When she turned 16, Georgia dropped out, ran away and started working a string of odd jobs, mainly to pay for her book habit and upkeep. She worked fast food and then in a convenience store, the only place that would hire a young girl, who was both obviously intelligent and troubled. She figured she'd learned enough from the public schools about pain, cruelty, and degradation. Books had been her best teachers and she remained attached to them as her truest and dearest friends.
Georgia's living situation at this point was perhaps the most stable she ever knew. She started out in a halfway house for runaway teens and they were the ones to help her the job at the convenience store after a brief stint in fast food. From there she moved to a group home run by Catholic Charities, which allowed her to work and live inexpensively. For the first time in her life, she began to find friends. They weren't your typical teenagers, they were mostly of the goth/alternative persuasion, but she could minimally relate to them. They'd had similar childhoods to hers, but they were remarkably more emotional about it than she was. So between the mother who abused her, the various schoolmates who bullied & ridiculed her, the teachers who tried to care and the new friends so alike yet so different from her, Georgia began to develop an intense curiosity about what made people tick. She didn't understand most emotions and why people felt them, so she began to mine the public library for psych and sociology titles, gathering information but still not REALLY understanding. Emotions had always been something she said aside in favor of black & white words, things she could mentally chew & digest. Her new found friends didn't understand her attachment to books, knowledge, and the library and ridiculed her for it. One night it got bad enough that she flew into one of her infamous rages, worse than any from her foster care days, and badly injured one of her friends which led to her eviction from the group home.
At this point, Georgia was 17, on the street, more remorseful about the loss of a home than the damage done to her friend, didn't they know not to do that to her? She had thought they were her friends and had hopes of at least being kind of like the girls she remembered from middle school in their giggling little groups. So when her disappointment coupled with her intense anger, she lashed out and knocked her friend out cold.
She hadn't lost her job and finished her night shift at the convenience store as usual and was walking the street in hopes of finding some sort of place to crash with her backpack of books. It was then she saw HIM... well, she'd actually been seeing him for the last year since she'd started working at the convenience store. It was always at night and he would sometimes buy something, but more often than not, he seemed be just wanting a warm or cool place to be, depending on the weather. He had dark brown hair and haunting blue eyes, his age could be anywhere from 20-35. He seemed friendly enough, but always distant... and not just physically. There was something haunting, haunted, and yet familiar about him... like a smell you never forget. He didn't dress in any way that was remarkable... he didn't appear poor or wealthy, often appearing in nice jeans and a clean shirt, type dependent on the weather. Georgia has seen him often enough that he'd become part of the background noise of her life. They shared some smalltalk and he seemed nice enough, but there was always an air of mystery about him. She was also convinced he was watching her, though she never caught him in the act. She knew from their occasional conversations that his name was Martin Van Somethingoranother.
On this night, Martin approached her carefully from the side, but made sure she knew he was there, "What are you doing out this time of night, Georgia... it is Georgia, isn't it?"
"Yeah it is. What do you care?" she asked rudely.
"Well, I thought you got off at 11 or midnight, I think I remember that from chatting with you in the store."
"That's true most nights. I'm just out a little late tonight," Georgia shot back defensively.
Martin, doing his best to feign concern & caring, asked "Where do you live? I could walk you home since it is later than usual, besides the streets generally get more dangerous, especially the later it gets."
"Home. What's a home? I've never had one of those. Besides, I've never had any problems getting home by myself. I'm pretty much all that I've had for most of my life," Georgia angrily spat with fire in her eyes, not consciously noticing anything beneath the surface of his pretended concern.
"Where have you been staying then?" he asked as gently as he could.
"The Catholic Charities Group Home on Lindell. But I can't go back there now," she stated flatly.
"Why is that?" he asked, though he well knew the answer.
Georgia glared, "Why are you asking me all of these questions? You've never been this talkative when you are in the Go-Mart not buying things."
