𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

19. all my homie's hate barry.

N I N E T E E N
all my homie's hate barry.

If there was a long list of all the things I am, and a long list of all the things I am not, on that list would be Mabel Francesca Marcus isn't gentle.

I never have been, whether it was showing how wobbly my tooth was and accidentally wobbling it out and sending it across the room, or never having a fried egg with a whole yolk. Ever. I always eviscerate the yolk and shamefully try and grab out the shards of shell.

Sometimes I think you have to be a bit aggressive to get the job done, so any wounds I have – or the fated people that ask me to clean their own – are scrubbed aggressively.

"Mabel, you're making it bleed more," JJ observes from where he sits on the closed toilet lid.

I look up at him from my still-bleeding knees and ponder his point. "They'll stop," I mutter and continue wiping the blood from them as it comes out.

He stands up off the toilet, and pushes through a shaky drawer in the Château, eventually producing a run of four plasters with dinosaurs printed on them. "Put those on and stop touching, I'm pretty sure someone, at some point in Grey's Anatomy has said to leave bleeding wounds alone." He stuffs them in my hand. He sits back on the seat, looking at me, leaning against the bath, changed into another one of his shirts and a pair of my own comfortable, cotton shorts. No makeup, wet hair tied up into a ratty bun on the top of my head, knees perpetually bleeding and smelling like him. Sexy.

I feel a tickle on the back of my ankle and when I see a drop of blood hit the burnt orange tiles, I realise someone, at some point has probably said that.

"Dinosaurs," I look around them with a smile. "Wonder how long those have been in there." I stick one of my legs out straight, grabbing a paper towel and aggressively wiping off the blood rolling down, I then quickly shove the t-rex decorated plaster onto the busted skin. "You do know these expire, right?" I look up at him as I put another one on just below the first one.

He rolls his eyes, "I'll take my chances."

"On a murder charge?" I raise my eyebrows, scrunching up the yellowed plastic in my hands. "JJ, I'm a white teenage girl who grew up in a good neighbourhood, there will be loads of press. You'll be the Dinosaur Plaster Killer. The Dino Killer. Working title." I smile, leaning against the tiles.

"JJ-saurus," he smirks.

I shake my head. "No."

"It's fine, I'll just call Robbie. He always gets me off. Good lawyer," he nods.

"I know he's a great lawyer, but he's also my brother. I don't think he's going to defend my murderer," I point out.

He shakes his head, leaning back on his seat, his palms flat against his thighs. "You don't know him like I do, Mabel," he continues to talk utter shit. A wide smirk splays across his face, amused with our current topic that is only a little worrying. Not the me getting murdered thing, more so the fact it's so weird the only way my family knows JJ other than through me is through my brother defending him. That, right out of the gate, sets a weird dynamic. But I don't need to stress about that right now, not while we sit in a bathroom late at night, ignoring the world.

"Apparently not. But Robbie is whipped for Hayley, badly, and she likes me, so she'll say he can't. And then he won't," I decide.

He runs a hand through his hair, raking the blond locks off his face. "Not what I've heard," he mutters, pretending I'm not meant to hear.

I throw the pieces of plastic at him, "You're such a dickhead. You and your stupid, probably expired, dinosaur plasters."

"They're John B's, blame Big John!" He raises his hands in defence.