at first, all he could do was shake his head. as the newest and youngest member of the jets, baby john was the most easily shellshocked by how violent things could really get — his particular vulnerability was not just physical, though the scarring on his earlobe could pose a great argument. but this was no ordinary altercation, and although that had been made clear from the beginning, the thing that set it apart was that this was supposed to end things between the sharks and the jets one way or another, and every member of the latter had been confident that they would be the ones to emerge victorious. instead, other sides had fled at the sound of sirens, each leaving one of their own on the warehouse floor. riff was gone, and he’d watched him take his last breath, watched him fall to the ground, heard his last words. take it out — it already haunted him.
and tessie didn’t even know. it made sense that her first concern would be for his own injuries, of which he’d sustained a few that left him bloody and bruised but thankfully conscious and upright and mobile, but john felt almost ill being the recipient of her compassion when they’d just lost one of their own. his tears were still dried on his cheeks, eyes rimmed with red. the shock left him feeling and looking nearly dazed, having sought her out in a desperate panic as the rest of the boys went looking for a hiding place or for someone else to tell the news to. “i — … i don’t know,” he mumbled finally, and it was true that he couldn’t remember who had flown at him when the fighting reached its climax. it was all a blur. he reached for her hand, the gesture delicate but still somehow communicating a certain level of desperation. “tessie, it got real bad … real bad…”
@poetsung sent: “ please, tell me why you’re upset. tell me who did this? ” / accepting!
