spoke.

"Hey, what’s goin’ on heyah?" Renny asked of the three scurrying nuns.

The boy looked in Riffraff’s direction, surprised that she wasn’t a nun like what he thought she was out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he almost forgot about his pain… Almost. He bit his lip to keep from yelping as a nun began to lay stitches into his arm.

The nuns, all three, looked up as well, for at least a moment. "Renny Mae," the eldest one replied sternly, her eyes looking cross. "Go back to your room. You’re not decent, and if you’re running about without any clothes on a moment longer, you’ll catch cold." That particular nun was so old, it was almost understood that she treated the twelve-year-old girl like a smaller child.

Renny rolled her eyes bravely… Well, mostly "bravely" because she rolled her eyes at a nun at all. Most would not walk away from such a feat without at least a headache. "Sister," she began cynically. "You’re acting as if I’m naked." She decided to drop the blanket from her shoulders and threw it into a corner of the room, then leaned against the wall when she stepped all the way into the room. She looked down to double-check herself. No—she wasn’t naked. She was simply wearing a white nightgown. She looked up at the boy. "What happened to you?" She asked curiously.

He opened his mouth to answer, only was interrupted. "Such disrespect. I tell you, if I was the woman I was ten years ago—" the old nun went on, making a failed attempt to threaten.

"Well you’re not," Riffraff interrupted simply, shrugging her shoulders daringly. She then turned back to the boy and sat on a chair nearby as if she was the queen of America. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "So?"

"Well, I was…" He paused as he remembered that he was in a room with nuns, and more—one of them was stitching his arm. But he couldn’t lie in the presence of nuns, either, so he went on. "I was kind of in an—OWE!" He yelped angrily, glaring at the youngest nun, who was trying to escape the glares and remorseful looks of the other two so much that she poked the needle into the flesh too deeply. Finally, he looked back up at the questioner. "Fight," the young man admitted, none too proudly. "Wit’ anuddah gang."

The girl’s eyes lit up a bit. "Who’s your gang?" Riffraff inquired with interest, flames of the lantern dancing in her eyes.

He shrugged, grinning at the girl. "Jus’ one from Brooklyn." He paused and then added, "Brooklyn, New Yalk."

Renny snorted. "Oh? Brooklyn, New Yohk, eh? Good thing you cleared that one up because I thought you were talkin’ ‘bout some town in Egypt," she replied with casual smartness, a smirk aligned on her face.

The middle-aged nun pursed her lips and said tartly, "Renny—don’t be rude."

She slowly looked over at the middle-aged nun that had decided to speak. "You know, he was in a fight. That’s a worse sin than bein’ rude and you’re givin’ him free medical cahe." She paused a have a laugh. "I figuhe that if I keep this up, you’ll give me a box of chocolates."

"I can assure you, Renny, I most certainly will no—" The nun was interrupted. The youngest nun was trying hard not to break out laughing.

Renny cut her off as she ignored the woman and turned smoothly back to the boy. "So, what’d you do to get beat up so bad? What happened?"

"Oh, well, I –Argh!" He yelled, trying to pull his injured leg away from the old one. "I mean," he came back to her eventually. "Da oddah guy’s in wohse shape," he exaggerated.

Riffraff seemed to catch the exaggeration, but went along with it, chucking. "Landed some nasty bruises on ‘im, ‘eh?" She reckoned.

"Oh, yeah," he grinned, winking at her. "What’s youh name?" He finally asked over the nuns’ grumbles.

She paused and shrugged. "Renny," she replied. "Renny Mae McColley…" She paused and grinned. "But you can call me Riffraff."

"Don’t," said the youngest nun lightheartedly. "You’ll encourage her."

The boy shook his head and smiled at the younger nun. "Nice to meet ya, Riffraff," he said, gladly taking the invitation.

She laughed and said, "Or Riffy."

The boy grinned and nodded. "I’m—"

"Spot!" Cried an obviously older boy as he ran and skidded into the room. "I was lookin’ everywhere for ya!" He looked at the leg and looked at Spot inquisitively, without much concern. "You okay?"

Spot shrugged. "Of couhse I’m okay," he answered coolly. He looked around at the nuns. "Ahe ya done?"

The youngest nun nodded, smiling brightly.

The older boy grinned at the nuns and bowed to them politely. "Thank you so much for helping us out, Sisters, I can’t say how much we owe you." It was interesting how he said ‘we’ and not ‘he’.

"Nothing at all," said the youngest earnestly.

"It was our pleasure." The oldest one formed a wrinkly smile that looked like it hadn’t been used for a long time.

"Hey, Ratface, how’s it goin’?" Riffraff said with mild enthusiasm, raising a hand in a partial wave.

"Renny! That’s enough out of you! Insulting our guests like that—" the oldest nun cried furiously, reaching over to try to grab Riffraff’s ear, of which the quick-paced girl ducked and pushed forward from.

"Riffy?" The elder boy said with pleasant surprise. He embraced her and spun her around, mostly to get her out of the way of the angry, holy woman. "What are ya doin’ hehe?"

She laughed and said, "Mo’ of a question; why are you hehe?"

They both paused.

"Okay, so it is a quite a thing that I’m hehe, I’ll admit. But it’s a long story…"

"Not as long as you might think," said the middle-aged nun crisply.

Riffraff gave a glare at the young woman. "Okay," she admitted with a shrug as she turned back into the direction of Ratface. "My faddah kicked me out," she admitted.

"Mike kicked ya out?" He said incredulously, using the girl’s father’s name, showing that he knew her family quite well. Ratface was a tallish lad of about six feet tall but was rather skinny and narrow faced. He had a cap upon his head, turned backwards so to prove that the only reason to wore it was to hide his greasy mess of hair underneath it. He smelt heavily of a mixture of blood, ink, and dust.

"No," she shrugged honestly. "But he did ask me if I wanted to leave. I said, ‘You want me to leave?’, and he said, ‘Yeah, if you’he gonna have that attitude,’ so I said, ‘Fine’, grabbed my clothes, and left." She paused and added, "And they were movin’ upstate New Yohk, and I didn’t pahticularly want to go wit’ ‘em." She looked up toughly and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"You stubborn ass," Ratface sighed forgetting the presence of nuns, shaking his head at Riffraff.

"You know each oddah?" Spot asked, beginning to stand upon his one good leg.

Ratface looked at him and nodded. "I knew her since before she was bohn," he bragged monotonously, then turned back to Riffraff. "Still, how’d you get hehe?"

"I walked," she said mischievously. Ratface shot her a mean glare, crossing his arms firmly across his chest. "Okay, anyways, I was broke and so I had no place to stay outta the family connection, and Glenny said I could stay in the convent for awhile ‘til I got on my own two feet," she pointed her thumb at the youngest nun.

Ratface, just like he could for years, saw right through her. Riffraff was just the type that didn’t want to live alone. Poorness surely didn’t have anything to do with it.

He looked over at Glenny, humorously grinning. "You make a good nun, Glenny," he commented politely to the tall, beautiful-faced nun that he used to go for long walks with just a couple of years before where she helped him get over a girl who broke his heart. He turned back to Riffraff. "Dat was very, VERY generous of dese women," he stated, looking about at the nuns. "But…" He paused and glanced up at Spot. "You can stay wit’ us, if you want. We got an extra room."

"Ratface, I don’t know…" Spot said, a permanent glare aligning his face.

"We got an extra room, Spot. She wouldn’t be too much of a hassle," he pointed out, waving one of his hands linearly up and down. "Hopefully…" He said looking up at the ceiling.

Spot sighed and looked over at Riffraff, who was still processing the invitation. "I’m behind ya on anythin’ ya do," Spot said loyally and strongly, straitening his broad shoulders.

Ratface smiled and nodded to Spot, then looked back at Riffraff. "So, Riff, whattaya say?"

The nuns looked hopeful, except for Glenny, who looked unsure. Riffraff looked like she was being played a practical joke upon. "Ah you serious?" She asked with a smirk.

Ratface nodded. "Unfortunately," he teased.

