Chapter 23
Nolan 10 years ago (Age 15)
The music coming from the living room in our tiny apartment vibrates in my ears. My mother is having another “party” as she puts it. It’s her way of telling me to stay the fuck out of the way so she can get high and screw whoever brings her the drugs she craves. I can’t take any more of the noises coming from outside my bedroom door, so I open my window and crawl out onto the rusty old fire escape. The warm breeze drifting over my skin is a small reprieve from the stuffy apartment and I inhale a deep breath of the city air. I sit on the cold metal for a moment thinking about how we ended up here.
My grandfather came to our rescue one night about six months ago from my abusive father. My mother was drunk and stoned when he came home from whatever he did during the day. He wasn’t at work because he couldn’t hold down a job, he was a gambling addict. His temper ranged from raging hot to cold as ice, depending on if he lost his ass or won something.
I was sitting at our dingy old kitchen table doing my homework when my father came barreling through the door, pissed off. He and my mother started arguing, and she made the mistake in her drunken state of laughing at him. He hit her across the face, closed fist, knocking her out cold. Something in me snapped. I charged him and yelled for him to stop. His fist connected with my face. The crunching of bones vibrated my head. After regaining my bearings, I stood my ground and threw him a menacing glare, blood dripping from my nose. He backed away slowly, shame filling his eyes and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. I checked on my mother and she was still breathing but unconscious. I picked up the phone attached to the wall and called my grandfather on my mother’s side.
He arrived a half hour later, took one look at my mother and helped us pack our bags. We left that night for New York City hoping to hide among the millions of people living there and escape the past.
My mother went into rehab and stayed sober for about four months before she met Marcus Angelo. A well-known drug runner for the Corridore Rosso, an Italian gang. She was working as a waitress in a seedy bar when he charmed the pants right off her and two months later, here we are in a rundown apartment building in the heart of the Manhattan. My mother slipped back into her old habits.
My grandfather disowned my mother when he found out she started using again. He tried getting me out, but the state kept siding with her. She’s never been arrested or in any kind of legal trouble, so they made me stay with her.
I stand up from my spot on the fire escape and slide my way down the rickety old ladder. I walk down the dark street and make my way to Times Square. Peddlers and street performers are all over the place and the billboards are so bright, it’s hard to know how late it is. I take a seat on one of the benches and watch the people pass by.
There are so many different people and cultures here in the City, it’s a sensory overload. I watch as families stop and see what the street performers are doing. There’s one group that catches my attention and I make my way over to them. They’re doing a bunch of flips and dance moves to music drifting out of their boom box. People are applauding and cheering them on, one kid goes around with a backpack and collects money from them. A quick way to earn a buck in this expensive city.
I leave the bright lights and bustling area behind me and walk down a dark side street. Yelling, horns blaring, and police sirens fade in the distance as I make my way over to Little Italy. It’s quite a distance from Times Square, but knowing my mother, she’ll never realize I was gone and it will be a while before she’s finished doing whatever she does.
There’s a group of teenagers dressed in black t-shirts, jeans and red bandanas around their heads or biceps sitting on concrete steps of an apartment building. They’re eying me as I walk past them. One of them stands up and starts following me.
“Hey kid wait up,” he says, trying to draw my attention.
I keep walking with my head down acting like I didn’t hear him when he falls in step next to me. I slow my pace and study him out of the corner of my eye, trying to access what he wants. I have no money on me and the only thing worth anything is the pocket watch my grandfather gave me. That’s tucked deep in a secret spot in my blue jeans.
“Hey, I’ve seen you around before. You know it’s not safe to be out this late at night alone.” the guy says, standing in front of me.
I stop walking and raise my head to look him in the eye. He’s about three inches taller than me, maybe a year or two older and possesses an air of authority about him. His dark skin and black hair standing out under the street light. His black eyes search me over and it appears he’s made a decision.
“What does it matter to you?” I ask. I glance around to see it’s just the two of us and breathe a sigh of relief when it is.
“Hey kid, I know where you’re coming from. Broken home, no dad, mom a druggie. Am I right?”
I clench my fist at my side, anger brewing under the surface of my skin. I stare at him dead in the eye before I speak. “It doesn’t matter where I come from or what’s going on I’m not interested in anything you offer." My voice full of rage and hate. I loathe this city. I despise my mother. I hate my father.
“Actually, it does. You see, we can help,” he gestures to the others. They’re now standing on the steps watching us.
“How?” He’s got me intrigued now.
“We’re a family and that means something to us. Once you’re in and prove your loyalty to us, we have your back no matter what. Why don’t you come back, and I’ll introduce you to the rest? What’s your name by the way?”
I search behind me at the other kids watching us. It would be nice to have someone to hang with. It’s been lonely being in a big city, surrounded by people but no one giving you any attention or acknowledging you exist.
“Nolan Sherwood,” I answer, holding out my hand. He takes it and gives it a good handshake.
“Well, Nolan Sherwood, good to meet you. Mine’s Switch. That’s what everyone calls me. C’mon I’ll introduce you to the rest.”
We walk back over to the other teenagers and they all watch me with caution as we approach.
“Everyone, this is Nolan Sherwood. Nolan, this is everyone,” Switch says. Some give me a nod, others keep regarding me like I’m some freak show, cautious but curious. I give them my best smile.
“Hey everyone,” I reply. I put my hands in my pockets unsure on what to do next.
“C’mon Nolan, relax. We hang out here when things get hard at home and we can’t stand to be around our family.” Switch says, throwing an arm around my shoulder.
I stiffen from his touch and he immediately removes his arm. I don’t like to be touched at all. I’ve always been that way since I was little, and I think it’s from lack of affection from my parents. They never showed me love or attention and when someone touches me, my reaction usually isn’t good.
A girl I didn’t notice before comes out from behind the other boys and shoves her way through the crowd, a glimpse of something in her hazel eyes I can’t quite place. She stands close enough I can smell her raspberry body wash, but not touching me. She has on a black tank top, black skin-tight jeans and a red bandana around her left leg. She has light skin, long blonde hair, and big hoop earrings. Her face is covered with make-up, hiding a bruise I can faintly see under her right eye. She pops her strawberry flavored bubble gum before she speaks.
“Name’s Tatiana, but everyone calls me Wrath,” she states with a thick east coast accent. Her hazel eyes staring into my brown ones.
“Why do they call you Wrath?” I ask her.
She rolls her eyes before answering me. “Because if you piss me off you meet the ends of my fists. Wrath of fury. This bruise is nothing compared to what the other guy looks like.” Wrath answers pointing to her eye.
She doesn’t appear like she could do some damage, but her knuckles are scared and bruised. She cracks them while watching me and I swallow a lump in my throat. She’s really hot and my teenage hormones kick in from her being so close but not touching me. Wraths’ soft body, sneaks closer to mine, so we’re only a hair's breadth apart. She’s got me under a spell I can’t shake and quite frankly I don’t want to right now.
“This will be so much fun,” Wrath says giving me a wink.