Chapter Text
His mother stood at the door as he scrambled out, his worn backpack hung around his body and a lighter in his pocket. Pity—- it was just pity that she looked down on him with.
“Tom, I’m sorry—“
He scoffs. “I don’t want to fucking hear it— if you were sorry you’d help me.”
“Tom, I- I tried to tell him, I did, he just.. you know your father— he doesn’t listen to anyone. He loves you, he does— he just, well-“ she stammers out.
He might even laugh at the irony if this was any other situation. “He loves me? Like I’m sure he loves you too, huh?” He spits out.
She reels back in hurt, her eyes glossing with tears. He could almost feel bad. “Tom— you know I’ve done all I can for you. I’m sorry— I’m really sorry. I know I failed to be your mother and I’m sorry. But we can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep coming home high out of your mind and expect everything to be alright. I mean— look at this! Look at you, Tom.” She says, practically sympathetic. “Truly— I love you. I just want you to get better. We both do.”
He scoffs again, looking at her one last time in near-disgust. He turns his eyes back to the sidewalk leading down the street. “Great. Thanks. Fuck you too.”
She doesn’t respond back to him this time, just diverts her eyes to the ground.
There was nothing like getting kicked out of your house to the streets of New York City to sober a person up.
For all his life, his addiction, though he was still hesitant to believe it had gotten that bad, was all a product of what they made him to be. Really, it was hardly his fault. Maybe if he just wasn’t the way he was, it’d be fine. Maybe if they didn’t raise him to be this way, it’d be fine.
He shakes his head once more, hiking up his bag farther to his body, setting off in a random direction. He didn’t know where he was going to go— he just knew he had to get out.
He looked farther down the street, already squeezing between crowds of people. He had just gotten home, before, of course, being knocked to the ground by his father.
Tommy wasn’t exactly the most innocent in this situation— but it was inevitable, anyways. If he hadn’t been kicked out, he would’ve left one way or another. He had already started saving money for when he turned eighteen and could leave, saying up to a few hundred dollars by now— of course, it wasn’t much, but he still had time. These plans, however, were cut a little short when his room was searched.
He’d been on thin ice with his father ever since he had discovered a burnt out cart in the trash can. He promised he’d stop— but clearly, looking at where he was now, he didn’t.
He disregardingly pushed past people in the crowd, holding his bag close to his chest. He knew he couldn’t stay out on the streets for tonight, but he was still unsure of where to stay.
He had unconsciously led himself to one of the nearby subways, scooting down the stairs while hastily searching for his metrocard. He knew he had enough money on it to get at least one or two more rides. He just wanted to get far.
He scanned the card and hopped on the fairly empty cart— surprisingly enough. Choosing a seat in the far corner, he finally sat his bag down at his feet with a sigh. Even with a hoodie and sweatpants, the cold was already setting in. To be fair, if he knew what was happening, he might’ve prepared a bit more.
He wanted to just fall asleep. He half-wished he could wake up. Or maybe he just needed a cigarette.
In any other situation, he would waste himself with alcohol to drown out any problems in his life— he would fall asleep half-wishing to not wake up. He would wake up anyways, and this would be his life. And every single day would be a little worse— his body craving a stronger reaction each time. It’s the way it’s always been, everyday since he was thirteen and smoked a joint for the first time, coughing and fire in his throat. That might’ve been where his life went downhill. Or maybe it was just when he was born— he was created this way.
But now, he wasn’t able to do any of this. He was stuck, now, by his own actions— some he can’t even find himself to regret.
The doors closed, and the ride whooshed forward. The cart rumbled and shook beneath him, as usual. At least one thing could stay the same, he supposed.
-
The cart stopped and began enough times that he must’ve been glued in the same spot for hours. Long enough, at least, that he left as the sun had set.
He knew he was really running out of time, now, to find somewhere to stay tonight. And maybe even something to eat, if he was even willing to spend that much. He’d left himself hungry all day— other than grabbing a quick lunch at a store nearby. He hadn’t exactly predicted this. He wishes he did. He could’ve grabbed a bigger lunch.
Walking down the streets, his eyes searched each sign searching for a market, a cafe— at least somewhere cheap, quiet— a place to rest.
He lingered on one called “Niki’s Cafe”, a small building at the corner, deciding to bite the bullet and walk inside.
It was warm, and quiet. He liked that. The streets were cold, especially at night.
