💋 Chapter II

Before he knew it, Percy was up and on his feet again, on the move in search of something better. He rolled off of his back, tied his shoe laces, picked himself up, and kept going. Percy seemed to have lost the men that were chasing him, yes, but he still felt urgency in getting a move on and he followed that feeling unquestioningly.

The boy at the ice stand looked on as Percy wandered away. "Oh okay.. well take it easy, then!" He gave a shout, fiddling with the tie that held the ice bag shut.

Percy didn't look back. Not until he had gone on a ways up the road, and by that point, the boy had gone. He figured the cold had driven him off. Likely back up into his home or off into the open garage. Percy thought the whole exchange to be quite strange. Every exchange thus far had been strange, come to think of it. What was he to make of this city? Prison was structured. Prison was easy. He knew everyone, all the schedules, and what consequences to expect from what actions. The real world was scary. The real world was unpredictable.

Percy didn't worry too much more about the strange kid and his ice stand. It didn't matter, really. The boy, in all likelihood, was safe, warm, and had a home and family to return to. Percy couldn't know those things for certain, but he certainly felt alone in his struggle. In the city, he had run across others who were homeless and struggling, but here on the cusp of the suburbs, he saw only wealthy housing surrounded by neat little yards, assuredly owned by people who were very fortunate, indeed. His eyes followed mysterious silhouettes as they snaked behind closed curtains, and he felt himself feeling more and more bitter about his situation as time went on. More and more, Percy wished he had asked the boy for help instead of just brushing him off. Where was Percy off to in such a hurry, anyway? He had nowhere to be.

He wished he could have taken a bus back home, he wished he remembered his mother's address. But sorely, due to all the years that had passed and his tendency to stay at his Nana's, the only address off the top of his head he could conjure, was that of his late grandmother, and that was no help at all. He wished it hadn't been so long.

Up, over another fence, and out of the residential area, he ventured. Off towards the city in search of shelter. He was far now from the prison, far now from the people who were supposed to have come to his aid, and furthest still from any place to which he belonged.

As he wandered - nae - hobbled about, he found himself winding down slower and slower until he came to a crawl. At last, Percy had come to collapse in the shadow of some rubbish bins. The garbage that was festering and rotting away inside generated enough heat that the snow around it had melted, and the bulky shape of this less-than-ideal cover safeguarded him against the razor shear of the winds. It was the best he could do.

As he came to lay in this slump, he began to slip into a mental state he hadn't yet. Percy was racked with desperation as every piece of his psyche begged of him not to give into this. He would simply not be defeated, he was decidedly not homeless, and he would not become so. Most assuredly, he had come to the decision that he would not sleep here amongst some discarded, rotting rubbish pile as he if belonged there on the side of the road. He felt anger, he felt hurt. He wanted to meet with his family just to tell them all about how angry he was, about everything he had experienced thus far, about how it was their fault. He would do anything to calm his nerves in that moment, wishing he could be high, be numb, be somewhere else, even if only in his mind.

He'd long plunged his freezing hands into the depths of his pockets, wishing that in that moment back at the convenience store, he could have purchased a thicker pair of gloves. As his hands slipped along the folds of the fabric, the pads of his fingers brushed over the broad end of a plastic bottle. It was a collection of the methadone tablets he still needed. This wasn't the time to take them, but he was sorely tempted. Percy knew he only had a limited supply. It was just one more reason he needed to get home and settled; he had doctors to see, prescriptions to get filled. It had been so long that Percy was still a child when last he lived with his mother, and he was still imagining her making all of his appointments, speaking to the doctors on his behalf. Until then, he had just this one bottle. And the thought of running out of his medications was so much more troubling to him than any desire to abuse the tablets. Not taking them now was one horror. Never being able to take them again was another. Percy's jaw shifted as he considered it again. Some thought begged in the annals of his mind. Just take half a tablet. Just take a quarter.

