ELEVEN: Back In Baby's Arms [FLASHBACK]

"You better be gone before I fuckin' get back here!"

Charity continued to hear her father's angry words as he slammed their front door. The seventeen-year-old had been going through one of the worst weeks of her life and it seemed as though the blows were to continue coming her way. The only thing she needed to focus on was packing a bag and leaving the house. Vic was a fairly even-tempered guy, but when he was furious, she knew he wouldn't listen to anything she said. It was better to do as her father wished and then try to reach out a few days later.

In her bedroom, she took out her black duffel bag with white spots all over it and went to work putting in underwear, socks, a few pairs of jeans, pajamas, and shirts. The pajamas she'd packed consisted of Bruce's sweatpants and one of his t-shirts. She was currently dressed in a pair of gray comfy shorts, a white tank top, and a blue sweatshirt that belonged to Bruce. He'd been very generous with giving him his clothes because he knew how she liked to sleep in them. Her toiletries went into the bag along with the bear Bruce had won her at Coney Island, her favorite pillow, and a large quilt her grandmother has made her. She had no idea how long she'd be kicked out of her house for or where she'd be sleeping that evening. For all she knew, it would be inside of her Cutlass. The two last things she grabbed and was all the cash she had and a plastic baggy with two white sticks inside.

One week before was when things started going downhill. The previous Saturday night, she'd gone to the club owned by Bruce's cousins to see him. It was there she'd gotten into a fight with Shirlea Frost. Shirlea had delightfully informed Charity that she was sleeping with Bruce and had been for a long time. Now usually, the seventeen-year-old would have brushed it off, but she'd been feeling poorly. In the back of her mind, she knew what the problem was, but had been too scared to admit. It was the stress of this caused her to pick a fight with Bruce. The evening had ended with her accusing him of being unfaithful and him breaking things off for her lack of trust. It was only minutes after that she tried to beg him for forgiveness, but he wouldn't hear it. She left him that night feeling like her whole world was crashing down around her.

The following week was spent in a funk where she had no appetite and was throwing up. It didn't take a genius to come to the conclusion that she was indeed pregnant. She also hadn't had her period in awhile. She'd been late before, but never like this. That Friday after school, she went and bought two tests. The following morning, she took them, getting confirmation that she was indeed pregnant. As she was just trying to catch her breath and let it sink in, her father had come home and had seen the plastic sticks still sitting on the counter in the bathroom. It had led to a terrible screaming match where Vic demanded to know who the father was and with Charity refusing to tell him. She couldn't do it until she spoke to Bruce. Once she did, then she would figure out how to tell her father.

She'd managed not to break down into a crying mess as she went to the club to find Bruce. She hadn't tried speaking to him since they'd broken up and figured he wouldn't even want to see her. He had to though. She wasn't going to force him to do anything he didn't want to, but he needed to know he was going to be a father.

It was early evening by the time she got to the club. Charity found his cousin, Maureen, and asked where he was. She was hesitant to tell the young girl anything and it was at that moment Charity couldn't hold back the tears. Right there in the entrance of the bar, she told Maureen everything, including the fight with her father and what it had been about. After taking a few moments, she relented and told Charity where he was and when the blonde found out, she was in her car and on her way there.

Charity found herself in an area of town that she'd never been to before. It was a really seedy area where illegal fights were held. Bruce apparently had opted to participate in one that evening. She didn't know much about the fighting but the fact that he was doing it scared the shit out of her.

She parked her Cutlass in the parking lot and was tempted to go in and stop him. However, there were some scary looking men standing outside, keeping an eye on the area around it. She knew Bruce was still there, his bike was parked up towards the front of the building. She would just have to wait for him to come out.

The parking lot almost cleared out completely, several rough-looking folks spilling out the doors in groups, clouds of boozy breath and cigarette smoke following them. Bruce was nowhere to be seen and just when she was starting to give up hope, she saw a figure in the shadows near the door. He was huddled against the wall, an arm wrapped around his middle but she couldn't see well enough from her vantage point to tell if it was him. Eventually, he pushed away from the wall and started to limp towards the lonely bike.

