Chapter Text
I sat down next to the boy. He has blonde hair and green eyes this time. They accompanied a bruise on his cheek hidden with makeup. Did his mom hit him? Was it the people he’s running from? Was it an accident?
I knew it wasn’t the last one, but I could hope. The boy stared back at me. He probably recognizes me. My mom moves me around almost as much as his mom moves him.
“Do I know you?” the boy questioned.
“No. We’ve lived in a buncha the same cities though,” he tilts his head just a little, “I’m pretty good at knowing people. Every time you look different on the outside, but you’re the same inside.”
He blinked slowly. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“I shouldn’t be talking to you either.”
Before we could decide what to do about our rule breaking my mom rushed over. She had her eyeliner and flowy dress and cheap jewelry on, prepared for the show.
“Baby, I thought I lost you! What are you doing over-“ she paused, looking at the boy… whos name I never asked. “Hello. Are you missing your mother?”
The boy shook his head, “She’s in the laundromat. She’ll be out in a bit.”
Mom smiled, but it was thinner than usual,” Well nice to meet you, come along Cassie. The show starts soon.”
I smiled and waved goodbye, as my mom fretted in my ear.
—
My name was Alex Barron. My hair was brown and my eyes were hazel. We were in Helena, Montana. I was newly 9. It was the middle of winter, and yet, I sat on a park bench.
Mom was meeting with contacts.
I was hoping to see Cassie. A year younger than me, we had met when I was 7. Cassie was observent, but knew when not to push. She’d figured out we ended up the same cities tons, and we just… never stopped meeting up.
I’d seen her at a hotel in town today. She’d seen me getting dragged into a gas station bathroom two hours ago. When I came out brunette, there was a note on the floor with a park name.
“Hey stranger,” Cassie chirped. She sat next to me, handing over a warm coffee. She was probably sipping cocoa herself, found coffee too bitter.
“So, whats your name now?”
“Alex.”
“Hm. Doesn’t suit you. Much prefer Abram,” Cassie smiled, her eyes distant.
She got like that sometimes. I didn’t get people like she did, but I figured she was lost in her mind. Maybe memories from before the road if she had any.
“I like Neil,” I admitted, “Reminds me where I came from.”
She tilted her head, “Yet lets you erase the man.” She paused for a moment, “I like Neil, too. Even more than Abram.”
I leaned into her just a bit so our shoulders touched.
—
We sat in the family bathroom of the theater. My mom was on stage, giving an old man peace and earning our dinner. I didn’t ask where Neil’s mom was, not when my voice could crack so easily.
He’d kissed a girl, and now his left cheek was red and his torso was bloody. Even as I wrapped the bandages around his scarred chest and he held ice to his face, my eyes got blurry.
“No point in crying y’know? Won’t stop people from being people.” Neil mumbled. His own form of comfort, rude because thats how he was raised.
I sniffed and tied off the bandage. “I know. I just… you deserve better.”
He continued looking at the wall. He thinks its necessary. Mary taught him connections were distractions. She learned it from her own family? Probably. She seems the complicated family type.
“We look like siblings.”
I focused back onto him. He was brunette with brown eyes this time. We did both have freckles, and big, cat-like eyes. “Cassie, you know we have cat eyes right? Big and blue and all-seeing!” Mom laughed.
“Do we?”
He nodded, just slightly, “I have blue eyes and red hair naturally. But, I look like my… like Nathan Wesninski.”
“No you don’t,” Neil tilted his head, “Now you look like me. We’re… we’re siblings now.”
His frow furrowed, “Siblings? Do you know how to do that?”
“We could watch some sitcoms?”
“What’s a sitcom?”
—
It was 11:41 pm. We were scheduled to leave in the morning. Yet, sleep wouldn’t stay.
By the third time waking up, I lost it and slipped out to the patio of our motel. Staring down into the pool, I almost lost the buzzing in my pocket.
There was only one person who’d call me. One person, besides my mother, that even had the number.
Cassie had got her first phone a few months ago, and immediately gave me her number, since mine changed so often.
She only called when she was worried. When her mom had attracted business she didn’t like or memories turned up in her brain she couldn’t make sense of.
I picked up. She didn’t say anything, not for a long while.
Then, when I was about to speak, “Where are you?” She sounded… off.