"Then you got youhself a gihl in youh house!" She chuckled, and reached over to shake his hand. He smirked, spit into his hand and put it in hers. She grimaced. "Okay… I’ll have to get used to that." She told herself aloud, shaking the phlegm from her hand.

Two of the nuns crossed themselves. God had, once again, answered their prayers.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

"Thanks a lot for takin’ me in for awhile," Riffraff mentioned to her old friend, Glenny, who smiled sweetly. "I know I was…" She gave a shrug and an impish grin. "A handful."

"No, Riffy," Glenny replied, her Irish accent purely obvious upon the deafest of ears. "Not at all! You make me laugh," she commented, barring a wide smile. There was a pause before the woman continued. "You take care of yourself. New York’s a tough town…" She looked at Riffraff—the toughest girl she knew, and chuckled, "You’ll do jus’ fine."

Riffraff gave a scratchy chuckle. "I know. Don’ worry about me." She glanced about quickly at the boys behind her, who looked to be rather impatient. She swung her duffle bag over her shoulder like a sailor returning from sea. "See ya later, Glenny," she said simply and then turned heal and sauntered up to Ratface and joined by his side, who was also supporting Spot, who’s leg was still heavily bandaged.

The young woman waved as she watched her idle and old friend walk out into the early morning’s hazy, yellow sun, turning into dark silhouettes.

The three wanderers were very silent for a moment until Riffraff looked over at Spot, who looked like he was very upset at something.

"Whassa mattah witchu?" She asked him.

He passed her a fierce look. "Whassa mattah wid me?" He rephrased. "Whassa mattah wit’chu?" He said, his voice rising, getting rather upset by this girl who was about four years younger than him and therefore couldn’t have been too bright.

"Hey—what’s youh problem?" Riffraff said defensively.

"My problem? Da only problem I got is you sayin’ I got a problem!" He glared more.

Ratface chuckled to himself. It was going to be an interesting time—that was for sure.

"Shut up wit’ youh problems, den!" She returned cleverly, waving her arms with exasperation.

"Hey—Do you want a broken nose or what?!" Spot threatened, stumbling over his leg for a moment.

She gave an abhorrent "Hah!" as she stuck her nose high in the air. "You wouldn’t punch a woman. I’m weak and imprudent," she mocked, mimicking a dainty creature, popping her left ankle in the air as she walked.

Spot grumbled.

Ratface finally chuckled out loud and said, "All right, dat’s enough, you two." He pulled Riffraff back by the butt of her skirts a few feet with his free hand, putting her back by his side. "Dat especially means you."

"Me?" She said, putting a hand on her chest and giving a look as if he had referred to the impossible. She wrapped a curl of her auburn hair around her finger. "I’m offended by that remahk!"

"Good." He knew she wasn’t. "Jus’ be respectful, dat’s all I ask."

She jumped up suddenly, snatched Ratface’s cap from his head and stuck it on hers with a swift flow of movements. She walked a few feet ahead like she had been. "Remembah when you used to tell me to ‘jus’ be myself’?" She grinned at him.

Ratface chuckled. "I obviously was talkin’ outta my ass." He then snatched the hat back and put it on his own head.

Riffraff shrugged and said matter-of-factly, "Like you can do anythin’ else."

Spot laughed. It was definitely going to be interesting.

"All right, guys, shaddap!" Ratface waited patiently for the room to quiet down again. They were worried about what ‘interesting’ news he was going to tell them. "Now, I know it’s gonna be a big transition for youse guys… But…" Ratface cleared his throat. "I invited a young lady to live wit’ us."

The room, which was messy, dusty and smelt like mold, was dead silent for a moment. All of the sudden "Rocks" put a hand up in the air and said, "YES!" Then the room began to discuss it.

"Who? A goilfriend of youhs?" One of the boys asked with interest.

"No," he snorted in reply, as if it was obvious. "I call ‘er Riffraff McColley. She’s very clean, very neat…" He wanted to say ‘easy to live with’, but couldn’t lie through his teeth like that. "Very… Herself…" He said, running out of positive things. "An’ if it makes t’ings any bettah—she’s up for grabs!" He paused. "I mean—" he quickly began to reword into something not a sexual reference. "She’s free…" He paused and rolled his eyes. "I mean—she’s not currently ‘seein’’ anyone."

"Whoo!" Rocks cried gleefully.

The raggedy-dressed and dirty boys began to shrug and accept.

Ratface squinted. "You mean, you guys ahen’t gonna ahgue? What about ‘No! She can’t! She’s a she!’?..." Now, he was confused.

A boy named Peter spoke up. "Well, a lotta us have our own lil’… Well… Relationships… Come in and… Out…" He grinned and nudged a guy with his elbow. "In at night, out da next mohnin’!" Everybody laughed. "So, it’s not too different," he acknowledged.

Ratface smiled. He was actually kind of delighted by this. "Good!" He said, clasping his hand together. "Den, wait heyah, guys, I’ll call ‘er down." He went to the stairwell and called out, "Riffraff! Get down heyah!"

"ONE SEC!" Came the frustrated cry from the next floor. The loudness made the boys jump.

"Now?!"

"WHEN I’M GOOD AN’ READY!" The womanly voice boomed.

Rocks looked worried. "…What kinda… Goil... Do you got up deyah, Rat?"

"A goyl?" Ratface repeated. "Try da devil."

Suddenly, a small, dainty figure appeared in the doorway. "Hey," it said a bit loudly for speaking, but not so bad. "I heahd dat." She was dressed in light blues, long skirts, fully attired, her hair put up in a braided bun, which was very appropriate for a girl her age. She even had white gloves on her hands, polished black books on her feet, and was fastening a necklace around her neck, causing an allusion that her neck was impossibly long because of the high collar she flaunted.

The boys went wild. A real lady on the premises, and she looked nicer than most of what they brought home. "An angel," some commented in whispers.

"Don’t let her appearance fool you," Ratface said, eyeing Riffraff up and down vigilantly. "She’s really evil… Da Dahk Prince takes many fohms!" He grinned for a moment while Riffraff glared at him and he turned his full attention to her. "All right—what’s wit’ da nice clothin’?" He inquired, looking to be quite sick of Riffraff’s surprises.

Riffraff grinned and looked about innocently. "Goin’ to a job intahview."

Ratface looked at her incredulously. "A job innaview? You haven’t even left da joint and you gotta job innaview?"

"No," she laughed. "Of course not! I just kind of figuhed on walkin’ in and pickin’ myself up a job."

"You know… Mos’ places want ya ta make an appointment," he warned.

Riffraff laughed. "In this dress? Wit' these?" She pointed at her breasts. "Trus’ me, I know how a man’s mind works."

Ratface sighed frustratingly. "Okay, but watch youhself in dresses like dat."

"I won’t rip it, it’s the only really nice dress I own," she explained rashly, checking her pocket watch then beginning to stride to the door quickly, not saying good bye to her audience.

"No—I don’t mean dat…" Ratface tried to explain, but it was too late. She had disappeared out the door. He shook his head.

Spot stepped up beside Ratface and shrugged. "What does she do?" He asked austerely.

"She’s a whore," Ratface said monotonously.

"Really?" Spot said, eyebrows quirked in surprise.

Ratface whacked his unusually gullible friend on the side of the head. "No!" Ratface said, looking quite annoyed. "She plays da piana."

Spot looked very jaded by this. "Huh. She plays da piana?" He began to chuckle. "How bad is she?"

Ratface turned and gave him an amused glance. "How bad is she?" He repeated with good humour. "You mean how good is she." He made a face that went with him as he said, "You have no idea."

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

More than a month dashed by swiftly and Riffraff was just beginning to feel cozy in her new home. Even Ratface was happier with her there. Thanks to Riffraff’s sense of perfection the rooms were cleaner, there was less dust, less messes, and Riffraff had strategically placed lanterns throughout the place so well that one would think they had electricity.

Oh yes, Ratface also enjoyed having her around.

Ratface delighted himself in showing Riffraff’s qualities and defects off. Such as boxing, which she did so well; yet when it came to brawling, Riffraff would be screaming for air in a moment. Baseball; she hit the ball every time at bat, yet they were normally caught and she would stomp out her disappointment on the plate until the man playing catcher would have to drag her away. Gambling; she was so horribly bad at it and yet she thought she was so good.