Charity got out of her car and made her way over to the figure. Her keys were in her hand, ready to be used as a weapon if need be. The closer she got to the figure, the more certain she was that it was Bruce. Exhaling deeply, she slipped her keys into her pocket. Her heart sank as she saw him limping. "Bruce," his name came out just loud enough for him to hear.

He stopped walking but didn't turn around. Slowly, he pulled a breath into his lungs and then reached out his hand to rest it on the seat of his bike. "You shouldn't be here," he replied, his voice hoarse.

"I know, but I gotta talk to you." She went over to where he stood by his bike. "Maureen told me where you were. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important." She was so tempted to grab onto him, she instead she folded her arms against her chest. "Just five minutes." She was grateful that it was dark enough that he couldn't see how red and puffy her face was.

Bruce's other hand joined the first, touching the seat and then moving up to the curve of the handlebars. He was stalling, hoping she'd just go away and stop causing so much pain. The reason he'd finally relented to Jimmy and come down here to fight was because of the row they'd had. He regretted walking away but her baseless accusations had given him no other choice. "Aye, so she sent yeh on a mission? Collect the broken fool, hmm? Funny story, that." He turned to look at her, the lights of a passing car showing off the damage to his features: his lip was split and there was a cut above his eye that was crusted over with dried blood. He looked like he was going to have a black eye come morning.

Charity gasped upon seeing him and her focus shifted from what she needed to tell him directly to just him. "Oh, Baby," she hugged him impulsively, surprised when he didn't stiffen or pull away. Pulling back, she cupped his face in her hands. "I've got a first aid kit in the car. Lemme take care of you."

"Five minutes," he replied, "here. There. Doesn't matter." He didn't seem to even care that she was touching his battered face, or that she'd offered to look after his injuries. He seemed strangely disconnected in a way that made her wonder if he had more damage than what she could see. "Let's go then. Need tae sit a spell..."

Nodding, she took his hand and led him over to her car. Opening up the passenger's door, she pulled the little red kit out from the glove box. "If you're thirsty, I've got some water." After he sat down, she knelt in front of him to tend to his wounds. The worry was clear in her eyes. "I can take you to the ER, if you want."

The last thing he wanted was a night of questions and lies. "Nae," he shook his head, wincing as it started to ache.

"Maybe you should get looked at, Bruce." The thought of him having a bad head injury scared her.

"It's fine." He kept his eyes downcast, refusing to look at her. "Won, if that's any consolation. Took two fellas tae pull me off 'im. Made a little extra scratch. Was a good night," the way he said it made it sound anything but. "Think we're down tae three an' a bit now. Time's a'wastin'."

She listened to what he said as she cleaned up his lip and put antibiotic ointment on the cut over his eye. "I'm glad you won." She didn't quite know what to say and wasn't even sure if she should tell him about the pregnancy. At least not at that moment. "Let me drive you home, please?" The thought of him riding his bike in this condition was absolutely out of the question. She loved him enough still to put a stop to that.

Bruce's eyes closed for a moment. He wanted to tell her to go away but the fact that she was here felt almost serendipitous. Had Maureen actually sought her out and sent her here or was there something else going on? He was too tired, too punch-drunk to even try and puzzle it out. "Why would yeh wanna do that?" The words came out softly, tinged with sadness.

"You shouldn't be driving tonight." She finished fixing up his face and then put the kit away. She wasn't even sure if she'd tell him about the baby. He'd had a rough night and she didn't want to burden him. Their break up had been her fault— she knew that now. She'd been ridiculous with her accusations. She knew he worked hard and his schedule wasn't steady. She'd let Shirlea plant those seeds of doubt and in her condition, with her hormones and emotions all out of whack, completely exhausted, she fell right into the bitch's trap.

"Mebbe so," Bruce replied, "but am not so sure I should..." he trailed off, lacking the energy to start the fight with her all over again. His face and his ribs hurt more than his damaged pride at this point.

