The shadows along the stacked containers seemed wrong. They didn’t sit where they should, stretching longer than the light allowed, pooling unnaturally at the seams of metal and concrete. I could’ve sworn they shifted when I blinked—just a fraction, just enough to make my stomach knot.
“You bring friends now? Couldn’t handle me on your own, is that it?” I muttered, more to steady myself than to taunt her.
“I could do it you know. Slice you right here.” Her laboured voice cracked under my weight. The steel against my throat twitched, just enough to draw the faintest line of blood—a tease of a gruesome ending.
“If you’re going to do it Misfit, then do it!”
Her jaw flexed, blade unmoving against my quickened pulse. My voice dropped to a murmur, intimate and venomous.
“You can’t. Can you?”
She lingered for a moment before biting back, “And what about you? Why wouldn’t you when you’ve been presented with such an opportunity to finish it.”
I let her words sink in, unaware of the wider smile I was showing. “Now, where would be the fun in that?” Her blade lingered against my throat for one last second, then dropped—the soft scrape of the steel against the gravel. I pulled myself back, letting out a heavy breath as if I’d just disarmed a bomb. She rolled the knife between her fingers once more as she watched me rise. Stepping backwards from her, I kept my eyes unmoving as she pulled herself from the ground.
“I think you’re out of your depth Screech.”
Of course I was! I was playing the most twisted version of dares there was, but I kept my face focused.
I gently nodded before snapping back at her, “I’ll get you to beg me to take your life Misfit. One day. On your knees, asking for it to end. But not yet.”
She snorted, “Promises, promises.”
My eyes ran over her one last time as I lowered the gun, tucking it back into my waistband. I turned, leaving her standing there. My head shook with a smile as I slipped through the gate.
As I left the storage yard, her faint chuckles faded as I got further down the street. Each step felt slower than the last, like my body had finally realised what it had just been through. What it almost did. What the fuck!
I ran my fingers against my neck. Just a whisper of blood touching my fingertips. Inside, everything was still vibrating, her voice ringing in my ears. That god damn look she gave me when she had that fucking blade to my throat. Shit!
She could’ve done it. Hell, maybe she should’ve. But she didn’t, and neither did I. An unseen barrier jammed its way between us, crippling the other. We both had our weapons out, both had the upper hand at some point, and still, neither of us pushed to finish it.
I lit a cigarette as the flame trembled within my fingers, exhaling hard through my nose. My pulse hadn’t slowed. It continued racing, thumping around my body. What the fuck was that?
Is she in my blood now? Like some infection I’d tried to cauterise, only to find it had been growing the whole time, coiled in my ribs.
The streets swallowed me as I walked. I hadn’t realised how far I’d walked until I was standing in front of Chester’s place. I couldn’t go home. Not when I knew I would have a thousand and one questions hurled my way by Squeeks, or Danny's fuckinglackies for that matter. I needed time, I needed quiet. Something still and numb.
Turning the key in the lock, I slipped inside, glancing over my shoulder as I did so. Pushing it closed behind me, I leaned against it, finally letting out the breath of relief. I slid down the door and sat on the floor, every muscle relaxing with heavy breaths. The silence here wasn’t peaceful; memories haunted it. The ghost of Chester hung thick in the air. But I wasn’t here for him. Something pulled on me the second I turned my back on Misfit, and I didn’t know what the hell to do with it.
She is toxic. But God, she is addictive. Sharp and beautiful and utterly fucking wrong.
I shifted myself from the floor, lingering in the doorway to the front room before slumping down on the same old beaten couch. What if she had followed me? Lurking in the shadows. Why am I so fucking paranoid? My eyes drifted to the window, almost expecting the sliver of night to darken as she approached. Every creak in the walls had me on edge, skin buzzing with some unwanted feeling.
But still, she knew my address. What if she wasn’t done with me and went there? She remembered it after all this time, branding it into her brain just in case she wanted to haunt me. And haunting was exactly what she was now doing. I stood, moving slowly to the window, my fingers gliding the blinds back to reveal the street. The alley outside was empty—just bins, shadows, and the rusted outline of a busted streetlamp. Still, I watched.
I half expected to see her standing there under the glow, head tilted, that crooked grin on her lips like she was proud of me for being paranoid. But there was nothing, just stillness. Because Misfit didn’t need to be seen to get in your head, she already had a front row seat in mine.
I backed away from the window and sank back down onto the couch, listening to the blood in my ears. My fingers dug into the couch cushion as I laid back, one arm over my eyes, as if blocking out the world might stop her from creeping deeper into my mind. The gun stayed within reach, of course it did, I’m not fucking stupid.
But sleep still came, pulling me down slowly and heavily. Even in that half-dream, half-wake state, I thought I heard footsteps outside—light and cautious, unmistakably hers, staying by the door too long. I remained still and whispered into the dark, “If that’s you, Misfit… you can wait your turn.”
As morning came, a deep sigh sounded into the air as I pulled myself up on the couch. My shirt stuck to my back from the sweat I didn’t remember making. I’d dreamt of her that night, probably more of a nightmare. The weight of her on my chest as she repeatedly told me my time was up. The gun was still where I left it, on the armrest. I picked it up without thinking, checked it like I needed the motion more than the assurance. My stomach growled low and sharp, like it was protesting against everything I’d stuffed down instead of food.
I stood, my bones stiff and wandered the flat. His coat was still hanging behind the bedroom door—the marks on the wall where we used to throw knives. Nothing had changed. And that was the part that stung.
I wondered back to the window, pulling the blinds back just enough to watch the street. Mundane life had returned—dog walkers, a woman with a pushchair. Someone shouting down the road about bus delays. I wondered if any of them had ever tasted something that felt like danger and wanted more. I wondered if Misfit was already awake. If she was out there, watching. If she dreamt of me like I dreamt of her. I hadn’t thought about what I’d say to Squeeks. Hadn’t rehearsed a lie, hadn’t prepped for theway her eyes could see right through every word I spat. I just knew I had to go back; I didn’t want her to worry.
Arriving back home, the door creaked as I pushed against it. And there she was. Leaning against the staircase like she knew I was coming. Arms crossed, oversized hoodie swallowing her shape, but her eyes. Those narrowing, too-knowing eyes looked at mine. She didn’t smile or greet me in any way. Just continued glaring at me. I stepped in, brushing past her like that would shield me from whatever she was holding back. I heard her padding bare feet behind me, remaining silent until I made it halfway down the hall.
