“She’s a pain in the ass,” Misfit replied. I chuckled under my breath, but the mood shifted again. She was staring at the ceiling now, her arms crossed, her jaw locked like she regretted saying any of it.
“You didn’t have to tell me that,” I said after a moment. “I’m not gonna use it against you.” And I meant it, finding myself lowering my own guard towards her. She looked at me. Eyes narrowed, the weight of too many memories behind them. She didn’t say anything, just gave a small, humourless laugh and looked away.
“Whatever,” she muttered. “Just … forget I said anything.”
The rain softened as the night deepened. We hadn’t spoken, but neither of us had moved either. Misfit had curled herself beside me, half beneath the throw blanket Squeeks had left on the foot of the bed. Her breathing had slowed, evening out into something almost peaceful. I stayed still, my back against the worn mattress, arms folded behind my head. Pain still throbbed dull and deep beneath my ribs, but I barely noticed it anymore. The drugs finally starting to take effect.
She caught my attention as she glanced back towards me from time to time, and I could see her body start to relax. She soon turned herself, leaned over the bed, and recovered her damp jacket from the floor once more. She rummaged through it, pulling out a cigarette packet and a small plastic case that held her headphones. Settling them down on her chest, she opened the crinkled packet, letting out a thankful sigh that the cigarettes were still intact. She placed one between her lips, lighting it as her eyes drifted to me. My expression didn’t change. I didn’t expect anything from her, but she offered it to me anyway. I hesitated, my eyes meeting hers—an unspoken offering sitting between us. I reached forward, brushing my hand against hers for a moment as I took the cigarette in my fingers. Her eyes quickly shifted from mine as she lit a second one, taking in a deep drag. Creatively make shifting an ashtray out of the now-empty packet, placing it between us, a clear mark of her boundary. I had no intentions of pushing it; hell, it had been a while since I’d felt this awkwardly comfortable around a woman.And it was kinda nice not to have someone wanting something from me for a change.
She settled herself, holding the smoke between her lips as she flicked open the cap on her headphones. Placing one into her ear, she held the other out in her hand towards me. She wasn’t looking at me this time, a faint sign of reluctance, but she offered anyway. I took it, placing it in my ear. It wasn’t my usual taste in music, but it felt like a connecting step between us—another part of the puzzle that was Misfit.
I couldn’t help but watch her sleeping as if she had no worries in the world, one hand clenched near her mouth, the other tucked between her knees.
It was strange seeing her like this. Still and unarmoured. The storm between us had quieted, at least for tonight. She had begun to open up to me, and a piece of her past crept out like a secret too heavy to hold; she’d let me see it, even if she regretted it afterwards. I knew the version of her that most people saw: a burning fire, and fists first. She seemed to tear through the world before it could tear through her. But this version, curled beside me like a real person with pain and half-healed scars, was something else entirely.
Was this really happening? Her trusting me, even just a little? Me, of all people. I’d bolted on her, left her in a hot-wired cop car with sirens screaming behind her. And she still came back. Still stood over me, patching me up, as I cracked wise-ass comments and she gave half-threats, not punching me in the throat like I probably deserved
A lock of her hair had fallen across her cheek. Her mouth twitched like she was dreaming something she couldn’t outrun. I reached out to move it, but stopped myself; she’d kill me for that. Instead, I closed my eyes. Letting the music fill the silence between us.
Morning didn’t come with sunlight, just another dull grey which bled through the blinds, the patter of leftover rain sliding down the windowpane.
Everything in my body ached, throbbing under the skin, stiff in the joints like I’d been scraped out and poorly stitched back together. I shifted, wincing as I pushed myself up slowly, inch by inch, until I was sitting on the edge of the bed. A low hiss slipped through my teeth as I reached towards the bedside table, picking up the pain meds.
My eyes examined the packet; this was strong shit. My hands were shaking as I pushed two pills into my palm, dry swallowing them without hesitation. Leaning back on my hands, I felt the bed creak softly behind me. I turned my head, looking over my shoulder. She was still there, sprawled across the blankets in a way that showed she didn’t care how she looked. One leg sticking out from under the covers, her arm draped over her face as if the faint light was overwhelming. Her dark blonde hair sprawled over the pillow, her mouth slightly open, with gentle breathing.
I watched her for a moment longer than I probably should have. A small smile crept onto my face as a part of me wanted to lean back, wake her up, say something silly, or tease her, but I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to punch me, injured or not. So, I just left her to sleep. She looked peaceful. So, I sat there in silence, the medication slowly easing the edge.
The vibration jolted me out of the quiet. My phone, buried beneath yesterday’s clothes at the foot of the bed, buzzed again. I reached for it with a grimace, every muscle in my side complaining as I stretched. The screen lit up with a name I hadn’t expected to see. Mum. The message was brief.
“Are you okay? Can we meet? Not at the house. Away from Danny.”
I just stared at it, thumb hovering above the reply button. She’d never texted me, not unless she needed something.
It was sad to recall what Mum was like before she hit the booze, before Danny and the men who ruined everything. She laughed easily back then. The kind of laugh that came out of her chest, unguarded, like she hadn’t yet learned how cruel the world could be. Her hair was brushed, loose down her back, and she always wore a faded cardigan she refused to throw away because it was ‘lucky’.
She sang while she cleaned, dancing around the kitchen with me in her arms, pulling faces at me until I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. I was her constant shadow. I was so pissy when she got pregnant with Squeeks; I didn’t want to share her, but I saw how it softened her. She’d talk to her all the time.
“Come here,” she’d said, patting her belly gently. “Say hi to your sister.”
I remember pressing my ear against her stomach reluctantly, feeling the strange, fluttering movement beneath my cheek. Her face would light up every time I wrinkled my nose.
“She kicks like you,” Mum said. “Stubborn already.”
Then Dad left, or maybe he’d already gone long before his body followed. The glow in her smile never returned. One drink turned into another, then into something stronger, something quieter—anything to make the shaking stop.
The warmth faded slow, so slowly you almost didn’t notice it leaving, transforming herself into the sharp-tongued woman who chose numbness over motherhood.
I glanced over my shoulder, seeing that Misfit hadn’t moved, still lost in sleep.
My finger hovered as I let out a deep breath through my nose, then moved.
“Where?” I replied, her response was quick, almost as if she were waiting for me to answer.
“That old cafe near the overpass. 11 a.m.”
I checked the time: 9:48 a.m. Just enough to throw myself together and drag my sorry ass across town. I moved slowly, every step testing the limits of what my body would let me do without dropping me. I found a half-clean hoodie near the radiator, tugged it over my head with a wince, and slipped on my damp boots. Grabbing the stub of a pencil from the kitchen drawer and a scrap of paper, I scribbled the note quickly.
“Had to step out. Be back soon. Don’t burn the place down. S.”