But at piano, she was sensational. The boys she lived with would crowd into any neighborhood bar she played at. However, playing at neighborhood bars was not how she made good money. It was playing at first and second rate places which, unless it just happened to be a middle-class bar, nobody would see her play in. "It wouldn’t be fun, anyway," Rocks told her once. "Ya wouldn’t be sloshed like usual."

Needless to say, she had more than one admirer, but there was no aficionado bigger than Spot Conlon, Ratface’s right-hand man. He kept it all on the "low down", and just acted very friendly towards her. He even took delight in her taking the empty room next to his, knowing that she was sleeping so close, yet, as he would put it; so far away.

And so there he was on a night in late September in a middle-class bar, listening to Riffraff play classical music. It was twelve o’clock in the morning and he had to wake up early for selling newspapers the next day, so he drank up his last beer before walking over to the piano where Riffraff’s long, slender fingers freely drifted upon the ivory keys.

She looked up at him as she played, being able and so able to do two things at once, and saw the old, familiar, grumpy face she was so used to seeing. "Heyya, Spot," she greeted pleasantly, obviously in a good mood. "How ah ya?"

He smirked at her. "Great," he said, glancing towards the door. "Anyways, Riffraff, I have to get back, but ya sounded…" He shrugged. "Okay tanight." He looked at her and coaxed, "But ya look great." She was back in her favorite blue dress.

She shook her head at him and smiled, used to this reply by now. "Why, thank you," she rolled her eyes, then grinned at him again, nudging her head in the direction of the door. "Get outta heyah, ya bum," she gibed, and then went back concentrating inclusively on her music.

He smiled to himself and left the bar. Spot was as tough a kid as they came—nobody defied him. He wasn’t even one to think about challenging. Whenever he said something it made the impression that whatever he said went.

But with Riffraff—it was another story. It wasn’t just because she defied him, or that she was a woman—it was definitely both.

Spot groaned and thrust his ink-stained hands into his pockets as he walked along the streets of Brooklyn. There was so much on his plate right now that he nearly dreaded going home. It would almost be more productive to jump off a bridge.

New Jersey was an issue, and had been for months. For some reason every fight that was held against them, Jersey City had actually had the nerve to win; all because of this new guy in charge named "Sharks" or something. Spot had never met the guy personally, just fought him and so decided not to like him. All of this was understandable, since it was, in fact, Sharks who tried to crush his leg with a baseball bat.

Ratface was far too passive of a person to be a good strategizer. The man didn’t seem to care about the ‘now’s in life very much. He seemed to care about his future a whole lot more. Sure, Ratface would fight along the side of his gang most times, but he didn’t care to. He was, after all, the oldest and most mature boy in the building they lived in.

And then there was the "Riffraff issue"… Or lack thereof. He had, in the past, had lots of sex with the poor, wealthy, smart and dumb girls alike, but had never enjoyed them much on a personal level. Eventually he would get bored and would stop calling on them. Riffraff wouldn’t be like that.

He couldn’t help thinking about her every two seconds, and he couldn’t stand the fact that he didn’t make any moves to get her. It wasn’t his fault he was a chicken, he would think, she’s intimidating… But when Spot actually listened to himself, he wanted to beat himself up.

Maybe this was the night to do something. He wrung his hands nervously, looking around at the darkness. Finally, he turned heel upon the decided plan—he was going to walk her home.

* ~ * * ~ * * ~ *

Riffraff finally left the bar. She walked out onto the street just as a carriage tumbled loudly by. She bit her lip. It was still and dark for a night in New York City. ‘Isn’t this suppose to be the city that never sleeps?’ she thought to herself as she wrapped her coat more tightly around her.

Along down the road she did see someone—or, rather, a group of people. They were just dark blurs, but she could see that there were four of them.

She squinted. Yes, there were definitely four. Her nervousness was making her colder, but she knew it was a lost cause trying to wrap the coat tighter. The group ahead obviously consisted of young men, about Spot’s age, making a mischievous racket. They spotted a figure that looked like a lone-walking girl up ahead and quickly began to approach like a pack of wild dogs.

Riffraff tried very hard to ignore them and walked along her way, eyes even. She figured that was the best way to handle boys like that.

Eventually, the forms met in the road.

"Hey, where ya goin’?" One asked slyly as her face glowed for a split second in the lamplight, causing every effort put forth worth it.

"Home," Riffraff snapped frigidly.

The boys looked at each other with amused expressions. "Why don’t you stick around wit’ us?" murmured the tallest one of them, purposely getting in her way. The boys tactically plotted themselves around her.

Even still, her eyes kept level and she began to do what she did best—insult. "Because I have a reputation to uphold," she said in a way that made them sound like street trash.

The boys chuckled. She began to push her way through the crowed, only the one ahead of her kept in his position. This was a problem. Riffraff elbowed him to get him out of her way. He put his hands forward and braced himself as the boy from behind her snapped out and grabbed her arms, beginning to strongly hold them back.

Her heart was beating like crazy. She squirmed right, she squirmed left. Both of the ways held no avail—she was surrounded.

"No, I think you’ll wanna ‘ave a lil’ fun wit’ us," the boy behind her hissed in her ear.

"Fuck you," she spat, especially at the boy ahead of her, who was grinning.

"Dat’s de idea." And on that note, her eyes widened as the boy behind her began to drag her backwards into a nearby alley, her feet dragging heavily on the ground until she was thrown up face-first against a dirty wall, her hands attached behind her back by a boy. "Oof!" She let out a smothered hoot, her chin feeling numb from the impact. She backed up quickly and began to turn, but she was pressed against the wall again. She felt a bit dizzy from the impact, but her mind was cleared when she felt her skirts being lifted from behind.

She spun quickly around with her hand balled up into a fist and punched the boy that was now behind her in the mouth with all her force. It was the taller one, she found out as soon as she looked up, seeing him grab his bottom lip, which was now dripping blood. He looked back at her, his eyes seeming to flame with passionate anger.

He quickly backhanded her with all of his force that contacted her eye with such violence that her head remained snapped to the side for a moment with shock before she leaned forward, grabbing her eye.

Suddenly, she lashed out and punched the boy again, which came even more unexpectedly. She turned quickly and began running down the alley as quickly as she could, away from the group of shocked boys. She was running at full force when, suddenly, she felt a large weight fall upon her, grabbing her waist and forcing her to the ground. She screamed but when he body was slammed into the ground, she lost her breath.

She turned her body under her capturer, trying to push him off—but alas, he pinned her hands down. She had them freed for a moment but she didn’t use it, for in that moment he slammed his fist into the same injured eye, making her let out a cry of pain.

"You bitch!" The boy stormed into her face.

Soon the boys had their stances. One held her legs, one held her harms, and one stood by to observe as the tallest one straddling her thighs, where he angrily began ripping her coat apart, causing great rips and tares all over. "Argh!" Riffraff yelped, squirming like mad as he began to tear open her blouse. She tried to kick her pinned-down legs desperately. Her mind was unable to comprehend a solution; like a chicken before it’s head was chopped off.

Suddenly, she felt the weight disappear from her lower legs as they were no longer held down. She began to kick, but it still did no good because her thighs were still pinned down by the tallest boy’s weight. The tall ruffian didn’t even seem to notice that he was now a man short, and began to grope her bared breasts shamelessly, and then began to raise her skirts again, making her choke out orders for him to ‘get off’.

Suddenly, with her one good eye, she saw a hand grasp the criminal’s shoulder. The boy looked over with a look that seemed quite irritated to see what the owner of the hand wanted, but then there was the crunching sound of his nose breaking.

The injured boy sprawled upon Riffraff’s body, which was busy hyperventilating. As she felt the gushing blood from the boy’s nose stain her breasts and dress, the boy who was holding her arms down looked up with fright at the offender and then he and the other boys quickly ran down the alley, one’s face was horribly injured.

