Suicide Lane Cafe

Meeting Jack

A/N: This was first posted in December '12 as a Christmas short story.

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"Pricks," I mutter, storming down the snow-covered sidewalk. "Sodding lot of pricks, all of them."

I hear the crash of footsteps behind me, and I square my stance before whirling around. Finn stands a few meters away from me, his breath coming in quick sucessions of fluffy white fog. Just looking at him is enough to make my blood boil.

"What?" I snarl.

"Annie, you have to come back," he pleads. "Look, she didn't mean it. You know how my mum's like--"

"What she's like?" I interrupt. "Damn straight I know what she's like! She's rude, and judgemental, and a utter bitch!"

Finn narrows his eyes at me. I don't care – I've kept this bottled up for far too long. "Two years, Finn! Two years we've lived together, and she still hates me!"

I step forward and shove him roughly. "Two. Fucking. Years. Two years I've tried to be nice to her! I keep her happy, I cook, I clean, I have a decent job and pull a decent income! But no, nothing I do is ever good enough for your mother, is it? And don't you dare fucking lie to me! You're listening to her! You don't – you don't even defend me when she starts spewing shit about me!"

"Of course I do! But she's my mum, what am I supposed to do?"

"I'm your fiancee, you bastard! How the hell am I supposed to marry you when your good-for-nothing mother does nothing but pick on me again and again?!"

"Come on, it's not that bad! She doesn't hate you, she really--"

"Screw you, Finn!"

I punctuate my sentence with a violent push that sends him staggering backwards, and I take off in a breakneck pace in the opposite direction.

There is, I suppose, the small chance that Finn will chase after me, but I know him. There's no way he'd spend an hour chasing after me and consoling me when his bloody mum and his siblings are all waiting in the house. As it is he's probably embarassed as hell after my outburst back there.

He can go to hell, I think bitterly, and continue plodding my way down the road.

Christmas Eve, and I'm fighting with my fiancee over his goddamn mother. 'Tis the season to be jolly, alright.

I fume and kick at pebbles to relieve the anger. I turned a corner and immediately, the wind picked up – right into my face.

"Perfect," I mutter darkly, my eyes watering. I drag the back of my hand over my eyes, feeling the moisture on my skin. "Just fucking perfect!"