“Shit, man, what happened to you?” Called a voice. He swung around to it. A man, his name tag reading “Jack”, cringed at his face from behind the counter.
He was fucking bald , too.
“Do you ask every customer that, or just me?” Tommy quipped back.
“The select few.” Jack remarked, then motioned to the blooming bruise on his face. “Well? Are you okay? Do I need to call like— a fucking ambulance?”
“Huh? No— I’m fine. I’m fine.” He said, his fingers grazing the mark. “You should see the other guy,” he joked.
Jack looked at him skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure you really got him.”
He rolls his eyes amusedly, scooching over to a booth in the far side of the room. He could rest here, a bit. He might even catch some sleep, even if it was awkward.
The walls were painted a light pink color, clearly worn after years. That, or they bought shitty paint. It was fairly spacious, too, with wooden tables covering the majority of the area. It had green couches in far corners of the room. Warm lighting above blanketed the place. Booths lined the walls. And other than Jack, the place was entirely empty.
He laid his head down on the hardwood table, closing his eyes and just breathing for the first time in hours. He hadn’t gotten much time to even take a breath since the morning.
“Do you want anything? Water? Emergency first aid?” Jack called over to him again.
He breathed out a laugh. “Water’s fine.”
Jack stepped into the back room behind the counter for a few moments, reappearing with water in one hand and a blueberry muffin in the other. He walked over and set both on the table.
“Oh— no, I’m fine— I can’t pay for that.” He attempted to push the muffin back to the man, who gently pushed it up against him farther.
“It’s on me, don’t worry about it. Niki wouldn’t mind.” Jack told him.
“Oh.. well— thank you.” He stammered out, tearing out a piece of the muffin from the top, throwing it into his mouth and chewing.
“You’re welcome. You looked like you could use it.” He responded.
He half-heartedly nodded along, “holy shit— what do you put in this?” Tommy asked, hastily tearing new pieces off, hardly acknowledging what Jack had just said.
Jack laughed at him, sitting down across the table. “I don’t know. Niki’s the chef.”
“Tell Niki that I love her.” He responded back.
He laughed again, “Sure. Can I have a name for the message?”
“Tommy.” He told the man.
—
Tommy continued talking to Jack, he hadn’t even realized just how fast the time was going. He’d been talking to Jack for nearly two hours now, unaware of how long he’d spent in just the same booth with the man.
He had learnt a ton about him since— how he partly owned the cafe with Niki, although it was named after her as he was a later addition. They’d co-owned this place for years together— somehow sustaining enough money to afford a living, somehow. He had moved out of his parents place as soon as he finished highschool— landing him here, where he lived in the flat above, as Niki offered. Tommy was jealous, in a way, that things had worked out so well for him.
“Shit, it’s getting late, isn’t it?” Jack suddenly asks, looking down at his watch. “Nearly midnight,” he says, turning the device to show Tommy, a proud 11:43 blinking at him.
“Huh. Didn’t realize I was here for that long.”
“Well, Tommy, shouldn’t you get back to your family by now? It’s late. I wouldn’t want anyone worrying.” Jack asks him,
Tommy looks back up at him, debating if he should give a real story when Jack hastily adds on, “not that I’m assuming shit, but you do just look like a kid.”
“First off, not a kid— and secondly— I got into a fight. Kicked out of my house. It’s fine though, probably.”
Jack purses his lips. “Shit, man, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. Always have.” He responds back, giving a bittersweet smile.
Jack purses his lips again, contemplating something, patting the table and sitting up. “I’ll be right back,” he tells Tommy, rushing to the back room.
He left just long enough for Tommy to panic that he’d scared another person off— when he pops his head back out, hurrying back to the booth.
“Look,” he says, “this is sudden, so don’t feel pressured to accept— but, well, we have an empty room at our place. Last guy moved out— long story. But, anyways, if you’d like to, you’re more than welcome here.” He pushes out.
“I don’t know— are you sure? I could like.. murder you in your sleep— or some shit.” He responded.
“Well, I’d prefer if you didn’t murder me in my sleep, but yeah, I’m sure. Honestly.” Jack tells him, and he has half a mind to wonder if all of this is just pity for the poor kid who was kicked out of his house; but he doesn’t wonder on that much. Jack seemed honest enough— and even if it was stupid, he really wanted to believe it.