The taller boy turned around to look up at the person who did that to him and was again hit, only this time on the same eye that he had beaten on Riffraff. He yelped again and began to crawl away. Suddenly, the offender kicked him, and he yelled, jumping up as best as he could and began to sprint away.

Riffraff sprawled out with relief for a moment as she listened to the sounds of her savoir chasing her tormentor away. She eventually sat up slowly, and then spun around to get onto her knees where she saw a pair of dirty shoes. She looked up a little more to see a hand reaching down in gesture to help her up. She sighed with liberation then gave a chuckle and grabbed his hand, which hoisted her up into standing. Out of the lamplight from the street she saw the face of Spot Conlon, who discreetly looked down, took off his coat, put it around her and quickly began to button it up for her as she nursed her eye by placing her hands over it. He fumbled with the buttons, which, despite herself, made her blush because of all the skin he had just been exposed to.

As he finished, she looked up into his face and said genuinely, "Thanks."

He nodded, praising himself internally, yet his steel blue eyes kept their glare. "No problem," he said between pursed lips. He then cleared his throat, took her upper arm gently, and began leading her out of the alley.

They walked along quietly for a moment, until a flash of lightening lit the skies and thunder rolled in the distance. Spot looked at Riffraff to see her reaction, but she was acting as if she didn’t notice nature at all, and was trying to get the courage to take her hands away from her eye.

Spot stopped and stooped over Riffraff, peering at her face. "Ah you okay?" he asked if only because he felt like it needed to be asked. "Heyah, lemme see dat." Riffraff’s hand held tight. He rolled his eyes. "Come on, trust me." He was abled to remove her hands, revealing a severely beaten, swollen, and purple eye. He pursed his lips and put a hand on the side of her face sympathetically.

Riffraff looked up at him, admiration showing in her eyes. She didn’t know why, but he looked different tonight in her eyes. She felt safe to be near him. Without her knowing, her head crooked itself more into his hand, letting his thumb stroke her cheek, tilting her head up blindly.

Spot slowly lowered his lips to hers, where they met passionately, eyes closed. Spot, whom was far more experienced than Riffraff at these kinds of things, put his arms strongly around her waist, drawing her body closer until it was gently pressed against him. He parted his lips from hers to kiss her neck. Riffraff innocently wrapped her arms around him, nervously ignorant.

It was unlike Riffraff to be innocent about anything, but she had never been intimate with anybody before, she would just watch from a distance and sneer.

Rain poured around them as the thunder rolled closer. Spot finally broke apart from her with a very sly smile on his face, dancing about merrily in his head. "Let’s go put somet’in’ on dat eye," he simply said, then took her hand into his and walked by her side through the dirty streets of Brooklyn.

"Know what da wohse t’ing about dis is?" One could hear Riffraff McColley ask.

"What?" Spot asked with a smile.

"They ruined my favourite dress!"

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

Riffraff, now thirteen, leaned over the side of the Brooklyn Bridge, a half-smoked cigarette in her hand. It was the beginning of February and so snow blew across the ground. Her hands were red and frozen and her cheeks were rosy. She was plotting out a new song in her head; some sort of thing between classical music and an Irish drinking song.

Suddenly she felt a pair of arms wrapping around her waist from the back then a kiss on her cheek. "How ya doin’, Goyl?" Spot asked agreeably. He looked at her hand and smoothly snatched her cigarette away and took a drag before saying, "I t’ought ya promised me dat you’d give dese up?"

Riffraff turned around and looked to the side guiltily. "I did… For a day." She watched as he crossed his arms and glared at her. "Well, we nevah discussed a time-frame."

He rolled his eyes. "All right, you’he a big liah, I know, but I hate it when women smoke… It’s like seeing a woman spit," he explained. "It jus’ ain’t right."

"And now you’re rulin’ out chew?" Riffraff snorted. "Hell, Spot, you ain’t givin’ me no options!"

"Not on dis. Smokin’s a sign of weakness anyways—hey!" Hey snapped as he watched her mouth ‘smokin’s a sign of weakness’ along with him. "Don’t do dat. You know I’m wight."

"Jus’ like always," she glowered.

"Hey," he boasted light heartedly. "I can’t ‘elp it dat I’m always right. It’s jus’ a gift." He threw her cigarette off the bridge.

Riff watched as the smoke dropped to its death then looked up at Spot, shook her head at him and smiled. She wrapped her arms around him and got up on her tiptoes to kiss him, of which he gladly returned. Slowly but surely, she lifted up his shirt in the back and put her icy hands upon his skin.

He broke off the kiss, yelped and pushed her back. "Ah!" He said, rubbing where she touched him. As soon as the chills left, he grabbed her hands, blew on them, and rubbed them. "Dat was sneaky an’ not very nice," he scolded, even though it didn’t work because he smirked. "Anyways, my deah," he said. "I’ve come to collect ya fer da meetin’. It stahts in jus’ an houah."

She groaned. "I don’ wanna go…" She whined like a three year old, stomping her foot.

He rolled his eyes, dropped one of her hands, and pulled on the other one so she was forced to go in his direction. She stopped walking and her feet skidded across the ground. He turned around, getting quite annoyed by this and showing that in his stern decorum. "Come on," he ordered.

"Nah, I’ll jus’ go to visit…my cousin," she stated after a process of thought.

"Mos’ o’ ‘em ‘ill be deyah, anyways," he said realistically, and then began to drag her again, but her feet still weren’t moving.

"No! These t’ings are so borin’! And I hate mos’ o’ my cousines, anyway…" She said, holding onto the side of the bridge.

Spot sighed and began to pry her arms loose of the bar. Riffraff wasn’t very strong, and she wasn’t very heavy, either—like a small mosquito, which made it incredibly easy for him to throw her over his shoulder.

"Okay," she said, quite embarrassed by all this. "Okay, you can put me down now…" She waited for him to stop, but he didn’t. "Come on!" She cried, squirming. She rolled her eyes as she gave up.

She almost liked the way Spot thought he was in charge of the relationship—almost. She had gone through great lengths to give him that impression because if he thought he wasn’t, he would try and then he would be. ‘You don’t mend the shirt if ya don’ know it’s ripped,’ she would mentally tell herself. Little did he realize that she made most of his decisions. She made most of Ratface’s decisions… And the other boys at the house, of course. They wouldn’t even ask her opinion, but whenever she could see that they were stuck mentally on something, she’d lean in and say, ‘You know what you have to do.’ They, of course, didn’t know, so they asked, and so she would tell them, then they would do it. That’s why Jersey City had been getting beat at fights lately—Riffraff was behind the scenes.

But the meeting she was not looking forward to. She doubted she’d know anybody there but a few of her many, many cousines, who would bother her tremendously. Maybe she could pretend she was sick… No, it was too late for that… Maybe if she had started in the morning, but not now.

Spot carried her all the way home and up to her room, where he threw her down on the bed. She bounced a bit and made an "Oof" sound. She looked up and glared at him.

"Get ready," he said with a smirk, leaving the room.

Riffraff had a plan—however childish and silly. She took her gray dress off, undid her hair, locked the door, and dragged a wooden chair in front of the door, aligning it to keep the knob from turning (just incase), then laid down on her bed, arms resting underneath her head. She couldn’t go into public if she was in her underwear with her hair down, and Spot can’t hassle her if he couldn’t come in. It was the perfect plan.

While all this was happening, Spot was just coming into his room from the washroom. He opened a chest in the corner of his room that held all his clothes, jackets, weapons, and shoes. He polished his shoes until they shined. His favourite pair of pants was clean, so he put those on and tied his shoes. He looked back into his chest. There were two clean shirts of which we wore equally as often— the white shirt and the blue shirt.

He pursed his lips and sighed. Which one? The decision was too powerful; he couldn’t possibly make it himself because it was about clothes. He looked at the wall next to him, where on the other side he knew Riffraff would be. What was the good of having a girlfriend next door if you couldn’t ask her stupid questions?

He abandoned the two shirts on his bed and walked to the room next door. Without knocking, he opened the door—or at least he would have opened the door if it wasn’t locked and had the chair on the other side holding it. He looked at the doorknob in a very confused manner. "Riffraff, is dis door stuck?" He asked.