"If you're worried about your bike, I'll come back and keep an eye on it after I drop you off." She knew the bike was his only real possession, one that he'd worked hard for years to buy for himself. "I can pick you up in the morning." She had resigned herself to sleeping in her car anyway— did it matter if this was where she parked for the night?

He turned in the seat, putting his feet on the floor and tilting his head back as he closed his eyes. He wasn't worried about a head injury at all. He knew it was just the adrenaline crash, the lack of sleep and the liquid diet he'd been on for the last week taking its toll. "Jimmy owns this place. It'll be fine. No need for tha', Cherry-love." The pet name slipped out and he didn't bother to check it. Their fight had been stupid, over nothing and prompted by a spiteful cunt who couldn't deal with rejection.

"Then I'm gonna just take you home." Once she knew he was securely in, she shut his door and went to her own side. Getting in, she put her key in the ignition and started the vehicle up. "You're gonna have to direct me." She'd never been to his place before.

Bruce turned towards her, resting his hand on her knee and then he caught sight of the duffel bag and the quilt and pillow on the back seat. His eyes narrowed slightly as they locked on her and he sounded almost suspicious when he blurted out, "Cherry? What's goin' on?"

Charity hadn't made an attempt to leave the parking lot yet. Turning, she met his eyes, trying to figure out the best way to approach this. "Um... Vic and I got into a really big fight. He told me to leave and I'm just giving him a few days to cool down." It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything right then and there but she was hesitant. "It's really not a big deal. I'm just gonna grab a motel room; I've got cash." She was all too aware of his hand on her knee and it felt good, like maybe they'd be okay.

"What?" He shook his head, "nae. Wouldn't even think of it. There's room, love. At my place." He almost blurted it out there, admitted to being a stubborn idiot but he kept the words bottled up. He knew what his reputation was. He knew what people said, what they all thought and he shouldn't have expected to remain above that, even with her. He didn't blame her for any of it. That vile woman had played her tune so many times where he was concerned, twisting things up so badly it was a wonder Charity was even speaking to him now.

"Across from Columbus Park." He changed the subject, starting to give directions instead, "in Chinatown. Mayberry— no. Mulberry Street." He turned back in his seat to face front, taking his hand back only so he could use both to put on his seatbelt.

She knew the area he was talking about; it was about twenty minutes away. When he'd suggested that she just stay with him, her heart just about stopped. Pulling out of her spot, she started driving. She wanted to apologize for the millionth time about their fight, but she was sure he was tired of hearing it. "I let Shirlea get in my head... You've never given me a reason to doubt you. I've been overly sensitive the past few weeks. I'm not making excuses, because I was wrong and you deserved better than that." She could feel herself getting weepy, but she blinked it all back. "I appreciate you giving me a place to stay for the night."

"Was outta line." He admitted his own culpability in the whole mess, sighing. "The things I said..." he'd been playing them over and over since that night, wishing he'd had a chance to erase and call them back. "It's on the left-hand side of the street. Park in front of the Chinese noodle place. It's upstairs from there."

Charity contemplated what he said as she followed his directions. She wanted to reach over and grab his hand, but she kept hers on the wheel. She was gripping it so tightly that her knuckles were white. "I was the one who was out of line. I didn't have anything that would even hint at you cheating. I took the whole year that you spent being nothing but wonderful to me and pissed it away. I wouldn't stop either." A breathless laugh came past her lips, "it was like I was possessed. It's my fault." Her stomach was starting to hurt and she knew she'd start throwing up again if she didn't get herself calmed down. Hopefully, she could get back to Bruce's first. "You don't owe me anything."

"Cherry..." Bruce's voice came out quietly, tinged with regret. "Pissed away a year of history— our first fight an' I wasn't even man enough tae hear you out." Rather than looking at her, he was watching out the windshield. This late, the streets seemed more deserted than usual and it was almost as though they were making record time. "It's your next left, love."

