She stood in front of me, placing her cold hands on either side of my face, “You passed out for days. That’s not rest. That’s your body giving up, dick head.” Her hands shifted to my hoodie, trying to peel it off. I let her, only wincing when she hit a bruised rib. She paused, then stood, pulling her own hoodie off and tossing it over a chair, her shirt clinging to her skin.
“I’ll find you something dry,” she said, already rifling through Chester’s dresser. She pulled out a black, faded band t-shirt, something that might’ve fit Chester a decade ago.
“Here,” she held it out to me, and I took it with a grunt of thanks, beginning to change.
“You don’t have to fuss,” I said quietly, struggling to pull the shirt over my head.
She scoffed, reaching forward to help me, “Because you seem to be managing real well right now,” her tone dripping with sarcasm. She looked exhausted and angry, “You didn’t deserve any of what they did to you,” she said quietly.
I nodded once, jaw tightening. “Still happened though, didn’t it?” She helped me lie down, tucking the blanket over me. “How did you find out?”
She paused, sitting herself down on the bed beside me, “He wasn’t exactly quiet about it. He was bragging about it as soon as I got in the house. Mum tried to start shit, but we both know that wouldn’t last,” her eyes fell to her hands as guilt rushed over her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I thought you’d be disappointed in me.” Her eyes started to well up with tears.
“Why would I be disappointed? He’s a cunt, simple as that. He uses and abuses. Well, not for much fucking longer,” the obvious threat laced in my words.
Her eyes widened as she looked to me, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
She subtly shifted herself, laying her head down beside mine, “What would Chester say?”
I rolled my eyes, “You can’t keep using that forever, Squeeks.” She smiled, nestling closer into my shoulder; I felt her shiver beside me. I moved the blanket the best I could, sharing it with her as we watched the rain snake down the window in grey rivers.
“Try and get some sleep. You can continue your murderous thoughts tomorrow,” her voice softening as she closed her eyes.
Every part of me throbbed with a dull, familiar hum. The hospital meds had worn off, and now it was just me and pain, reacquainted. I groaned and rolled onto my side, half-regretting the movement as something sharp twisted deep in my back. The blanket slid off, and the cold air licked at my skin. The smell of food filled the flat, and then I heard Squeeks.
She was in the kitchen, singing something painfully off-key. I couldn’t make out the song, but she was giving it her all like she was on stage in front of thousands instead of cooking breakfast in a dead man’s flat. Pots clanged, and a cupboard slammed. The smell of burnt toast mingled with what might’ve been eggs. I pushed myself upright slowly, every joint creaking like I was double my age. I sat on the edge of the bed, breathing through the hurt, letting the rhythm of her clumsy kitchen concert distract me from the sharp edges of it.
Then her voice carried through the hallway, cheerful and light, “If you’re awake and not dead, I made… something that might be food.” I smirked, running a hand gingerly through my hair, pushing it back out of my eyes.
“Can’t wait to be poisoned,” I called back, my voice rough. She leaned around the corner with a spatula in one hand, wearing an apron I didn’t know Chester owned. It was tied around her waist and read "Kiss the Cook" in faded red. Her expression lit up when she saw me sitting up.
“Look who’s alive,” she grinned.
“Barely.” I looked to her through my brow, “I feel like roadkill.”
She chuckled, “You look like it too,” she vanished again. “Come on, you’ve got about ten minutes before I burn the rest.” She was acting like my mother, not my sister.
I dragged myself up slowly, one foot in front of the other, body heavy as if it had been filled with concrete. Every step through the hallway felt earned. But when I reached the kitchen, there she was—plates out, two mugs of something hot, and a smile that wasn’t forced. It felt like the old days, before Chester left. She used to be so happy here, and lately it seemed like her light had faded. There's no doubt it was because of Danny, but it was nice to see.
A small smile spread across my face as I lowered myself into the single chair at the table. It was scrambled eggs. Overcooked, of course, and toast that looked like it had survived a war. But it smelled like safety —something close to normal.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I muttered, looking over to her now perched on the countertop.
“Yeah, well. Couldn’t let you starve.” She picked at her toast, grinning. “Plus, I wanted to see if you’d make that face again when you taste my cooking.”
I took a bite, my face twisting with a smile. “It’s like chewing bricks.”
She chuckled, “Fuck you!”
I met her eyes over the rim of my mug. Behind her playfulness, I could still see it, the worry. The guilt. The tension she was holding just beneath the surface. Squeeks’ phone buzzed against the counter, loud in the quiet kitchen. She glanced at it, the smile she’d been holding onto flickering, then disappearing completely. Her shoulders stiffened before she even picked it up. I didn’t need to see the name on the screen to know who it was.
“Danny,” she muttered, confirming it anyway. I watched her answer, eyes cast down. “Yeah… I know. I was just seeing a friend.”
A blatant lie, in a way, I didn’t blame her. A pause. Her jaw tightened.
“No, I didn’t. I’ll do it now.” Another pause. “I’ll be back soon.” She hung up without saying goodbye.
I stood up slowly, “You don’t have to go,” and for a second, I saw that war behind her eyes again.
