St Jimmy Part 1

I lay there on my side, one arm stretched out above my head and the other curled up at my waist. The rough sidewalk of the alleyway irritated my skin and I was drenched. I could feel my thick black eye makeup running down my face as the rain poured harder. There was no one around and I’d been left without a method of contact, money, or keys. I closed my eyes tight and hoped that when I opened them again I’d be back in my apartment. My apartment is usually where I don’t want to be as it is a bit of a shithole, but it’s home. My tall red Doc Martins were completely scuffed, my off-the-shoulder black and red t-shirt, grey denim shorts were ruined and I could barely move. The men who had mugged me had legged it about 15 minutes ago.

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I’d been walking home from the punk club ‘86-24/7’ and I took the short cut through the alley I’m in now. The 4 guys approached me and I sped up my walking pace, then they had me cornered, and I knew I was in deep shit. I had alcohol in my system so I was weak. They punched me in the face and stomach, kicking and shouting abuse. I tried to scream for help but the alcohol slurred my words and my throat was already sore from a night of ‘punk-clubbing.’ When I was on the ground they kicked me once more and snatched my handbag. I closed my eyes and slept.

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It was now 2:07am. I knew from I my ipod; they hadn’t taken that as it was in my back pocket. The screen was cracked and the metallic colour had chipped. I tried to get up; I managed surprisingly. But as soon as I began to walk I fell to the ground, my knee gashed and I gave up. I lay there pathetically, I knew that no punk should take shit from anyone but what was done was done. I fiddled with my shoulder length, messy, black hair and made sure that my purple streak hadn’t washed out. I sighed and closed my eyes again.
After around 10 minutes I heard footsteps. Whoever it was, wasn’t wearing heels. They sounded like they were wearing converse. I opened my eyes to see a young man walking towards me. I saw the light of his cigarette glowing in the dark. I was terrified because I knew that someone who was coming to save me would be running by now. He came into the light of the streetlight across the road from where I lay. He was wearing a baggy red vest that stated ‘A FIXTURE IN THE CITY OF LUST’ in block writing, an open black shirt, black skinny jeans and as I guessed a black pair of converse. He walked towards me and when he stood over me I noticed another feature. His hair was also black, like mine, it was all scruffy and he had a side fringe. He bent down looked into my eyes; his were a sparkling emerald green, and had a face of an angel. He was wearing a load of guy-liner, which to me was extremely sexy. He rubbed his rough hand over my wound on my knee. I was too scared to react; I stared at him, my eyes full of hope.
“What the fuck happened here then,” he raised a smile with his fag still in the side of his mouth. I didn’t reply. He took the fag out of his mouth and stubbed it on his index finger. He grimaced but it disappeared and quickly turned into another sympathetic smile.
“Huh?” he questioned me.
“Some guys…they…mugged me,” I shivered. He ran his hands through my hair, I was still afraid, but I felt like I knew him. He took my hand and propped me up against the nearby wall. He made me stand and signalled for me to walk. I was standing but I didn’t want to collapse again. He began to walk and before I knew it I was walking with him. “But how?” I asked confused, I couldn’t walk before. I stopped as my leg began to throb with pain. He turned round to look at me. He walked back towards me and picked me up. He walked along to the end of the alley and put me down again. The pain in my leg had faded a little, but then he handed me a cigarette. I’d never smoked before, and I knew I shouldn’t have taken it but stupidly I did. I mean I was 21 after all, it’s not like it’s illegal. Most of my friends and other punks that go to ’86-24/7’ smoke but it just looked disgusting. He then took a lighter out of his pocket. I stared at him.
“Don’t smoke?” he asked. I shook my head.
“But…” I began.
“It’ll drain the pressure from the swelling,” he smiled. I took the lighter and lit the fag. I took a drag. It was disgusting! I coughed and spluttered and he let out a small laugh. But when I took a second drag, the pressure from the swelling did drain away.
“Good?” he asked. I nodded, I was sure that I knew this guy, all his characteristics were familiar.
“Who are you? Do I know you?” I asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know, I’m still working that out,” the corner of his mouth lifted and he had a menacing look in his eye. I stared at him.
“What the hell’s your name? What’s your pleasure? What is your pain?” he asked
“Jett, well what d’you mean by that?” I replied.
“Well what’s your pain?” he asked.
“My injuries,” I shrugged.
“No, in general what is your internal pain?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well do you dream too much?” he asked.
“I do, how d’you know?” I asked, slightly freaked.
“Just a guess, so you dream too much, now what’s your pleasure?”
“I don’t have one,” I sighed.
“You will one day,” he reassured me.
He took off his shirt so that he was only wearing his vest top, and held it out behind me. But I just stared at him. “You look fucking freezing,” he smiled. I slipped my arms through the sleeves and stopped walking.
“Thanks.”.
“You were at 86-24/7 right?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought I recognized you,” he said bluntly.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I don’t know, just come with me.”
We continued walking, and after a while we came to a street that I’d never been to before. I read the sign on the front of one building; it read ‘JINGLE TOWN’ I’d never been here before. I looked down the long street of bars, clubs, and punk gangs. Jimmy took my hand.
“Stay close, it may look peaceful but it can get nasty here.”
I nodded in acceptance and we walked down the long sidewalk. Heads turned as we walked past. I heard girls whispering “It’s him, he’s back, who is she?” He must be well known around here. We walked into a bar called Slouch and he led me over to a small booth. I sat down opposite him.
“Why are we here?” I asked.
“Because this is it, this is where you belong,” he smiled.
“What are you talking about?” I questioned him.
“Jingle Town,” he replied
“You’re not making any sense!”
“I need your help,” he sighed leaning over the table.
“With what!” my voice became agitated.