"Nope." There was a beat of silence after that.

He looked back down at the knob with a glare. "Did you lock it?"

"Yep." There was silence. "I’ve decided," they voice went on casually. "That I won’t attend this meetin’. I’ll stay right heyah. Go wit’ out me."

He glared at Riffraff through the door with all his glaring strength. "Don’ do dis, Riff," he said in a warning tone. There was silence. "Besides," he said in a different tone of voice as if to fool her. "Ya ‘ave to tell me which shiht to weah, da white one or…"

"The blue one." The voice said.

He almost forgot there was a door problem between them. "Da blue one?"

"Definitely. The white one’s too fohmal."

"Ah." He nodded to himself. Abruptly he looked up and started pounding on the door. "Come outta dehe!" He ordered.

"No!" Came the voice from the other side of the door.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Okay, fine, have it youh way," he grumbled loudly, then went into his room and brought out a knife then began to pick the lock with it. It took about five minutes, but Riffraff continued to be very easy minded about it until she heard the unlocking ‘click’. The knob twisted, but the door remained closed. There was another beat of silence before Spot asked calmly from the other side of the door. "Riffraff—why isn’t dis door openin’?"

"’Cause I put a chaih undah the knob."

"Really," he replied, lowering his eyebrows angrily.

"Uh-huh," came the sing-songish reply, the muffled by the door that continued to be closed.

"Open it!" There was a clang as the knife was thrown badly onto the floor.

"No!"

"I’ll break dis door down!" He threatened heatedly.

"Yeah, right!" The voice tested.

Spot growled, stood back from the door, then with a roar of exasperation, quickly approached the door and kicked it. He heard the chair on the other side fly across the room. "Ahk!" The voice yelped in fear as the chair barely missed the owner’s body.

He twisted open the handle, his posture explaining how furious he was, and let the door slam into the wall next to it upon opening. There he saw his girlfriend in her undergarments, hair down, sitting on her bed with a surprised expression on her face.

"Do you mind?" She snapped as if his entrance was unexpected.

His mouth hung open. "You’he not even dressed?!" he snarled, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, neithah ah you," she replied tartly, pointing at his bare chest. She paused and hoped he wasn’t going to explode. "Look," she said slowly and crisply. "I don’t wanna go."

"You know what? I don’t cayah!" He breathed out, trying not to go up to the bed and just start beating her. "Where’s da key?" He tried to say calmly.

"Up youh ass!" She replied meanly.

Spot closed his eyes and tried to remember where she told him that key was. It was a short-lived conversation a month ago… Under her pillow!

The one her head was now firmly pressed down upon.

He growled to himself and moved to her side of the bed and began to reach for her pillow but she slapped his hand away rather hard. He grabbed his hand away and tried with the other. That hand was also slapped. He held her arms above her head with one hand and with the other he grabbed the key. He put it in his pocket and then took one of her wrists in each hand as she tried to grab it back, "Stop actin’ like dis," he snapped. She glared at him angrily, and so he gave her a small kiss to make sure she knew he wasn’t in the wrong.

The kiss wasn’t short; it was, in fact, rather long. Ever so slowly, he positioned himself on the bed on top of her, running his fingers through her hair with one hand, and with the other, he pulled her waist up closer to him.

That’s when her eyes popped opened widely. "Wait! Wait!" She cried, stopping the passion rudely with her words.

He sighed as he dropped her waist, his fingers still gliding through her hair. He took a deep breath and asked very carefully as if he was in pain, "What’s da mattah?"

She blushed guiltily. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. "I’m not ready, Spot," she explained as delicately as she could.

He sighed jadedly and buried his face into the bed. Had there been a wall, he would have pounded his head against it. He didn’t really understand what there was to be ‘ready’ about, but he knew he couldn’t force it—it would only lengthen the wait in the end. "Okay, Riff," he said, getting up and kissing her cheek. "When you’he ready." He watched Riffraff’s unsure body let out a sigh of relief before he brought back in, "Now, while I’m takin’ anuddah very, very cold bath, get dressed!"

She sighed and nodded deferentially.

He almost threw her the key, but decided against it. "I’m keepin’ dis," he told her sternly, putting the key into his pocket.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

"And den da guy says, ‘Peas an’ carrots!’" Mick stated, and everybody laughed, except Riffraff, who didn’t think the joke was very funny.

‘I hate this cousin,’ she thought to herself grumpily. ‘Is he really related to me? Nah. I bet his mum was a whore… That would explain him.’ She looked about. ‘Where’s Spot? Maybe he’d say something interesting… I mean, you never know.’ Her eyes set upon its source. ‘Ah.’ She excused herself none-too-politely away from the group of men she was surrounded by and walked up to Spot, instantly draping her arms around him.

Spot’s body froze as well as the expressions of some of the other boys. She noticed this right away and shrugged. "What?" She asked. "What?" She repeated. She paused in thought. She quirked an eyebrow at the group, then asked, "You were tellin’ dirty jokes, weren’t ya?"

Spot glanced at her and grinned. The other boys, for a moment, didn’t know how to say she was right, but Spot said it well enough by grabbing her arm and yanking her before him. "Dis is Riffraff McColley, boys. I’ve tol’ ya about ‘er," he introduced.

The boys snickered.

She turned her head towards Spot. "What da ‘ell ‘ave you been tellin’ ‘em?" She inquired, stepping away from him so she could glare at him, her hands on her hips.

He and the boys chuckled as he kissed her cheek. "Nothin’ for youse ta worry about. Now go…" He looked around and saw Mick. "Talk to Mick ‘r somethin’, will ya? Me an' da boys got important t’ings ta talk about."

"Did ya make me come ‘ere to talk ta my cousin?" She said angrily. "Boy, I’m gettin’ angry at chu…" She paused in paranoia. "Dat important t’ing isn’t me, is it?"

"No…" He said smoothly. "Now, go on!" He slapped her on the ass, and then turned back to his group.

Riffraff grabbed her butt. ‘Owe!’ She thought, then glared at him more, but he didn’t notice and so she stomped off. ‘Of all the…’ She looked about for the beer. ‘Where da hell is it?!’ She finally saw it and the reason why she didn’t see it earlier was because there was a big, tall, redheaded boy in front of it. She pushed him out of the way. "Get da hell outta my way!" She yelled at him.

He looked down at her, his expression almost startled. He stepped a foot aside stylishly and gaped at her beat the beer from the barrel. Once she got it flowing, she put her head under it with her mouth wide open and began letting it just fall into the back of her throat. She came back up and gulped the last of what was in her mouth down. The redhead boy turned to her and said austerely, "I know ‘ow ya feel." He paused and continued, "Bored. I wouldn’t ‘ave come eiddah, but… Heh. You know how curiosity gets ya."

She ignored him and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

He looked at her with his eyes narrowed a bit. "You know, mos’ people ‘ave convehsations by speakin’… But I guess small lil’ women wehe raised to t’ink otherwise." She didn’t answer him. "So… Who’s gihlfriend ah ya?"

"Kiss my ass," she snapped back.

He was offended for a moment then said with charm, "All dough dat is a nice invitation, I think I might ‘ave ta pos’pone dat event." He passed her a smile.

There was silence, but out of one corner of her mouth, she smiled. The funny thing was that he noticed it. "Look," he said. "Why don’t we leave an’ I’ll buy ya a drink? I doubt we’ll miss much," he offered with a smirk on his lips.

She looked up at him as if he was crazy, but she heard herself saying, "Thehe’s a nice bah down the street. They sell the strongest Guinness in the wohld." She gave him a soft smile.

His face brightened up and he extended his arm gentlemanly for her to take, "Well, what ah we waitin’ for, my deah?" He said, impersonating an English chap that made her giggle softly as they headed out the door and onto the street.

It wasn’t until ten minutes later that Spot was looking high and low for a trace of Riffraff. He pulled Rocks to him. "Hey," he whispered. "Whehe’s me goyl?"

