Lost and Lonely

[Sexy_Trinity69]

(CLOSED)

A girl alone in the city, homeless and cold. This is open to pretty much anything. Please PM me first though!

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Celeste couldn't even recognize her own reflection as she stared into the murky puddle of rain water. Dirt lined her face in splotches and smudges hiding her once flawless features. Her dark brown hair was matted and messily put in a bun, though a few grimy pieces stuck to her face. Sad hazel eyes stared sullenly back amongst the reflected light of the moon. Maybe the mud in the puddle made things look dirtier? Part of her hoped so, but the other half knew she looked the same. It'd been that way for how long now? Two or three months? Gritting her teeth, Celeste swiped at the water causing the image to disappear. It was simply too disgusting to look at any longer.

Tear formed in her eyes before slowly staining her cheeks with even more grime. The moonlight illuminated the alley just enough to give a little softness to the area, but in reality it was harsh. The alley way was cold and the ground hard and jagged. The eighteen year old shivered and glanced around, spotting an abandoned barrel. There was still a slight spark lit. Scrambling to her feet, she felt her knees buckle a little but she kept herself upright. Using an escape ladder to stable herself, the girl blinked. She was weak, it was obvious but she attempted to ignore it as she stumbled over to the flickering light.

The once white t-shirt she wore was covered in dirt, turning it a stripy brown tone and her blue jeans had holes all over them. No shoes adorned her feet, only small cuts and filth. Celeste rubbed her hands together, feeling the slight bit of warmth. Never once in her life had she felt so alone, but she supposed that's what happened to runaways…they were alone. But she was more than happy to be here than with her asshole of a step dad. The same man who said he treated her like a daughter…when all he did was fuck her. She felt dirtier with him than she did on the streets. Huddling closer, she pushed her hands through her hair. Maybe her luck would turn out better soon. Well, she could only hope.

[HermesVoice]

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Carolyn! A MONTH??”

It was dark on the Baltimore streets, a fine mist beginning to blow in from the waterfront, as Thomas Jenkins re-played the scene in his mind. Over the course of the last three months’ search, he had no clue how many times he’d re-lived the night his ex had told him about Celeste’s disappearance. Inevitably, it was on nights like this - grim, bone-chilling, moonless – that Carolyn’s face floated before him, a mixture of fear, contempt, anger, and helplessness stamped on her fine features, the features their daughter had inherited.

“For fuck’s sake! Why didn’t you tell me SOONER???” he’d hurled at her.

“Why, Tommy?” she shot back bitterly. “So you could tell me what a horrible mother I am? So we could go through EXACTLY what we’re going through NOW?” Tom watched as her upper lip began to tremble. “I’m sorry, Tommy! I’m sorry I didn’t want to go through this AGAIN. I’m sorry I didn’t want to fight one more goddam …”

With the words she began sobbing, her desperation exploding Thom’s anger. Whether angry or upset to tears, he had to admit that her beauty in her most volatile moments had always softened him. Maybe if they hadn’t, he mused briefly as he watched her collapse into a chair, maybe if he’d been more firm in the face of her emotional hunger, maybe the marriage …

He let the thought drop. It had occurred to him many, many times, but it was pointless now.

“Okay,” he offered quietly, settling into the chair opposite her in the kitchen of the house they had once shared. “I’m sorry … but … Look, I still don’t understand why the police didn’t contact me … as her father …. I mean, once you put out the missing persons repor – “

“There was no report, Thom.” It was Patrick who spoke. Carolyn’s second husband stood in one corner of the kitchen looking warily at her first. “There’s nothing the police will do for us. Celeste left a note and she’s allowed to leave home. Hell, she’s not even a legal runaway at her age.” Patrick had scrupulously kept his distance through the argument, and had spoken for the first time only now. And with a careful enough tone, Thom admitted with grudging approval. Truth to tell, he had no quarrel with Caroline’s second husband. A firefighter and a nice enough guy, Patrick was clearly a doting husband, and their marriage had seemed to work well enough for the past five years. Sure as hell better than YOURS to Carolyn, he thought in recrimination.

In the silence that arose between the three, Carolyn recovered herself. “You left when she was nine, Tommy.” She spoke carefully, desperate to avoid another explosion. “You rarely called. In a good year she got a birthday card. In a bad year she got nothing. Do you know how many times you’ve actually visited her in the last nine years? Twice, Tommy. Twice.”

Thom Jenkins stared down at the hard wood of the kitchen table. As he traced the delicate grain under his fingertips, he remembered it was one of the first pieces of furniture he and Carolyn had bought when they married. And he remembered hurling it across the room on the night he’d left the house forever, Celeste arriving in the doorway from her bedroom, rubbing her eyes in drowsiness, just in time to witness her father’s rage and his exit.

“I understand,” he said quietly to Carolyn, running his fingers tiredly through his dark blonde hair before looking up into the aquamarine eyes that had always stunned him. “What do you need from me?”