Chapter 8: Just A Little Helping Hand

Mr. Cracker contemplated her words. He stood up and went to a little closet. The room that Juicy was in had another bed but it was vacant. There were two bathrooms and two closets. She assumed that he was in her closet.

He returned with a clear plastic bag and laid it gently on her bed. "There's a charities foundation here at the hospital. They gave you some clothes, toothpaste and toothbrush, flip flops...things like that. Here. Get dressed and I'll be right back. I'm going to get you out of here."

"Mister!" Juicy called before he went out the door.

He turned to her. "Troy. My name is Troy."

She nodded. "I'm Juicy."

Troy's lip curled up in a grimace. "Oh. Why don't you just keep calling me Mr. Cracker and I'll keep calling you Lady." Then he left.

She huffed in total disbelief. No he didn't...

It didn't take long for Juicy to realize that she was filthy. They hadn't done a good job of washing her at all. She still found traces of blood on her body and hair. And while it had been really nice of them to give her these clothes...they were completely ill-fitting. They had given her sweat pants that were way too tight and too short, and her shirt was a button-up flower mini moo moo that reached mid calf...a good thing since the sweatpants barely contained her booty. Juicy had size eleven feet and the pink flip flops felt like half that size.

It didn't matter because as soon as she got home she was going to dump all of it in the trash. How was she going to get home? For the life of her she couldn't remember the connecting bus routes from the hospital...not that she had bus fare anyway.

Someone slid a piece of paper under the door and Juicy picked it up curiously. She felt dizzy as she squatted to pick it up and worried that she was developing a brain clot or some brain infection from the atrocious conditions of the hospital.

"What is this?" She hoped it wasn't a bill. She read the sheet of paper slowly. It wasn't a bill exactly but an invoice of her treatment. Next to each treatment was a price and then a grand total at the bottom. A whopping two hundred and thirty thousand dollars!

Juicy was speechless. It wasn't the grand total at the bottom...it was one particular treatment that had her quiet...

Mr. Cracker returned to the room.

"Oh, okay. You're dressed." He didn't comment on the tacky clothes and Juicy didn't look up. "What are you reading?"

She looked at him with hollow eyes. She handed him the slip of paper. He read quickly lips moving silently and then stopped abruptly. He looked at Juicy.

"Oh...that..." Mr. Cracker looked really uncomfortable which made him look even younger then she had previously suspected.

"They gave me a rape kit?"

"Yes, I believe they did." Mr. Cracker licked his lips and fumbled with the invoice. "But I don't truly know if that happened to you."

She looked at him hopefully. "Maybe I shouldn't want to remember. I was hit in the head so hard that a lot of what happened is a blank. What exactly happened?" Juicy pleaded.

His eyes looked at a spot over her shoulder as if he was seeing the past. After a long pause, he swallowed and his breath came out shallow.

"I was just sitting there trying to get through a headache. It was a really bad one." He shook his head. "And I heard some guys cursing and laughing. I hoped they wouldn't notice me...mostly people leave me alone, but I remembered hearing another voice and it sounded like a child was hurt."

Juicy's eyes lowered as she relived the attack through his words. It hurt again, almost as bad as the first time.

"When I got over there I knew it was you immediately and they were punching and kicking you. I knew I couldn't take on all three by myself so I hit one with a garbage can. I made sure to knock him out. Before I did that..." Mr. Cracker finally looked straight at her. "One of them had your p-panties off, and he was struggling to get his pants down...and he was between your legs."

Juicy pulled her lower lip into her mouth and turned her back to Mr. Cracker. Her head was lowered, eyes squeezed tightly closed.

"Shanice-Lady! Juicy..." Mr. Cracker called. She couldn't hear his voice through the shattering of her heart.

She felt his hand on her arm and she had to bite back a desire to scratch and kick and scream and cry. Mr. Cracker pulled her around until she was facing him but she would not raise her head.

Had someone raped her? Had they taken that away from her, too?

"I don't know, Juice. I don't know if that happened to you. But it was better to be safe than sorry, okay? So they gave you the kit, just in case, okay?" He took half a step toward her, then a full step. Slowly he kept moving forward, his arms had gone around her shoulders.

He was hugging her.

Juicy didn't like it...but she didn't all together hate it either. She felt herself sigh and Mr. Cracker's arms tightened in a way that felt like she was safe and secure.

Damn, he was tall, something she hadn't recognized previously. And he didn't stink which she thought all homeless people did. He probably actually smelled better than she did.

She had thought of him as scrawny but he wasn't. He wasn't even thin. His arms were well muscled and wire tight. Juicy slipped out of his grip. Self-consciously she crossed her arms in front of herself.

Even though she had stepped back, Mr. Cracker—Troy rubbed her shoulder reassuringly before he turned to the door and blew out a stressed breath.

"Well...shall we go?"

Juicy looked at him wide-eyed. "Just...walk out?"

"Yep."

"Let's get the hell out of here." Juicy walked as fast as her sore head and little flip flops allowed.

They were ignored as Mr. Cracker pressed the down button on the elevator. She felt like she was a flaming fool! But none of the nurses paid them the least attention. Damn...she was invisible.

Juicy worried about where they were going and how they were going to get there once stepping out of the hospital. But there was a kiosk at the bus stop right outside of the hospital and Mr. Cracker led them to it.

"Where do you live, Juice?"

"Why are you calling me Juice?" She asked as she trailed behind him. He turned and looked at her confused.

"Because I can't call you Juicy with a straight face. No offense, but I feel like I'm saying something derogatory."

"Hmph. You're worried about calling me something derogatory now? But you called me a whore before. Remember?" Juicy regretted her words as soon as she spoke them. This man was helping her more than anybody else had offered to thus far. What was wrong with her? Why did she always go off the deep end? A bus drove pass and Mr. Cracker looked after it as if he wished he were on it. "I'm sorry...Troy." She had almost called him Mr. Cracker. "I appreciate you. I really do. I know I'd be d-dead in that alley if it wasn't for-"

He looked at her. "I didn't exactly call you a whore." His eyes had taken on a far-away look. "I was saying that you looked...pretty." The next words were spoken slowly and distinctly and he used his hand to signal each syllable. "Then you asked me what I was looking at. And that's when I said...I think a whore."

The people at the bus stop had stopped what they were doing to look at them.

"I wasn't even doing anything wrong, just complimenting you. And I wasn't name-calling--you were. Remember, it was you that called me a cracker? Even when I was carrying you to the hospital you called me a cracker!" Troy looked and sounded more incredulous than angry, but his voice had still grown definitely louder. She felt shame, like an actual article of clothing engulf her.

Juicy opened her mouth. Then she closed it. "I didn't understand, Troy. That's why I said that." Juicy's eyes began to sting. "I'm real sorry for that. I swear I am-" His eyes seemed to melt and the muscles of his face suddenly relaxed.

"Juice...I don't want an apology. I am white trash. I'm not a cracker but if that's what you see then I guess that's what I am-"

Juicy tried to shake her head and a sharp pain spiked through her. She sucked in a loud breath through clenched teeth and her knees buckled.

Troy caught her and a second later she was standing back up on her own two feet with him supporting her. His eyes were large like saucers. "I'm sorry Juice! I didn't mean to yell at you. Do you want me to take you back in the hospital-?"

"No!" The pain was subsiding. And she just wanted to be home, out of these clothes, away from these stares... "Could you please just help me home? I'll give you cab fare to get you back-"

"Yeah, of course. I'll take you home."