Mr. and Mr. Handsome - 1. Chapter 1

It all started when I broke the plate. Not just any plate, no. An antique oriental plate my mother had inherited when Grandma died. My grandmother had inherited it as well. I don’t know how old it was, and I suppose it doesn't matter anymore.

I’d like to say it was an accident. If it had been, my mother might have forgiven me. If I’d have stumbled into the china cabinet, she would've been upset but I’d be forgiven.

But it wasn't an accident.

In a temper, I had grabbed the plate from its stand and threw it as hard as I could. For a tiny shred of a moment, I felt guilty as it shattered against the wall, but the feeling dissipated when I remembered my mother deserved it.

Suddenly there was a sharp tug on my hair, my head snapped roughly backwards as I was dragged to the floor. My mother had a crazed look in her eyes as she pulled back her arm, and punched me in the gut as hard as she could. My arms clenched around my stomach protectively. I was too winded to beg her to stop, and the fists kept coming.

I left after that, headed for the train station. I’m sure I looked a sight walking down the street with a minor limp, a raggedy backpack hanging off one shoulder and a bandage on the left side of my forehead. A few people even laughed when I accidentally walked into a lamp post. In my defense, my head was spinning. It’s no wonder I hadn't seen it.

You must wonder why I threw the plate, and why was I mad at my mother in the first place. It’s simple, really. I had saved over $2000 dollars from my job as a dishwasher to buy a used car. The one I wanted, an old ‘94 Saturn SC1, was $2500 and I was so close to buying it. The dealership was kind enough to promise not to sell it to someone else if I could get the rest of the money ASAP. The car was in such good condition, and I wanted it so badly, but no. Dear mom’s gambling habit had ruined that for me. She stole twelve hundred dollars from me, leaving me with just over seven hundred. Did she think I wouldn't notice?

She took what I had worked almost two years for, and in return, I ruined her most ‘prized’ possession. It seems fair to me.

I packed my bag with plans of going to California. I had no idea what I would do when I got there, but even bums live good in Cali from what I've heard. Free food grows on trees there, after all, but I hoped I could find a job before I started to smell funky.

After an hour of walking, I made it to the train station. I couldn't afford a roomette, so I bought a ticket for an upper level coach seat for $165, hoping it wouldn't completely kill my ass in the 35 hours it takes to get from Kansas City to Los Angeles. I had to sleep at the station that night, since my train wasn't leaving until 8:15 the next morning. I pulled my threadbare towel from my backpack and rolled it up to use as a pillow. The floor was almost as comfortable as my old spring mattress, and I slept like a log.

The next morning, the hustle and bustle at the train station failed to wake me. I got shook awake by the most handsome man I’d ever seen. “It’s 8:10. Got somewhere you need to be?”

I blinked up at him in a daze, my mind filling with all sorts of delicious images until it hit me. The grogginess left immediately and I shot up, nearly knocking the man over. “Thanks, my train leaves in 5 minutes!” I shouted. I grabbed my bag and ran to the platform. The whistle blew its warning note as I handed the coachman my ticket and hurried up the steps.

By the time the train had started moving I had found my seat. Lucky me, because I don’t think I could have walked well if it was moving under me. The seat next to mine was empty, so I set my bag into it before reclining, closing my eyes with a heavy sigh. There was no turning back now. I had just begun to daydream of where my new life could take me when I heard a semi-familiar voice say, “Hem hem.”

“Your bag is on my seat.”

I looked over to see the same man who had woken me up at the station. Mr. Handsome, as I had begun to call him in my head, had a cheesy grin on his face. His left arm was behind his back, and I wondered what he was hiding.

I blushed hotly, and murmured an apology, quickly tossing my backpack to the floor between my feet. Feeling a little nosy, I gestured to his hidden hand. “Whatcha got there?”

Mr. Handsome shook his head with a laugh. The gleam in his bright blue eyes nearly took my breath away. “Oh, just a little something you forgot at the train station.”

I shook my head slowly in confusion. I had my bag, what else was there? Then he handed me my grungy old towel, and my blush returned full force, not that it had fully left. I mumbled my thanks, and bent over to shove it back into my backpack, only to have the zipper break as I was trying to close it. “Damn it all!” I threw the bag to the floor with a huff and moodily crossed my arms. I was so buying a new book bag when I got to Cali! I glanced to the window and saw we were almost out of the city. I could just see the outer hills of Kansas in the distance.

It was quiet for an hour or so, until an attendant asked Mr. Handsome and I if we were hungry. My neighbor ordered biscuits and gravy and a coffee, but I wasn't hungry. My lip hurt too much to eat anyways. I asked for an ice pack and a cola, which cost me too much money.

Mr. Handsome kept glancing at me between bites of his breakfast, making me feel a bit uncomfortable. He ignored the annoyed glare I shot him, as well, so I returned my attention to the grassy waves rolling by.

Soon enough, I heard the clatter of his fork meeting the plate with a note of finality. I wasn't surprised when he asked, “What happened to your face, kid? Looks like you got the shit beat outta you.”

I just nodded, and he thankfully let the subject drop. As he pulled out his iPod and put his earbuds in, I reflected on just why my face looked so awful. I’d never felt so weak and worthless in my entire life.