Rocks shrugged naively and the desperate search ended as Spot ran into Jack Kelly from Manhattan.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

It had, sure enough, been a shock during the first mug of Guinness when Riffraff learned that she was in the company of Sharks O’Malley and when he learned she was Spot Conlon’s girlfriend, but by the end of the mug they treated everything casually. They sat and discussed little things. Riffraff explained how she came to live in Brooklyn, and he told her why he left home. He was very excited to hear that she was from Jersey City, and even more so when they both realized that Sharks’ best friend is "Blue Jay" McColley—her cousin. All and all they felt angry that they had never met before.

A few hours after they had entered the crowded Irish bar, they had had only two glasses of Guinness. Their heads weren’t quite swimming, but they lost their shame sometime after the first one. There was a fiddler playing in the back of the room and a good number of working-class men on the floor, waving their mugs of ale wildly about and singing at the top of their lungs.

We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork

We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks

For the grand city hall in New York

'Twas an elegant craft, she was rigged fore and aft

And how the wild wind drove her

She could stand a great blast in her twenty-seven masts

Sharks and Riffraff had gotten up on the bar, somehow, and were hop-dancing about it without the bar tender seeming to mind at all because the man was laughing and singing too hard. Sharks suddenly leaped onto the floor, landed, then turned and caught Riffraff in his arms. He promptly set her down, laughing, and they continued to dance. Everyone applauded. Sharks had Riffraff by the waist and hand as they spun around the room, dancing wildly, their feet taking the same motions even though they had never danced to this song before, or at least certainly not together (although sometimes Riffraff would ruin their gracefulness by stepping on her skirts, but they would laugh about it and continue on).

The men continued:

We had two million barrels of stones

We had three million sides of old blind horses hides

We had four million barrels of bone

We had five million hogs, six million dogs

Seven million barrels of porter

We had eight million bales of old nanny goats tails

In the hold of the Irish Rover!

There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee

There was Hogan from County Tyrone

There was Johnny McGuirk who was scared stiff of work

And a chap from Westmeath called Malone

There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule

And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover

There was Dolan from Clare, just as strong as a bear

All aboard on the Irish Rover!

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out

And our ship lost it's way in the fog

Then the whole of the crew was reduced down to two

Just myself and the captain's old dog

The ship struck a rock, Lord what a shock

The boat it flipped right over

Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned

The fiddles and banjos drew the song to an end. Sharks and Riffraff eventually halted and cleverly bowed at the applause they happily took part in themselves. They were merrily sweating and wiping their foreheads with their sleeves. He turned to Riffraff, "Do ya want a t’ird?" He asked curiously.

She chuckled, "Nah, I ‘ave ta work tomorrah aftahnoon at a fancy place. Don’ wanna look dead for it."

He quirked his eyebrows and took her hand to lead her out the door. They ended up having to wave goodbyes because everybody made a ruckus about their leaving. As soon as they were on the quiet street, he asked, "So, whattaya do?"

She shrugged and said modestly, "Ah, dis an’ dat." She looked up at him, "What do you do?"

He shrugged, "Ah, dis an’ dat," he repeated with a grin.

They both chuckled, but alas, approached Riffraff’s residence where’d they had to say good-bye. She looked down at her shoes and then looked up, both a little awkward. "Well, thank ya foh the drinks," she finally said.

He nodded and said strangely, "Anytime." He still played with her hand, which he didn’t let drop to her side yet. He sighed sadly, as if he was going to say good-bye, which she was prepared to answer, but instead of saying ‘good-bye’ he yanked her body to him and kissed her mouth, deeply.

She squirmed against him, her mind blank and unsure of the whole situation, but he held her tightly to him. She raised her hand and slapped his face, but still he would not resist, just tightened his grip around her waist. Finally, she found herself returning the kiss. He pulled apart, smiled at her, then picked her feet off the ground and spun her playfully around, then again continued to kiss her within the shadows of the night.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

Spot heard Riffraff enter her room and shut the door and jumped up from his bed. He hadn’t seen her for almost six hours, and he was angry about it. He had wasted the time he waited for her by tying Riffraff’s key to a string then hanging it around his neck so the metal set nicely upon his chest. He liked it.

He stomped across the floor out into the hall, then into Riffraff’s room, where she was getting undressed. She rolled her eyes at him. "Do you quite mind?" She asked angrily.

"Yes, I *quite* do mind ya walkin’ out on da meetin’. It doesn’t reflect well on me if you’he not dehe!" He cried distraughtly, then he paused and continued sadly. "I wanted you ta be deyah."

She rolled her eyes again and sighed. "Well, you wehen’t makin’ me feel very needed," she snapped.

"I’m sorry about dat," he apologized. "I was jus’ carried away because of dose guys…" He came closer and wrapped his arms around her gently and softly kissed her mouth, tasting the Guinness, now knowing where she had been. "I’ll tell ya what," he began to offer. "I’ll take ya ta dinner tomorrah night. Jus’ you an’ me, what do ya say?"

She kissed him back ever so softly on the lips. "How about the night aftah?" She requested.

He shrugged simply, "Sure. Why not tomorrah?"

"I’m visitin’ one ‘a my cousins tomarrah," she explained.

He smiled at her. "Really? Which one?"

"Deacon," she replied, and then thought to herself, ‘but everyone calls him Blue Jay…’

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

About a couple of months grazed by easily. Riffraff and Sharks saw each other everyday, and knowing what they were doing was wrong, they were very sneaky about it. They would drink beer together, or sit all day in the park talking, or would go do group activities with the rest of the Jersey boys, even now and then would go to the cinemas, even though Sharks hated them.

Riffraff would blush away information from him. Not once did she speak about playing the piano to him—he didn’t even know that she could. He had no idea what she did for a living. He didn’t even know she couldn’t read because he would read so well for her as if she could. He didn’t know her history or much about her family, for she bad sworn Blue Jay to secrecy. "So you have money," Blue Jay shrugged once when she approached him. "No need to be ashamed."

She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. "He shouldn’t like me ‘cause I’m the rich gihl," she had mentioned. "’Sides, I don’ wan’ my Da’ to gimme no money, anyhow."

Blue Jay called her insane, but kept his mouth shut obediently.

Sharks loved hearing her talk. She didn’t precisely have a soft whisper of a voice, but it was interesting and funny. She made him laugh constantly, and the other times he would glare at her with a locked jaw. Normally, with other girls, he would strike them when they talked to him with half the insulting tone Riffraff threw at him, but with Riffraff he grew somewhat tolerant.

He also thought her as familiar. He couldn’t place it for the life of him, of course. Blue Jay said that he might have seen her on the streets before, but hadn’t met her. Blue Jay himself hadn’t seen her for quite a few years until she starting hanging around with Sharks at Riffraff and Blue Jay's uncle’s old bar, who, since he had a new, large, more successful bar on the other side of the city, let Blue Jay and his friends reside in the old one for free.

Sharks hated Spot. He had hated Spot before, but only on a professional basis. Now he hated him as the man who was more aloud to touch the girl he loved more than he was. Everyday he feared that Riffraff would build a conscience and call the affair off, but she never did, and so he hoped she would come to him.

Sharks lay across Riffraff who was on his bed weakly squealing and squirming under his weight.

"If you keep movin’ I wont be able to take it out!" Sharks assured sternly, adjusting his posture.

"It hurts! Ouch! Stop it!" She demanded, possessed by pain. "What are you doin’?! Don’t do that!"

He sighed, withdrew and straitened his back then made another pounce upon her, pinning her down then flipping her onto her stomach. Quickly he straddled her with his legs on both sides of her thighs.

He faced her feet and finally caught the injured foot she was kicking about and brought it closer to him so he could get a good look at the bottom of it. "Ohh, Renny, it’s stuck way in thehe," he warned as he inspected the deep, bloody cut in her foot. He grabbed the tweezers that were on the bed next to him.

She felt the sharp metal tool touch her foot and yanked her leg away from his grip. "Don’t you dahe!" She nagged. He took her foot back nonetheless and began to fish through it. "Ahhh!" She yelped.

