“What’s on your neck?” I stopped, just for a second. Then kept walking.
“Uh, nothing.”
She scoffed, sitting herself down at the table. “So, cuts on your throat are nothing now? That’s a new one.” I turned, jaw tight. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?” Her voice cracked with disbelief. “It looks like you tried to off yourself and failed.” I didn’t answer. Her expression changed, shifted from suspicion to something else. Hurt. “Is that what happened?”
“No...”
“Then what?”
I exhaled through my nose, rubbing a hand over my face. “Drop it Squeeks.”
“You disappear all night, don’t call. And what's that on your neck? I don’t want to drop it.”
I looked at her, noticing the fear under her anger. The same look I’d seen when she was little, and the shouting from downstairs got too loud.
“I ran into someone,” I said finally, lazily shrugging my shoulders, “Someone from before. From… Juvie.”
Her eyes narrowed, “That someone got a name?”
I hesitated on my answer, “Not one you should concern yourself with.” She didn’t need to know about Misfit, the living nightmare crawling around in my brain. The less she knew, the better. My calm composure faltered with every question she hurled my way. I swung open the fridge in search of food, anything to help settle the ever-growing knot in my stomach.
My boots thudded heavily on the linoleum as I crossed to the counter. There was a half-open box of cold chips on the side, someone’s abandoned takeaway from last night. I grabbed a handful without thinking, shoving one between my teeth.
“Screech, is everything ok?” her voice dropping into genuine concern as she approached me.
“Peachy,” I muttered around the food, brushing past her like she wasn’t there.
“Why won’t you just talk to me?” she snapped. I shrugged as I turned the corner into the living room, TV blaring some sports highlights no one was watching. Danny sat where he always did. Slouched on the couch, cigarette dangling from his lips, one eye half-shut, drifting in and out of sleep. As always, Mum was out. He looked up at me as I walked in, gave me a fleeting once-over.
“You look like shit,” he muttered.
“So do you,” I said flatly, collapsing onto the edge of the armchair.
“Long night?”
I gave a non-committal grunt and stared at the flickering screen. Behind me, I heard Squeeks’ footsteps retreat upstairs. The soft click of her door shutting behind her. Good, let her be mad. She didn’t need to know every little thing about my life, especially when it involved Misfit. Danny passed me a beer without looking. He wanted something, and I hesitated for a moment. He never offered me anything without demanding blood in return, but I took it anyway. Taking a long swig, mybody slumped further into the chair. The beer was half gone when Danny finally shifted, stubbed his smoke out on a plate already cluttered with ash. Here we go. He turned to me with that look; the same one he always wore before I regretted even breathing.
“You busy later?” he asked, too casual.
“Yeah, got an audience with the King.”
He gave a dry snort, leaning forward to grab a crumpled envelope off the coffee table. “Need you to drop something off.”
I eyed the envelope like it might bite, “Where?”
He scratched his nose, looked too long at the telly, a shifty distraction from his real intentions.
“East side. Back of Merrow Street. Fancy fucker side of town.”
I furrowed my brows as I looked at the envelope in his hand. It was bulky and sealed shut, stopping me from letting my curiosity get the better of me. “What’s in the envelope?” I asked.
He shrugged, leaning back. “Product. Don’t open it.” I gave him a look. He gave me a harder one. “You're still living under this roof, ain’t you?” he said, always the same clear warning. Trust me, I didn’t want to be. The invisible weight he always hung over me. A twisted kind of fatherhood, and like always, I nodded. I was too tired to fight him on this, and because maybe, just maybe, a distraction was what I needed. I took the envelope, tucking it inside my jacket.
“When?”
“Couple hours. They’ll be waiting. Go scrub up.”
