𝗠𝘆 𝗘𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗲 ⇉ 𝗝𝗝 𝗠𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗸

Fuck Off

THE GROUP of six found themselves parked just beyond the sagging fence that boxed in Barry's trailer, the Twinkie idling unevenly beneath the afternoon heat while everyone stares through the windows at the place like it might grow teeth if they looked at it for too long.

Calling it a home felt generous.

The trailer sat crooked in a patch of sun-scorched dirt, its metal siding dulled by years of salt, neglect, and whatever else Barry dragged through his front door. Rust bled down from the window frames in long reddish streaks. The porch had partially collapsed on one side, forcing anyone entering to step around a warped plank and a collection of beer cans crushed beneath dirty work boots.

An old lawn chair lay on its side near the steps, one plastic arm melted inward as though someone had tried to burn it and gotten bored halfway through. The yard was littered with stripped bike parts, rotting wood, and garbage bags that had been torn open by animals, leaving their contents scattered across the weeds.

Even through the closed windows, Ariella could almost smell the stale cigarettes.

Sarah leans forward from the backseat, her nose wrinkling as she took in the sight. "Welcome to Crackhead Wasteland."

Pope shifts beside Ari, his knee bouncing hard enough to shake the seat. "I don't know about this, man."

There's something in his voice that made her turn.

Not simple nervousness. Pope was always nervous when the rest of you started drifting too close to trouble, but this had weight behind it. His eyes remained fixed on the trailer, wide and wary, his mind already calculating every possible way this could end badly.

Across from him, John B twists around in his seat to look at JJ. "Why are we at Barry's?"

Ariella already knew JJ was going to lie.

Not because she had any actual idea what he intended to do, but because she knew the particular stillness that came over him whenever he had already made up his mind.

His jaw had been locked since the moment he climbed into the van. His leg had bounced restlessly the entire drive, and whenever she tried to catch his eye, his gaze darted toward the window.

JJ was never quiet because he was calm.

He was quiet when anger had rooted itself so deeply inside him that even he did not know how to pull it free without destroying something.

He glances toward John B, blue eyes sharp beneath the sun-bleached mess of his hair. "This'll only take a second."

Before anyone could stop him, he shoves the door open and climbs out.

The heat pours into the van behind him.

"J." Ariella calls, leaning across Pope to look out the open door. "Where are you going?"

JJ continues toward the trailer without turning around. His shoulders were loose in a way that was entirely false, his steps carrying that exaggerated confidence he wore whenever he wanted everyone to believe he was untouchable.

"Yo soy justicia." He calls over his shoulder.

Then he disappears inside.

Silence settles over the van.

Pope stares after him. "Did you get anything from that?"

Ariella looks at John B.

John B looks at Ariella.

There were years contained in the look they shared—years of knowing JJ, years of chasing after him, pulling him out of fights, watching him laugh off wounds that should have made someone ask questions.