I stopped dead in my tracks, my pulse like a war drum in my ears. Her words clawed at something raw in me. SomethingI didn’t want anyone to see, and she’d just dragged it into the light.
I turned, shoulders rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths. My hands were trembling at my sides, but not from fear or weakness.
Oh no, it was from the sheer fucking rage building like a bomb in my chest.
“You done?” I asked. Her face also twisted in anger as I pushed myself towards her, almost making her take a step back. Misfit didn’t answer. Just crossed her arms like she was waiting for a tantrum, like she always had the upper hand. That smug little tilt of her chin. It fucking snapped something in me.
“Let me tell you something, Misfit,” I hissed. “You think I’m weak? That I don’t finish what I start? Why not hop back to that bar I just came from. The ambulance should be there by now. He put his fucking hands on me, and I made him regret his decision. You have no fucking idea what I’ve finished. What I’ve survived.” Her smirk wavered, just slightly.
“I’ve had to steal, just so my sister doesn’t fucking starve because no fucker else was there. Slept in places that smelled like piss and vomit because that was home. Been bought, beat, used, and I let it happen half the time because the second you fight back, they turn to the next best option, my baby sister.” She looked at me, eyes dark and unreadable. I kept going, unable to stop myself.
“I’ve watched my own mother OD next to me at the fucking breakfast table, while my stepdad held me back. A part of me hoping this time, she actually took enough to off herself. Waking up to a needle sticking out of my mother’s arm and having to drag her lifeless body to the bath, to run cold water on her face to try and wake her up. Still hoping she lives long enough to beat you after forharshing her buzz.And I'm meant to be grateful,stay silent, and accept the next set of hands that want to strip me of something else.”
My voice cracked on the last words, and I hated it. Hated how it exposed me. But I couldn’t stop.
“So, you think bar fights are the bottom? That’s cute.” She remained quiet, her jaw tensing at my now mocking tone. “You don’t know shit about me, Misfit. You just saw some cocky loser with a sharp tongue and a death wish.” I gave a bitter laugh, hollow and dry, “But I’m not some stray fucking dog.”
Her lips parted slightly, like she might say something, but I didn’t give her the chance.
“And don’t you dare talk about ‘potential’ like you ever gave a fuck. You think you’re the only one who’s been abandoned? You think you’re the only one who’s angry? I had to teach myself how to breathe without permission. I still wake up sometimes thinking someone’s gonna come drag me back to that house, back to Danny, and I must remind myself I’m not there anymore. But apparently, I’m still his dog too, right? Yours? Selene’s?”
I was shaking now, full-body tremors barely held together by the thin string of adrenaline pulsing through me. “So, I’m the disappointment. The failure, whatever else you wanna tar me with. Because you’re fucking perfect, right? Never let anything effect you. But you know what, I’m past the point of giving two shits what people think. That guy … he died in Juvie! I’m done being on a fucking leash. Don’t like it …. then Fuck off.” I stepped away, dusting my hands off as I turned from her.
CHAPTER 21
It just… came out. And once it started, I couldn’t stop. I replayed the words hitting her, every brutal syllable. And for a moment, I thought, good. Let her feel it. Let her carry some of the weight I’ve been dragging behind me since I was too young to understand what pain was supposed to look like.
But as soon as I turned my back on her, the crash came. That post-confession nausea hit me full force cold and swift, like falling through thin ice.
I knew that silence behind me. I knew what was probably twisting through her head, the same thing that used to flicker through mine whenever someone pulled back the curtain and saw the mess inside.
“Screech!” Her voice cracked like something torn in two. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. If I looked back, I wouldn’t know what would end up falling from my lips next. So, I walked. Head down, rain in my ears and regret on my heels. Then she touched me, her hand wrapping firmly around my wrist.
“Screech, stop.” I yanked my arm away so fast I stumbled.
“No, Misfit, just fuck off!” I kept walking, and she didn’t chase me this time. I wanted her to leave. I wanted her to let me rot. Her footsteps came quick behind me, planting herself right in my path like a damn brick wall, hands to my chest, stopping me with force I didn’t expect. Her palms were small and cold. My heart jumping beneath them. “Misfit, just stop.” My voice lowered to her with exasperation.
“No.” Her voice was calm, “No, you don’t just get to dump all that on me and walk away. What the fuck!” I stared at her. Her dark obsidian eyes held more than just her usual annoyance. A silence sat between us as her hand rested against my chest, my own restraint wavering as her eyes darted across the road towards a convenience store, then back to me. I just wanted to fuck off into the night, allow myself to be swallowed by anything rather than this feeling sitting heavy in my chest.
“Just wait here, okay? Just… wait.” Turning from me, she darted across the road like a spark in the rain. Her form disappeared into the store as I just stood there.
A perfect opportunity to leave, I had more reason sitting behind me this time to vanish. But I didn’t. I stood there, rain soaking into my clothes, trickling against my skin like a constant tease pulling me back from my thoughts. When she came back, bottle in hand, that same old chaos in her eyes, I didn’t expect her to grab me like that, or to yell ‘run!’ like we were in some stupid movie. But I ran—boots in puddles. Rain battering against me. Her fingers locked tight around my wrist like she was dragging me back to life.
We ran until the shopkeeper’s shouts became echoes behind us. That fucker was fast!
Down alleys, over bins, past the stench and darkness. Misfit stopped at a set of metal steps leading up into the rain. “Up!” she yelled, pushing me toward them.
That metal stairwell was hell. My legs burned, my ribs screamed, and every breath felt like knives. By the time we hit the rooftop, I was drenched to the bone, drunk on whiskey and pain. We collapsed beside each other against a low concrete barrier, wind roaring in our ears, the whole city shifting below us. She looked over to me, breathing heavy, mixed with strained coughing from the climb. I could barely breathe, a manic grin touching my lips despite it.
The bottle dropped between us, the subtle clink of the glass against the gravel of the rooftop. My chest still heaved, lungs fighting to recover from that hell-climb, the adrenaline crash already starting to creep in. I glanced at the vodka where she’d nudged it toward me, an expensive bottle too. Misfit didn’t do anything by half. I looked up at her briefly, just enough to catch the expression in her eyes. My hand closed around the bottle neck, pulling it towards me, forcefully unscrewing the cap, and bringing it to my lips. She lit a cigarette beside me, cupping the fragile flame in her hands. Passing another towards me, awkward and quiet. I took it, fingers brushing hers for a second longer than necessary. The smoke was harsh against my throat, still raw from running, but it grounded me. Gave me something to do with my hands while my mind spun itself in circles. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d said, what I’d confessed.
It should’ve made me feel lighter, like bleeding out a wound you’ve hidden for too long. But it didn’t. It just made me feel exposed. Like I’d opened myself up for dissection. My head was still reeling from the look on her face when my pained truths were falling from my face. She hadn’t run, hadn’t pitied me, hadn’t comforted me either. She just stayed.
She turned toward me, face unreadable in the low light, and I braced myself instinctively. She always said something when she looked at me like that, usually something sharp and unforgiving. But this time, her voice didn’t match her expression.
“Do you wanna know why I don’t like to be touched?” I didn’t say anything. My whole body tensed. Like if I moved too quickly, she’d snap shut again. My eyes drifted to the dim cherry of the cigarette between my fingers as she continued, “Eight hundred and thirty-three days. Give or take. Four hundred plus times. Probably more, I lost count. Or chose to stop counting. Either way…” Her voice was monotone. Hollow. Like she was reading it off a piece of paper she’d written a long time ago and only justfound again. No inflection or bitterness. Just numbers and cold hard facts.
My voice lowered to her, “What does that mean?”