"Okay." She took the left and it wasn't long before she saw the park he'd talked about. His words about their fight were rolling over in her head. Before she knew it, she was parking in front of the Chinese place as he'd said. Turning off her car, she placed an arm over her stomach. Swallowing back whatever wanted to come up, she shook her head. "Would it be okay if we went upstairs and continued this talk? I'm... not feeling well." She also didn't want to tell him about the impending arrival in her car.

He assumed she gotten herself so worked up over the fight with her father that she'd made herself sick. It wasn't the first time he'd seen something like that happen, after all. Nodding, he reached into the back and grabbed her bag before stepping out onto the curb. He pulled a handful of quarters from his pocket and fed them into the parking meter, buying a few hours before it would have to be fed again. If she actually ended up staying, he'd go out later and move the car into his spot in the alley where he usually kept his bike. "C'mon, then." He watched her over the car, seeing how bad she looked with her pallor and puffy eyes.

Before she followed him, she grabbed her pillow and quilt. Hugging both against her chest, she followed Bruce up to his apartment. She'd never been there before, when she would ask about where he lived, he wouldn't say much about it. The smell of garbage and old Chinese food didn't help the churning in her stomach as the door to the stairwell closed behind them and she climbed them with her vision swimming and her ears ringing. Once she was through the door of his little place, she dropped her stuff and ran to the bathroom. It had been a lucky guess on her part, because as soon as she kicked the door shut, she was on her knees and vomiting. When she'd finished that first time, she leaned back against the wall with her hand on her forehead.

Bruce let her bag fall from his hand, aware of what she was doing as she bolted and he wanted to go after her. He didn't care if she didn't make it. He'd sullied the floors in this place more than once and he knew a few tricks from cleaning up in the bar to get the smell out. He waited until the sounds died down and then turned and locked the door. He gave her enough time to see if there was going to be a round two and when he heard nothing but silence, started making his way towards the small hallway. "We alright?" He called out, not realizing how much of a double meaning that wording was until it came out.

"Uh, yeah, I think so." When she felt steady enough, she pulled herself to her feet and she went to the sink. Running the water nice and cold, she brought some to her mouth and swished it around, spitting it out. "Sorry, I just didn't wanna puke on your floor." Opening up the bathroom door, she offered him a tight smile, leaning against the doorframe. "Is it okay if I lay on the couch?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," he quipped, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Now that they were here, he felt a little closer to normal. His place was cramped and shabby but it was clean. Bruce glanced at the small couch and the faded knit afghan that covered the cushions— it was there to hide the repaired tears in the fabric. "Bed might be more comfortable." He shrugged, inclining his head to the left. "Bedroom's through there. Whichever."

Charity nodded, agreeing with him. She went to the bedroom and curled up in a ball on his bed. "Thank you, again, Bruce." She couldn't even imagine trying to sleep in her car while dealing with this. She felt a sense of comfort come over her, by being in his bed. It smelled so much like him. "I won't take up your bed all night. I know you need to sleep."

He leaned against the doorjamb, watching her for a moment as though he was trying to figure out if she was drunk or if she was genuinely sick. Either way, he felt more than obligated to take care of her, especially after the tenderness she'd shown towards his self-inflicted injuries. "There's a bucket," he said finally. "Under the other side of the bed. If yeh feel like yer not gonna make it. Keep it there for the nights-"

"I'm pregnant." She cut him off, blurting out the words. She let them hang there and breathed a sigh of relief that they were out. She rolled over and was laying on her back with her eyes closed, breathing in his scent all around her. It was comforting, especially since she felt so achy and just exhausted.

Now it all made sense. Her moodiness and sensitivity lately. The fight. Whatever had happened to her tonight with her father— everything. That halfway bemused smile that always seemed to be there when she was present dropped off his face. He turned towards the door frame, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against his own arm. The words had hit him hard, like a ton of bricks and he wanted to protest that it couldn't be true, that they'd been protected every time they'd fooled around. Every time but the first, that is. He sucked his teeth, chewing on the inside of his cheek. How could he have been so stupid, so damned careless?