No, no. As his fingers relaxed, they happened upon the shell of the plastic lighter he'd purchased. Percy plucked it into his hands, flipped it around, and then fished out the pack of cigarettes he'd forgotten about entirely. Percy decided to use them as a vice instead. He'd chosen a better poison, he thought. Tapping one end of the cigarette pack into the palm of his hand so that they'd slide into position. Then he plucked one from the pack, placing it between his lips. Percy then huddled as best he could to protect the open flame from the whipping winds while he lit it. A thought crossed his mind then. A thought of setting fire to the garbage around him so he could thaw out his icy toes. But he had bad memories of a fire, of the sounds of the sirens and the things his mother said to him all those years ago. He thought maybe it was best to just "tough it out for now."

When the cigarette was spent, Percy crushed the butt of it in a puddle of runoff to be sure it wasn't still burning. Then he kicked a pop can away and drew himself up in a ball, arms and legs up close. His body went stock still, and still he remained but for the occasional shiver. Trying to hold onto every last ounce of warmth available to him, bound within his thin clothes until morning. His intent was to sleep, but he wouldn't be so lucky. In fact, he never felt a wink of it.

Occasionally drifting through a kind of 'wakeful sleep' and delirium, Percy was nonetheless conscious the whole time. The act of smoking a cigarette had staved off hunger for a time. But towards the first hint of sunlight, the hunger pangs began to shake him to his core; he had to get up.

Inside the sanctity of his makeshift cloth fortress, in the dark of his arms where he'd buried his face, he began to feel oddly energized. He was wide awake deep inside, and he'd spent many an hour plotting where to go, and what to do. He was so sick of sitting here that he couldn't wait to get back to his feet and continue in his journeys.

That was, until the moment his eyes opened. At once, they were blasted with light. They were so sore and sensitive to even just the glow of the street lamps that he wished he could retract his whole head back into his chest like a turtle. Even still, the whole of his tail bone was asleep and his joints ached all over from having sat like a cocoon where he was, undisturbed for so long. But the moment he did start to move, his body - like his eyes - failed him too.

Yesterday, he awoke in a soft clean bed and went into his day expecting to be asleep in another. And an hour waiting for his family somehow turned into hours of running, jumping, and climbing, and a near constant, fervent shiver. All of which had been a monumental drain on his body that just one meatball hoagie would not replenish.

The feeling of being rested was an illusion, and he had merely grown accustomed to the way he had been sitting in equilibrium. His body stiff, limbs quaking in sheer defiance, and caught in some unending limbo between wanting to lay back down and wishing to break into a full jog to limber himself back up, Percy unfurled like some rare seasonal plant. With a huff of frustration, he lumbered forth and then hobbled down the street like some little old man; the belt of Venus painting pink the sky above him.

For all of Percy's travels, he thought for sure it would be another day and a night before he found his way back into the heart of the city. But then - to his surprise - he turned right onto a busy street.

All at once, he was engulfed with warmth from deep within the belly of The Underground. People of all types channeled in and out of the station like ants from a hill and he struggled at first to make sense of the fray. As soon as he did, however, a realization dawned on him and his eyes got quite big. Heavy with urgency, he hurried to press in past them. Shimmying his way down the stairs, fleetingly sandwiched between well-to-do people much of the way down.

It was so much warmer here, and free enough from the wind that he could take off his hat for a bit. Here, there were drinking fountains. Here, he could be relieved if he needed to. Here, he had places to sit. Perhaps not comfortable ones, but places nonetheless. Who was Percy to complain, anyhow? Everything about The Underground sure beat sleeping in the garbage out by someone's house. He only wished he had found his way here the night before.

Percy's excitement only grew as he saw passersby carrying shopping bags at their side, and he remembered that there were shopping outlets and malls down here, and they might have lockers he could access. And those, he hoped, could let him charge his phone. Wandering this way and that, up and down every which flight of stairs as he searched for a sign - literal or figurative - that would point the way to such a thing.