"Ah, shaddap," Sharks replied calmly and smoothly. He yanked out the rest of the glass then moved up from the bed where he left her squirming. He came promptly back across the room where he had thrown away the shred of glass then pulled up a chair before the bed and sat in it. "Don’t be so wimpy. It didn’ hurt dat much."

She sat up and climbed down to the edge of the bed and cried, "Well, why don’ I shove a piece of fuckin’ glass up your foot and see how you like it, Asshole."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, thinking that this was one of the times he would have slapped her had she been anyone else. "An’ you kiss your boyfriends wit’ dat mouth?" He reached down to the side of him and brought up a bowl of water he had prepared onto his lap. "Gimme your foot," he ordered, and her foot was lifted towards him. He dropped her foot into the bowl to wash the wound. "Woyse pain I evah had, recently, had ta ‘ave been when I broke my nose," he told her mindlessly.

She laughed at him. "You broke youh nose?"

"Aye," he replied. "Very unfortunately, I did. Hurt like hell ta snap it back, too."

"You get it from wrestlin’ Blue Jay?" she teased, for she had just gotten injured from wrestling with her cousin in bare feet because of his fear of being kicked.

He gave a laugh. "No." He gave an uneasy glance. He took her foot out of the bloodstained water and moved the bowl back onto the ground so he could pick up a rag he left on the bed to wrap up her foot very delicately.

"Think I’ll have a scar?" Riffraff said as if she was in deep thought about it, looking over at the scar on Shark’s bottom lip.

He laughed and kissed the cloth. "Yes—but I’m sure it’ll be a lovely one."

She smirked. "Well, as long as it don’ look like that scar on youh face, I’ll be fine with it."

He set his jaw and downcasted his eyes to the foot.

"Where’d ya get that scah, anyway?" She asked, practically tempting him to react badly.

He looked back up at her face. "Ah, jis’ a fight I was in last Septembah. Blue Jay, me, an’ a couple a’ guys went up ta New Yohk one night lookin’ for trouble. We were drunk off our asses. I, myself, ended up crawling away from it." He gave a laugh.

She nodded and grinned at him while looking at her watch. She bit her lip and heaved a sigh. "I’d bettah be getting’ home ‘fore Spot gets suspicious," she noted. She promptly stood up, then, just as promptly, made a pain-stricken look on her face. "Owe."

Sharks chuckled and sat her back down onto the bed. "No, no, my deah," he chimed. "I believe dat you’ll be stayin’ heyah tonight. I don’ want ya walkin’ on dat an’ I ain’t carryin’ ya right inta Spot’s ahms, thank-you-very-much." He leaned down and kissed her, rubbing the back of her neck with one of his hands.

She parted her lips from his and looked up at him with a mischievous glance. "Spot wouldn’t like that," she remarked.

He growled and climbed on the bed on top of her, pinning her arms down. "Spot wouldn’t like dis eithah," he breathed out between passionate kisses.

The dark figure stooped over her body, tearing apart her coat and blouse. Her right eye stung, her eyes were watery and frightened and the alley about her was totally dark, not letting her witness anyone around her, making them nothing more than shadows. For a quick moment, the light showed upon her offender’s face for a moment from a nearby streetlamp. There, breathing out seductive pants, Sharks O’Malley kneeled over her.

Riffraff gasped and with a newfound energy shoved Sharks away from her body and the blouse he was trying to unbutton.

Sharks was taken aback for a moment, but then rolled his eyes and began to ease back into the same position saying, "No, no! Renny, believe me when I say you are absolutely ready." All he was able to get through ways of force was a fleeting kiss, and then she started screaming.

Out of shock, he put a hand over her mouth to silence her and gave a flurry of "Shhshhshh!" Her hand came up from her side and punched him in the face. His body fell backwards onto the floor. As he scrambled back to his feet he grumbled, "Okay! Maybe you’he not ready!" He rubbed the side of his face. "What’s da mattah wit’ you?"

"You asshole! You liah!" She screamed at him. "I know how you broke youh nose!"

His movement and breathing pattern completely halted for a moment. "W-what?" He asked quietly, but at that moment, he remembered where he recognized her.

"An’ ya know who gave ya dat scah on your lip? Me!" She spat proudly, watching his eyes widen implausibly.

She quickly began to button her blouse all the way back up and put on her coat. She grabbed her shoes that had been resting on the floor and tried to put them on. As soon as putting them on over the bandage proved unsuccessful, she threw her shoes at his head, both of which he had to duck from.

"I’m leavin’ this fuckin’ rat hole," she yelled and began to limp agonizingly out the door, nearly slamming it on him on her way out.

He opened the door back up ran through it. He caught up to her on the stairs as she made her way down. "Renny—please… Le’ me explain!" He begged.

"It’s Riffraff!" She corrected in an angry shout. "An’ I don’ wanna heah it! Not at all! I hope you die!" She continued to pathetically hobble down the stairs. Her face was arranged like she was going to cry, witnessed by the boys in the room that were attentively watching the scene.

"Re—Riffraff—forgive me! I didn’ mean to! I was drunk! Really drunk!"

"Oh, an I’m suppose ta stand by and le’ ya rape me every time you get really drunk?" She retorted.

He tried to gently grab her arm. "At leas’ lemme carry ta —"

"I don’t want you ta touch me! I don’ even want ta see you again! Good bye!" She screamed at him, making even the audience wince, and then she went out the door and slammed it behind her.

There was an unbearably long silence after that. Sharks starred at the door for a second in shock. The boys didn’t know if he was approachable.

Finally, Blue Jay took a chance. "What happened?" He asked his best friend cautiously, walking over towards him.

Sharks glanced back at his men for a moment, then grabbed his coat off a hook and left them without a word.

By the time Sharks got himself onto the street, Riffraff was being pulled away in a carriage that she must have paids ome   good money for.

He rubbed his hand over his face and made a mental note to himself that if he ever got back on Riffraff’s good side to ask what she did for a living. The curiosity was mind-filling.

He made a habit in frequently going over to her home and trying to beg for forgiveness. He left her flowers, letters (that he didn’t know she couldn’t read, so the whole idea was pointless), drawings, and occasionally even small gifts.

She still wouldn’t meet with him. It went on like that for two dreadfully long weeks and Sharks was beginning to loose hope.

However, on one particular Friday, he threw small pebbles against her window on the second story, forcing her to come to the window.

It worked.

Riffraff slowly opened the window, where it squeaked and creaked and rattled as if it had never been opened. "What ah you doin’ heyah, Asshole?" She inquired as if ‘asshole’ was actually his name.

He looked up, obviously offended by being called an asshole in such a casual way. "To beg forgiveness, to grovel at your feet, to shower you with compliments, to…" He went on, but when he glanced up again at the window, he saw that there was an absence of Riffraff. "Riffraff?" He called. "Riffraff, come on!"

He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets as he waited a couple of minutes until he saw a team of boys running from the building, screaming out some nonsense about ‘Jersey scum’. As soon as he remembered that he was Jersey scum, his body nearly ran away without his head. He sprinted down the ruined street with a crowd at his ankles, shooting marbles at him with slingshots.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

Riffraff heaved a heavy sigh as she entered her yellow-lighted chambers from the washroom, where she tried to comfort herself in taking a bath where she wondered if everybody else’s life was as bad as hers.

She had sorrowfully recognized that even in a city of millions of people she would still cheat on her boyfriend with the same boy that tried to rape her in a blind alley a few months before with the aid of her very own cousin. What were the odds?

She sat down on her bed with her towel wrapped around her body, wondering if she should allow Spot to make love to her in the near future. She had done everything in her power to avoid actual sex, but she was running out of ideas and she didn’t want to do the alternatives anymore. She pursed her lips. Why not just do it that night? What was she waiting for? Something special. Or rather, someone special. That was Spot… And that was also Sharks. It was true that Spot never tried to rape her, but only just as true as the fact that she didn’t have to fool around with Sharks to get him to do something. The man did it, no questions asked, just to make her happy. Spot wanted to make her happy, too, but quite unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at it.

Sharks didn’t glare at everything. That was the final clincher. Spot glared at everything as if everybody wore the sun on their foreheads. Sharks was very wide-eyed and expressive, even though he wasn’t nearly as attractive as Spot, and he was still incredibly sexy to her, even if he was a bit overweight and easily offended.

