CHAPTER 15 #2
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 fucking lackies 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 the way 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.
“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, my body 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.”