A slapping and a tapping of his shoes echoed out as he skittered about the tiles like a kid on a sugar-high. Pedestrians, for once, seemed to pay him no mind. They saw irritated, grumpy looking commuters in a rush here every day. Percy's soured expression was as expected as the grout between brick.

At last, he saw it. "Charging on the tube and in terminal" read the sign. But only behind the turnstiles... and that meant Percy needed to get an Oyster. But just as quick as he was to order one at a kiosk, Percy came upon a snag.

Oysters cost money.

Percy was divided. He wondered if he should buy an Oyster so he could go to charge his phone and call his family, or if should he stay here, warm up, and use that money to buy himself breakfast. The smart decision, he reasoned, was to put that money towards something that might prevent him from continuing to go hungry. One meal wouldn't last him forever, and clearly, getting ahold of his family was the better investment. But he remained disheartened. What if he spent that money, and even if they agreed to pick him up, they left him here hungry and waiting for 6 more hours? 12? 24? He needed to eat. He couldn't rely entirely on the actions of someone else pulling through. He was tired of waiting on his family specifically to come through for him. And really, when had they ever done so?

Just as he turned to wander off in search of food again, he was stopped by a stranger. Somebody rushed over to him from, and picked a fallen card up off of the floor to hand to him. "You dropped your card." she said.

Percy, fumbling a little, took the card without fully registering the mistake or what was even happening. It wasn't his, and he knew as much, but before he could say a thing, she disappeared again into the crowd. His hand, frozen in the air as he looked over what was very much a still useful Oyster that someone had misplaced, Percy looked on in some deep moral conundrum.

With a quick glance around, fearing that the true owner would return or that someone would catch onto the mistake, Percy darted for the turnstiles and scanned his way in before his fears could come true. This was a blessing he - quite literally - could not afford to waste.

Once behind the turnstiles, Percy made his way to a port where he could charge his phone. For convenience sake, it was near a digital map that showed him all around London. He spent a solid minute or three trying to comb through the map for the HM "troubled youth" correctional facility that he was was released from, and began to surmise just how to get back there. Then a spark shot through the dark of his mind and he realized at once that he could go anywhere. Why, his family could always find him wherever the train took him. And after all he'd been through, surely they could put in the extra effort to come get him.

Percy stood there with his serendipitous Oyster card, the little extra bit of cash he'd been quite frugal with until now, and his phone which was at last booting up. There was a realization - an understanding - that he would be alright, and it came upon him like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, none of this felt so bad.

A goofy little grin spread across his face and he began to take this all in stride.

First, he shot his brother a text. "hey, shit-for-brains, you forgetting something? come pick me up" "cheese on toast" and then in rapid-fire, he typed up a few more just to be safe. "wheres mum" "it's cold as" "fuck" "hmb" He was once again practicing in his head what to say whenever his brother finally did reply. Shrugs such as "no rush," "it's cool," and "take your time" seemed right.

Percy finally came to feel at peace with his situation. He neither felt the need to stay his hand by the phone, nor to wait with eyes glued to the screen. It was because he knew now where to go, and how to charge his phone. It was best to keep it put away to conserve battery life anyway. From here on, he kept his head held high and his sights on the horizon. Why not poke around a bit? As it were, Percy would only be in London until his family arrived. His family lived further south and he almost never got to explore big places like London. He'd spent four years of his teens in prison for Pete's sake! He should be enjoying himself! So without hesitation or so much as a clear destination in mind, he went for the first train that he saw pulling into the terminal.

Free from worry, he felt he had his pick of the whole city. Where would he decide to eat? What pastries and cakes did he want to stop for? He could stop somewhere for an egg tart, he could get out and take the trolley, he could wander around the park. He was caught in this whirlwind; a triumphant high and sleep-deprived delirium from the rough night prior.. and it wasn't a good mix.