Sharks tried to rape her. Oh, yes. She kept on forgetting about that. She had to remind herself that she was very angry about it.

But, then again, he only tried to…

She was confused so she sighed again… Or, rather, she would have sighed again if there wasn’t a hand suddenly wrapped around her mouth. "Tellin’ on me wasn’t very nice," a voice growled in her ear. Her mouth was let go.

"Neithah was youh lil’ escapade you pulled a few months ago," she snapped back and turned to see Sharks with his eye smashed frantically to the point where his skin was bust and bleeding. She put a hand up to her mouth, trying not to laugh at him, but then decided that she wanted to, and put her hand down.

He pursed his lips for a moment and then opened his mouth to complain about her reaction, but she had already left the room.

He quickly got up from the bed and began stepping out the window, but when he was only halfway out, she was back inside the room with a cold wet cloth in her hand. "Where ya goin’?" She asked as if she wasn’t angry at all. "You gotta put this on your eye."

He came back into the room and sat down on the bed, letting her dab the cloth gently onto his eye. He chuckled, "I never t’ought ya for da healin’ type."

"An’ I ain’t never t’ought of you as da rapin’ type," she responded quietly, causing him to shamefully downcast his eyes.

"I’m sorry, Renny, I really am," he told her with all the sincerity he could.

"You bettah be," she muttered matter-of-factly. "’Cause I’ll nevah forget what you did."

He frowned, his shoulders slumping over hopelessly.

She tightened her lips for a moment, wanting to continue but considering it first. Eventually she said, "But…" She sat down next to him, securing the towel to her body then patting his thigh in a comforting way. "I guess I can fohgive ya…" She gave him a look that clearly said, ‘but I really don’t want to.’

His eyes brightened as he looked to her in awe. "You…" He could barely get it out of his mouth. "Really?" He was so excited her wanted to dance about the room, but that would seem very out of character for him, so he didn’t.

She took the cloth away from his face and folded it neatly before setting it on the bed desk. "No, I was fucking wit’ you," she said sarcastically. She continued to tease. "Mostly I don’ forgive, but I guess I could make an ex—" she was interrupted as she was kissed ardently with all of Sharks’ will that it even forced her to fall back onto her bunk. He grinned to himself. Maybe he could now get back to focusing on trying to get her to stop dating his enemy, but now he wasn’t thinking about that. All he was thinking was how he could be closer to her, and so he began to loosen the towel that was around her body with one hand as he stroked the soft skin on her cheek with the other.

Spot read a newspaper heedlessly. Had sound traveled better through the walls he would have been suspicious earlier, for he would have heard the pain and pleasure-ridden moans escaping Riffraff’s lips from her chambers as her body was ravished.

Then he heard her bed frame pound against the wall, alerting that something was askew. He put the newspaper down and thought about what could be making that noise. Eventually he decided that it must be Riffraff trying to fix her bed. Why she decided to fix it so late in the evening, God knows, but that’s what it sounded like.

He continued to listen to it, now getting annoyed. What was that woman doing? It was getting louder now. Pretty soon she’d make a hole. Well, that’s what came out of women trying to fix anything—more problems.

Well, it was his job, he decided, as a boyfriend, to go and fix the problem for her. He groaned as he got up, fixed the key that was hanging around his neck, then walked out into the hallway and stood outside of her door. He turned the door and opened it. His knees almost buckled when he saw what he saw.

The couple stopped in their activities and turned their heads simultaneously to the side.

Sharks’ eyes narrowed. "Do you mind?" He snapped.

"What da hell ah you doin?!" Spot cried agitatedly. He saw that she was about to answer him, but he put up a hand to silence her. "I don’ wanna hear it! I’m so… angry… I don’t know what to do wit’ myself!" He screamed, putting a quixotically frustrated hand upon his eyes for a moment.

"Why don’t ya leave so we could finish?!" Sharks retorted, not budging from his position on top of Riffraff.

Riffraff put a hand on her forehead and shook her head at the whole situation.

Spot, infuriated to say the least, went up to Sharks and punched him across the face. He fell back onto Riffraff’s side for a moment. She gasped, not because of the most recent happening, but because she noticed she was no longer covered, and so she quickly drew a thin sheet over her naked body.

Spot threw her a hurt expression and let Sharks get up and get back into his pants, baring his fists all the while and screaming at Riffraff, "You whore! How could you do dis ta me?! I loved you!"

"Well… I... This isn’t what it looks like?" For the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to say. She knew that she should have felt guilty at that moment as she ripped Spot’s heart out, tore it apart, threw it on the floor then stomped on it… But she didn’t. "Well… Shahks… Is…"

"You’d do dis wit’ dat slimy bastahd but not me!? Why not?!"

"Because you’re an ass," Sharks interjected, barring his fists, standing parallel from Spot and in the same stance. They began to swing at each other as if in a boxing match.

"You ah too, Shahks," she stated sardonically with a bit of a smirk.

"Ah, danks, dahlin’," Sharks muttered sarcastically after narrowly escaping a blow to the nose. "All right, den I guess she jis’ wanted ta be wit’ a real man, not you an’ youh needle dick!"

Boys from the rest of the building ran into the room after they heard the ruckus, and seeing Sharks O’Malley without a shirt on, Riffraff McColley without anything on but a sheet, and Spot Conlon with everything on—it was pretty clear what had happened, and it was shocking.

Everyone cheered for Spot. The two boys furiously beat upon each other, throwing each other onto the floor and up against walls. Neither was in a position to loose in front of a crowd, not unless it was to the death.

"Boys, stop it!" Riffraff ordered finally.

The boys looked at each other and, after a few more minutes of attacking and beating each other’s ribs and sides, put their fists down with agreement—neither win would be a victory. Spot looked at Riffraff. He didn’t want to tell her to leave. He really wanted to gather her up in his arms and forgive her, but he knew he never could for he could never trust her again. To all, it was understood when he pointed to Riffraff and ordered, even in Ratface’s presence, who really had final say, "You, OUT! Pack up your stuff, get out *now*!"

Riffraff sighed and nodded perceptively.

Spot turned around and swept the boys out of the room with a flurry of orders. Ratface looked over and shook his head, giving a little laugh to himself as if he knew something like that was going to happen. Once outside the door, Rocks and he exchanged money.

Once alone again in the room, Sharks stiffly ascended back into bed under the off-white linen sheets and held Riffraff’s waist to him.

She looked at the red welts all over his body that were soon to turn a different colour. "I’m sorry," she said, not really sorry but saying it anyway. She kissed one of his shoulders and rested her head back down on the pillow.

"Don’ be. It was mostly my fault," he accepted. She nodded and agreed so he had to ignore that. He began stroking her cheek soothingly with his thumb again and offered, "An you can stay wit’ me."

She shook her head hopelessly. "Nah, you guys really don’t have any extra rooms," she reasoned.

He shrugged simply. "You can live wit’ me in my room," he clarified with a simple tone.

Her shoulders locked as she went into thoughts of commitment. "Share a room?" She repeated as if he just invited her to China. "An’ a bed and everythin’?"

He nodded with a smile. "Of couhse. I’m sure it’ll take some gettin’ used to, but we’ll manage. It’ll be cheap for you and it’ll keep me warm in da wintah," he joked. "So… What do ya say?"

She sighed and imagined how she could fix up the old bar into a work of Riffraff art. Maybe she could even talk her uncle Ben into giving her enough money for running water… and new sinks, and all the other new bathroom utilities… maybe a new bed. It was possible in her obsessive-compulsive mind and so she agreed. "All right, Shahky boy," she replied. "Let’s give it a shot."

He watched her Irish eyes twinkle and kissed her on the lips, about to be passionate before he had a thought.

There was a pause. "Riffraff… What do you do fer a livin’, anyways?" He finally remembered to ask.

She decided that it was high time to tell him and so she whispered sensually in his ear.

He looked uninterested except for the fact that the whispering have him erotic chills. "How good ah ya?"

She grinned mischievously. "Oh, you have no idea."