Dead Stars

2

Austin's hands pushed hard on Juliet until she fell backwards into the seat. He towered over her just waiting on her to move her legs inside the car so that he could shut the door. She half expected him to hit her back, but she knew he didn't make huge scenes in public. That was another way he always got away with things. He knew how to smile, how to shake hands. He knew how to say yes, ma'am and no, sir. He knew how to disarm people. And if Juliet made a fuss now, they'd think something was wrong with her and not him.

She knew what everyone thought. Those girls are crazy, a little disturbed. They ought to be, no wonder after everything they've been through. Marie's a saint for taking them in like that. Juliet knew, so she didn't scream. She didn't kick or protest. She just slid her legs out of the way. Cressida was already getting in anyway.

She exchanged a coded glance with Cressida as they buckled themselves in, and Austin made his way to the driver's seat. He slid happily into the car and punched on the radio. He swiped the knob all the way to the right, and loud music filled the cabin interior like mustard gas. He threw the car back into gear, gave a short wave to the stranger who was still watching them, and headed for the highway.

With the road swimming by beneath them, it was too late to run. Ducking and rolling was no longer an option. They must've been going at least eighty already.

Juliet flinched when she felt Cressida's hand. She intertwined her fingers in hers, and it made Juliet's heart sink. She could've tried to run. Something.

Juliet said sorry with her eyes, and she knew Cressida knew, too. They could read each other's eyes. The music was too loud to say anything else, regardless, so they both faced the sides and watched the trees blur by in dark patches of blackish green as they went. The sky was a peculiar shade of midnight blue, and stars studded the inky black like tiny gemstones—glittering and dancing in the sky like nothing in the world was wrong.

The car smelled like smoke. It was something she hadn't smelled in a long time. The air was scruffy and burned her eyes and lungs. She hated smoke. Marie didn't allow it. And she didn't allow Austin to come around, either. She bought his absence. Whenever he asked for money, she sent a little cash—just enough to keep him at bay. That's how she kept him away.

She knew what he wanted and how to get rid of him. There was never a real custody battle. She paid for their services. Juliet and Cressida were never officially hers. Officially...they were his. That's how the state of Georgia saw it, anyways. Still his. And there weren't enough DFACs workers in the south to care about girls their age. Cressida was old enough to run, and Juliet was too old to matter—but still too young to know what to do. But Cressida would know. They just had to get alone again. Then, they'd plan something out.

A nerve-wracking car ride took the girls and their father to a nauseatingly familiar place their mother once called home. Juliet looked at the overgrown potted plants that sat at the bottom of a pair of steps made from stripped, wormy wood. The ground was wet, and dingy, heavy drops of water clung to tin roof just waiting to fall on them whenever they went in.

Dogs still barked a few doors down, and the sounds and smells and sights all brought back places in Juliet's memory that she didn't want to be. Her heart sped up when the car stopped, and she tucked her hands under her legs to keep them from shaking—from the cold or fear, she wasn't sure which.

She watched as Austin got out of the car, and the radio died. The silence burned beneath the humming of orange, fluorescent streetlamps that still hung over the rusty trailer park.

A house note ranked below the addictions, always had. But there was once upon a time when Juliet actually found the streetlights pretty there. It reminded her of hot summer nights and the sound of the tipsy crickets she used to bottle.