The silence seemed to drag on and for Charity, it felt almost unbearable. She wanted to look at him, even if he wouldn't look at her. She pulled herself into a seated position. Her legs came up against her chest and she wrapped her arms around them. Finally, she spoke, her voice sounding so small and scared. "My dad kicked me out because I wouldn't tell him who the father was. He said I could come home when I told him the truth. It didn't feel right telling him before I told you. " It hurt that he wouldn't look at her; she turned her face away and rested her cheek against her knees. "I won't tell him, Bruce. He never has to know and... I'm not gonna force you to do anything you don't want to."

"Never has tae know?" Bruce echoed her words, lifting his head, "now why's that sound an awful lot like you're doin' yerself more favors than me?" He turned to look at her, surprised to see her huddled up and hugging her knees. The anger he felt at that imagined rejection faded in an instant, replaced with a pang of sadness at how vulnerable she looked.

"It's not that, okay?!" The words came out cracking. Her hand came up and covered her eyes as tears flowed down her cheeks. "God, I don't know what to fucking do..." Her body shook with sobs as her arms wrapped tightly around as she buried her face back against her knees. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Then what?" He snapped the words, taking a few steps towards the bed. "Why didn't yeh tell 'im? I walked out on yeh, Cherry. Ended it... so why?" His hand was shaking as he lifted it up and raked it through his hair. He wanted so badly to think it was because she still cared but the voice in the back of his head said she was probably ashamed. "Don't owe me a damned thing. Hell, one'd think yeh'd wanna sic Vicky on me. Little retribution, watch as he puts a bullet in me head."

Charity dropped her hand and looked up at him— shock and hurt coming over her face. "You actually think I'd be that vindictive? That I'd tell my dad so that he could have your ass thrown in jail or come after you?" She was completely floored as she got herself off the bed. She walked past him, back out to the living room. "You don't fucking know me at all." This hurt more than when he'd broken up with her.

"I didn't mean it like tha'..." he mumbled, knowing she couldn't hear him.

Walking over to her duffle bag, she worked on shoving her quilt inside of it. She came across the baggy with the two tests and took it out along with two of the sweatshirts she'd taken from Bruce. The quilt was still too big to go in the bag and the frustration made her sit down and bury her face in her hands.

"Cherry," his voice came out soft, closer than she'd expected. Slowly, he knelt next to her, taking a shallow breath past his own aching stomach and ribs. "That's..." he shook his head, "that's... I didn't-" he kept starting and stopping, tripping over his words as he watched her sob as though the world was coming to an end. "I got in the damned car. Been more than five minutes, hasn't it? Yer here, love. Am right here with yeh."

She dropped her hands from her face and finally looked at him. "I'm sorry." The two words came out in a whisper as she brought her hands up and rested them on his cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

"Hush," he murmured, "it's done. Only thing gained by rehashin' is more hurt." His dark eyes were locked on hers, his accent softening the words. "Was just a little row, love. We... we can move on, aye?"

"That's all I want." Swallowing hard, she leaned in and hugged onto him. He pulled her into his lap the way she always used to and she snuggled in against his chest.

Bruce let out a soft groan as she settled in against his aching body and then she was so warm that he didn't care. "Am sorry. For all of it." He meant everything, including the pregnancy.

Pulling back, she softly kissed him on the lips. "I don't ever wanna be apart from you again."

"Think we can manage that." He smiled gently, "especially since..." his gaze went to the plastic sticks in the little baggy she'd left on the floor beside her duffel.

She followed his gaze and exhaled. "In a couple of days, we can go to my dad as a united front and tell him together."

"We can. We will." He rested his hands on her shoulders, absolutely serious now. "Been a real horse's arse this past week. Yer the only one who's ever looked at me, saw me as..." he swallowed hard, breaking eye contact. "As a person. As someone who could be loved. Am gonna spend the rest of my life payin' that back. Promise yeh that, awright?"

"Alright." Her arms went around him as she hugged him close. For the first time in a week, she genuinely smiled, feeling like maybe this wasn't the end of the world after all. She was back with the man who loved her. That was all that mattered right now.