a scarlet letter WHO: Cruz Acosta & Mila Moretti. WHERE: The Back Porch. WHEN: September 4th, after the parade. WARNINGS: PG-13
Cruz was sure he could survive off scraps and maybe the kindness of strangers if he held out a paper cup. Just before he could find some work. Or if he just got work as a bus boy somewhere like Moxie's until he got on his feet enough to try and contest getting back to work at the high school. He might have been released. But what happened still hung over his head like a black mark. An English teacher would've called it his 'scarlet letter'. There were things people would avoid. People would let fester or heal before they tried to open old wounds.
What happened in Blackwater was like a barely healed scab for him. He scratched at it, day in and day out. Reopening it when he thought he was getting past it enough to think he was on his way to accepting it. His fate. The fact that maybe what everyone else said was true. That he was some sort of animal that needed to be put behind bars to keep him away from society. Than being told he was being released -- it was peeling back the old scab again. He was going to avoid any place that he knew those had that thought he killed their family members. But there were just some things a person couldn't avoid in a town this small.
When he stepped through the doors of the bar, the scab he was picking at was pouring blood. Cruz sat himself in one of the open booths, sitting his bag next to him as he leaned back in the chair. It was the first time he actually sat down all day and it was a big relief for the most part as he watched the familiar face walking down the path, knowing he should've just waited to be sat right at the moment. But...it ruined the element of a horrible surprise. "What do you guys have that isn't liquor or fried?" He actually hadn't eaten a good meal in a while. And he hated alcohol. Not the right place to go to if he needed something in a while.