NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | updates every monday

08: foxglove

            Salt invades my tongue as I swab tears out of my eyes. 'Cece, please can you sit down? I'll let you out in two minutes, I promise. I promise. We're almost home.'

Just as all my pleads before it, this one falls on deaf ears. Cece yanks at the handle of the passenger door. I had to turn on the child safety locks so he can't jump out of the car while it's moving, so I won't lose them into the night, but each time the door fails to open, their panic climbs another step.

'You're gonna lock me in.'

'I'm not.' I glance at them but all I see is hunched back and the soles of their Vans. 'Cece, you lived with me for nearly a year. If I wanted to lock you in, I would've done that then, wouldn't I?' 

Don't: Rationalise. Idiot.

'Maybe you just wanted to gain my trust.' Well, I can't deny that. 'You've been planning that the whole time, haven't you?'

'No–'

'I shouldn't've ever come here.' He yanks at the handle again.

When it don't open, they stumble over the centre console to try the back doors for the third time. My right foot trembles but I can't speed, not even a little. Panic is so tight around my chest, even my shallow breaths hurt. Tears bite at my eyes though I ferociously blink them back. I need to see. 

It's Friday night. The chance of police lurking in some dark ginnel as we enter Moss Side is higher than the absence.

Cece's not sitting down. Cece's not wearing a seatbelt. And I can't see. Can they arrest me for crying? People've been arrested for less. Cece don't know how to beg. Cece don't know how to play dead. Not when they're like this. Not ever but definitely not when they're like this.

They claw at the silicone that frames the window. Handprints stamped to the glass, calls for help. Please, please let nobody be watching.

I scrub my eyes dry again. I need three sets of eyes, one for the road, one for Cece, one for the police. A fourth set for crying. I need a set of eyes that never stop crying.

'Just a minute. We're almost home. I promise. Can you please sit down?'

Cece don't recognise the street as home. Not even when I park in my usual place on the curb. They're going to run the second the doors unlock.

Despite my promises, I leave the engine running and the child locks on. I'm not only bad at this but also a liar.

I ease my seatbelt open so it won't click and turn around. When they don't respond to their name, I reach out to nudge them only to yank my hand back. They snarl, the steel canines of their grillz long and sharp. His piercings gleam. Eyes glint in their black holes.

'Okay. I won't touch.' I raise my hands, keep them where Cece can see. 'We're home. You're alright. You're safe. Please don't run away, please. We're home.'

'Home?'

'Yeah. Home.'

How arrogant is it of me to assume they consider this home? They didn't even live here for a whole year. There's nowt that makes this any different from the thirty-two other places they've lived in. So correction: House.

But Cece's eyes trail along the red brick to their bedroom window and he echoes, 'Home.'

'Let's go inside, okay?' I unlock the doors and in the seconds I look away to twist out the key, everything changes. The dark swallows everything.

Cece has pulled out his lighter and though the cap is still on, the edict is scratched behind his eyes, the count to three. Command hallucination or compulsion, whichever it is, it's winning. Memories crawl out from my skin: blood and bone and scar tissue. A&E after A&E.