Believing whole heartedly that his family was on their way and that he'd be home before he knew it, he leaned back where he stood on the tram. Watching the buildings go by, gradually, sleep began to catch up to him. Eyes heavy, his posture beginning to droop, at once his head fell to the window frame. The gentle bumps in the ride rocked him, comforting him like a little baby.

Quite suddenly, he shot awake, alert to a sound that was was strange yet familiar. It was his phone making a tremendous clatter; a ring tone he'd long forgotten the sound of - and a song he'd since forgotten all the words to. Percy struggled with answering it all without dropping the phone in his haste and because he was so enthralled by the prospect of his brother, mother, or maybe even his father being on the other end. It was only once beyond his lock screen that he realized the sound was merely his medicine alarm he remembered having set the day before, just prior to leaving the police station.

Yeah, he needed to take his medications, didn't he? Percy had been combing his hands through his hair and massaging his arms in anticipation of his next dose even during the time he was asleep. Peering out at the city again, he wondered where his family was and why they hadn't answered. He wondered why he had set himself up just to fall again. Realizing they'd forgotten about him - or worse, were actively ignoring him - just reopened the wound. And yet, he refused to believe it, each and every time it happened.

The days were short in the winter time.. And it would be dark again soon. He wasn't looking forward to going back out into the cold. But what else could he do? Where else did he have to go?

Stepping off the trolley, Percy relinquished himself once more to the mercy of the city. Dragging his feet in disdain, no bounce in his step, no joy about him at all. He made a habit of venturing to The Underground if he needed to use the loo, and it was there in the the station that he decided to take his meds with the help of a drinking fountain.

The moment they began to kick in, he became disoriented, tired, and glossy eyed. They made him drowsy, and they made him stumble, but they also made it hard for him to stay asleep and he was already very tired. It was a terrible combination and he knew that he was going to pass out somewhere. In truth, he ended up passing out just about everywhere. He slept in the corner between two mall outlets, on the stairs of a community center, against the wall in an oriental market, on a bench by the rails, under a bench in the snow, and at last, in a booth at the pub. Each time, he'd been run off, or stepped on, stepped over, or asked to get up or move along.

That is, in all but the last of these locations, where he fell fast asleep in the warmth of the smoky atmosphere in sheer defiance spite of the act on stage. There was singing and music, instruments at their highest volume, and he dreamt on right through the tremendous noise.

No one batted an eye at a man passed out in the pub. Why, he wasn't even the only one.

Time went on, and a new day arrived. Percy was forced along outside when the pub closed. He stood there for a moment in disbelief and then trudged on. In just a few hours, the sun rose, casting a pink glow over the melting snow and life went on a usual.

As Percy headed around the bend, someone was starting their day a little differently. This man rose with ease while Percy's balance faltered with every step. Cyane fixed himself pot of coffee, while Percy was eating the snow. Cyane took a long hot shower while Percy was sprinkled with cold melt water from up atop a roof. Cyane fixed his collar to fit so snug while Percy was struggling with clothes that were much too small. Cyane cooked himself a meal while Percy swiped up loose change from the subway floor.

Cyane passed right by the kid on his way to work. Both checking their phones and with their minds somewhere else. Cyane was reading the latest chapter of a book series he'd been into while Percy was typing away a big rant to his family.

"--and if I die its your sorry fault" Percy finished typing, his finger hovering over send. He read back over the long winded message he'd typed and he saw that he'd long exceeded the character limit for one message. The send button was grayed out lest he revise and shorten the whole message. So he canceled it. A tremendous sorrow left behind once he had been drained of his venom, and the sense that his final pleas wouldn't be heard, and he realized he had developed a deep-seated fear that causing any conflict with his family would only further push them away. What could he even say? What should he say?

Cyane stepped into work with a smile on his face to be greeted by his friends and his coworkers while Percy sat destitute on the street, hungry and with nothing more left to his name.

Off somewhere,