"Well maybe I care. You seem like a pretty decent kid who hasn't gotten many breaks in life," again feigning the concern he so wanted her to believe.
"Dude, I haven't been a kid since my father ran off when I was 2 fucking years old," she spat back, eyes flashing.
"That is the material point. So I'm trying to see if there is some way I can help you," Martin said calmly.
"Dude, to quote the old phrase, 'There's no help for me' ", snorting and shaking her head matter of factly.
"Why are you so sure of that?" he asked again with utter solemnity.
Georgia spat at him again "I just KNOW. My mother rarely fed me, mostly she just ignored me and died, my father ran out, my foster parents had enough complications in their lives, I was never in one school long enough to count, friends were something I never had. So it's always been me and my books. I've never had anyone I could trust. Why am I telling YOU all this anyway, you're just some loser who hangs around at the Go-Mart at night?"
She walked a few feet away from him, shaking her head like trying to wrest invisible demons from their nest.
"Maybe I am someone you can talk to. Maybe you sense that I could help you," said Martin, narrowing the gap between them while maintaining his composure.
"Why should I believe you, loser bait?" she asked, looking back at him over her shoulder, incredulity in her eyes.
Still maintaining his serene facade and stepping around in front of her, "I would say that is a fair question. I believe I can counter with, where are you going to go?"
"I don't know. I was thinking of some of the abandoned warehouses a few blocks from here might suffice," Georgia pronounced boldly. "At least for tonight."
"Those generally aren't safe. Plenty of squatters and other rough types," responded Martin, continuing to simulate concern.
"You think I can't handle myself? I'm pretty tough," defiantly raising her chin and looking at him archly.
Looking at her slight frame, he said slowly, "Mentally maybe. Otherwise I have my doubts, honestly."
"Oh, so I'm some sort of 98 pound weakling? Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole!" she snorted.
He stopped directly in front of her and looked her straight in the eyes and held her by the shoulders, "Where are you going to go?" He continued to cultivate his guise of worry, while attempting to hide his underlying motivation. Georgia still took no conscious notice, and suspiciously felt herself drawn to his concern. Though her whole being was fighting against it, she WANTED to believe him.
"I'll find a place to crash, I'll be fine...," she said as she tore herself out of his hands and stalked away.
Martin let her go. He knew this would be the first night of many. He knew he had created a tiny fissure which he would slowly open into a gaping wound. The gaping wound would then be filled by something greater than anything Georgia could imagine.
Georgia strode away into the night, leaving the strange Martin Van Somethingoranother standing there. Her stomach felt like a mouse turning somersaults and had no clue why. He was just some weirdo who liked hanging out at the Go-Mart. He wasn't unfriendly, just weird. His skin was too pale, his eyes too intense, there was just something --off-- about him. Georgia just couldn't put her apprehension into words.
On the other hand, he seemed genuinely concerned about her welfare. Her rational mind was fighting with her rarely used emotions, which were still those of an abandoned & neglected 5 year old. As per her instincts, she was oblivious apart from the mouse in her stomach and she would brook no opposition from something so irrational as THAT.
As Georgia walked, she was lost in reverie, examining the situation rationally, which was how she had done ever since Liz died and even before. There certainly was a lot of truth to be had: she was homeless, the streets weren't safe, she didn't trust anyone but herself and her books, she also had no clue where to go. She didn't know this Martin guy, except as a sometimes customer at the Go-Mart. She had enough street smarts to not trust people who come up and offered help seemingly out of the blue. However, she needed help and a place to stay. She also had a tug from her well-squelched emotional self, longing to bathe in the compassion he seemed to be holding out to her. So both practically and emotionally she was warring within herself whether to turn around or just go to the warehouse district and flop somewhere.
Eventually, her staunch mental strength lost and after walking several miles, she found herself in Forest Park, behind the Jewel Box. She felt like she could breathe there and collapsed under a tree where she slept, basked in the glow of the art deco greenhouse with her head on her backpack of books.
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