“I mean.. I’d love to. Really- but I can’t. I can’t really afford shit right now.”
“Hey, that’s fine. We can set you up for a job down here. We’re always open to an extra pair of hands. We’re kind of understaffed, anyways.” Jack easily responds back.
“I’m really not sure, Jack. You don’t have to feel like I’m your responsibility now— I promise, I can figure something out.” As much as he wants to, he’d only be a burden here— he wouldn’t want that weight on them.
“Tommy, I promise you— you aren’t a burden. We’d like to have you around, really— Niki’s all for the idea. She’d love you.”
Tommy thinks about it— ultimately, he knows that this is the best situation he could’ve ended up in. And maybe he was foolish for trusting someone he met not even a day ago— but he did truly feel like someone cared. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it. Thank you. Really, thank you.”
Jack smiles at him, walking to the counter grabbing a set of keys from the drawers, “well then, follow me. The rooms just above here— stairs are around the building.” He tells him, already walking outside and to the backside of the cafe as Tommy hurriedly grabbed his backpack to follow along. He shuffles through the keys in his hand and opens the door to a staircase— which he starts climbing up. He gets to the first floor and stops, staring at a door on the left side. “This one is Niki’s apartment, so you can just knock if you need something from her.”
He continues farther up the stairs, stopping again at a new room when they reach the next floor. “My room is on the left— yours is on the right. And, here,” he goes through the keys on the chain again, sliding one off and handing it to Tommy. “This is your room. It’s pretty empty in there right now— I think there’s just a bed and a couch.”
He nods along, taking the key and opening the door.
“And hey, I think I have an extra blanket in my closet— I’ll go get that for you, real quick.” Jack tells him, walking into the room across from him.
Tommy takes a moment to walk in and look around. It was small, of course— but he hadn’t expected anything fancy. To his left was a small kitchenette, with cheap stools pulled up to the counters. On his right was the bathroom— it was compact, really, but it was cute. The shower was missing curtains, for some reason, so he’d have to go buy some later on.
In the back left of the room, past the kitchen, was a gray, fabric couch sat in front of an empty TV stand, and it was gathering dust by now. Just behind the couch was his bed. It was just a mattress, really, on a frame— without sheets, pillows, and blankets. Just next to it was a small closet, empty, again. There was a window right near his bed, too. He set down his backpack on the mattress.
Jack knocks on the door— despite it being open- and walks in with a pillow and blanket in his hands. “Here you go. They might be a little dusty, since they’ve been sitting in my closet for so long.”
“It’s okay— I don’t mind. Dust is great for the system.” He tells the man, who laughs, and hands the items over to Tommy. “So, tomorrow, if you’re feeling down to it, we can get your job going down in the cafe. We can get your pay set up later, too. Niki will show you all the ropes— but tonight, you can just settle in.”
Tommy nods along. “Thank you, Jack— for all of this. I don’t even know what to say.” He tells him with a smile.
“Hey, don’t even worry about it. Honestly, we’ve been searching for someone to rent out this room for a while now— so it all works out, really.”
“I guess it does.” He smiles again, Jack reciprocating the feeling.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it— if you need something, feel free to knock on my door. I’m going to go close the cafe.”
“Thank you.” Jack smiles again, walking towards the door, shutting it behind him. Tommy locks it behind the man.
He takes a few moments to breathe— to just take everything in. He was still unsure on how to
feel about this situation. He hasn’t exactly felt like himself today— farther away than normal. He was hoping to wash this feeling away by morning.
He trifles through his bag, searching for the box of cigarettes— his last pack. He only has a few left, too; and he’d need to go get some soon. He steps over to the window, opening it and sitting on the frame. He didn’t want to stink the room with smoke, and get kicked out a day in. He took his lighter out, rubbing his thumb down a few times to start a flame, setting it to the cigarette.
He put it against his lips, taking a deep breath in, having it sit in his lungs a moment longer before releasing his breath. He winced, a little, from the sensation as he took another hit, but still craving for more as the rush dissipates. It was oddly mundane, this routine.
He continued to take puffs, as the cigarette slowly fizzled out. As it finally died out, he wandered to the bathroom and swiftly flushed it down the toilet.
He finally, exhausted from the day, fell onto his bed. He puffed up the pillow behind him, pulling up the blanket to his face. He fell asleep nearly as soon as he hit the pillow— quickly.