“Reno, Nevada. Where are you?”
“Las Vegas,” Cassie made a small noise, “Neil, there was so much blood. She’s … my mom… she’s… they said they wanna find my father. I don’t… I don’t want any other family. I-“
“Cassie,” My voice sounded harsh, even to me, but she wasn’t making sense. I just… I needed to know if He had found her. “Reno is about seven hours away, but I can push it to six. What happened?”
A tiny sob pushed through the phone before she spoke. “Her dressing room was covered in blood. I was covered in her blood. No body,” Cassie took a deep, shaky breath,” no body in the room. Someone called the police. And now… they said they were going to find someone to look after me. See if I had family.”
“You do have family,” I didn’t even think before I said it. It had been two years ago, we’d had that conversation in the theater bathroom. “We’re siblings remember?”
She sniffed, half laugh and sob, “Thank you.”
“I’m going to hang up now and I’ll be on the road soon.”
“What about your mom?”
I hung up instead of answering. Mom would be furious. But well, sitcoms had a point about family. Plus, she’d be happier without a ‘burden’ on the run.
—
There was no blood on my hands. Not on my borrowed clothes or my sock covered feet. I sat in the waiting area of the station.
Yet, I was still in the dressing room. Blood and overturned furniture and broken mirrors and no mom and-
The door opened. A woman walked in. She’s a foster care worker. Helps kids because she can’t have her own. Thinks the system is perfect, never experienced it herself. Not married, but maybe dating longterm.
“Hello, Cassandra. My name is Juniper,” Definitely Mormon. Then maybe she’ll be married soon, she expects it for sure. “I’m here to help you. I was wondering if we could get some blood? For-“
Bloody walls. Bloody floors. To much blood for anyone to survive. I turned down to my hands. They were still covered in blood. My mom’s blood. I looked up to see broken mirrors and overturned furniture and-
“Cassandra?”
I didn’t listen to her.
—
It was now 6:30 am and my sister had been mourning her mother surrounded by pigs and false simpathy. She was still at the station when I texted her.
She ran out only a few minutes later, jumping into the car’s passenger seat. She had a duffle, similar to my own, only green.
“They’re on shift change right now.”
Understanding the implication, I footed the gas.
“You’re a pretty good driver for a 13 year old.” She still had tear tracks down her face, but she wasn’t bloody. She wasn’t hurt. Physically, anyway.
“Where should we go? It’s just us now.” I new she understood what I didn’t say. She always did. I took half of my moms cash. Left a note. Told her I was slowing her down. I didn’t tell her about you.
“Don’t know. Colorado? I’ve always loved snow.” Glancing over her eyes were distant.
“Colarado it is.” She didn’t react to that, but I turned on the radio and drove away from the city and my mom and the bloody dressing room.
—
Waitressing sucked. Bad hours, bad pay, worse tips, and worse coworkers. Then again, no one else really hired 17 year olds and our cash was running low.
I really, really dislike people who don’t tip. And this dude, was not going to tip. With his jalapeños on the side, and faux masculinity.
Forcing a smile I nodded as he asked for water and ogled by boobs. As I went to get it, I contemplated whether he was a heavey tipper or more likely to stiff the teenage waitress.
Friend has an expensive watch. He feels emasculated. Hm, he’ll fight for the check and tip like crap.
Great.
“Table for one?” A low, amused voice said. The voice came from a boy who looked more at place in a country club than this diner. Perfect skin, and hair mussed in a way only rich people thought was cool. Words phrases like a question even though they weren’t.
“Of course,” he was about my age, which meant I could get big tips if I was nice enough.
Grabbing a menu, I lead him to a table near the window. “This okay?” I asked.
“This is fine,” he said, sitting down and looking around the room with confidence.
He looked like a chatter. Rich guys usually were. He was cute enough I’d normally indorse it, but my shift was ending in an hour. It had been a painfully low on tips shift.
“I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.”
He didn’t respond.
I gave Insecure Burrito and Pancakes their checks, splitting them up so I could maybe get a decent tip. “I’ll be your cashier whenever you’re ready,” I said, fake smile plastered on.
Turning back towards the kitchen, I caught the boy staring at me. Not an I’m ready to order stare. I wasn’t sure what type of stare it even was but it was something.