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ACT ONE chapter six
Curled up beneath her bedsheet, Jo stares blankly up at the ceiling, counting the amount of stains left over from when rain has leaked through over the past years.
It feels like Jo's whole world has been flipped. Like she's been stripped bare and is currently uncovering pieces of herself that she didn't even know were there.
Big John was her dad. John B her brother – her twin. They're two halves of the same whole and yet they're complete and utter strangers. Why? Because of a stupid treasure hunt, and lack of care and love.
Jo thinks back to the times Big John would poke his nose around hers and her mom's house when she was at her worst. When Jo, through the years of three to eight, had to cater to herself while her mom fell down the drug rabbit hole.
He never once asked how she was doing. It was always about her mom. Always stealing her tablets or syringes to discard of. Always running her baths and scrubbing her clean but never the dirty little girl unable to know how to do that herself. He never even blinked in her direction, not once. Not when she had asked who he was or what he was doing or if he would make her mommy better.
Big John didn't care about his daughter and that's clear to Jo. Sure, he was definitely not the best dad to John B, but at least he was present for most of his life, not high in the clouds or quite literally dead to the world.
Jo shifts in her bed, the springs squeaking, and sandwiches her hands between her pillow and cheek. She just wants it all to stop. To go back to the life she had before this summer.
. . .
Its past mid-afternoon when she finally peels herself off her mattress other than to get a drink and take a piss, cleansing herself with a cold shower and putting on a floral dress that usually makes her feel pretty. It doesn't have the same effect as usual, in fact, she doesn't care how she looks at all.
She's in the kitchen, swiping peanut butter and jelly onto a few slices of bread to bring to the station when she gets a call. She brings it to her ear upon seeing a private number.
She's greeted immediately with the wavering voice of Shoupe, tone thick with emotion, "Jo."
Jo stills. "What's happened?"
"Get to the hospital as soon as you can." Before she can ask why, he's adding, "It's Pete, she got shot."
Pete. Shoupe's nickname for Susan.
Jo's phone clatters to the ground as a high-pitched ringing rolls into her ears like a tidal wave. Everything feels fuzzy, movement robotic, like she's not even in control of her body.
She's dashing out of the house and taking off down the road with short uneven pants for breaths. Her hearts thudding, blood rushing, head pounding and mouth dry. Her hair bellows behind her as the evening breeze chips away at her cheeks and the end of her dress skirts around her knees.
People of the Cut watch the usually quiet and hidden teen with unfiltered concern but she pays them no mind, she doesn't even notice there are others around.
Her legs are screaming at her to slow down but she can't, pumping her arms and willing her feet to run faster. She feels her body slump with relief as the building comes into view and shoving herself through the double doors, her eyes narrow onto a dishevelled Shoupe, salt and pepper hair damp with sweat and mustache twitching nervously.
"Shoupe." She breaths, and he turns to look at her, the utter heartbreak on his face bringing the walls of the hospital's hallway to close in on her. She stumbles back, head shaking, "No."
He nods, tears collecting in his own eyes.
Dead. Susan is dead.
"Who?" She doesn't recognise her voice. Cold. So incredibly cold.
Who shot the one woman who ever actually cared for her?
"John B." Shoupe's face twists, and an ugly sneer appears on his face and Jo feels her whole world crumbling around her.
Her heart squeezes, throat choking her of air and she feels too much, too quick. Everything is too loud, too textured, too cold, too hot. The chemicals of the hospital burn her nostrils but at the same time, it's not enough. She's tilting on her axis, hip slamming into a unit beside her. And she's falling. Down. Down. D o w n.
Her knees redden at the harsh landing but Jo hardly feels it. She can just feel her heart ripping itself out of her chest and beating in her palm as Jo squeezes her hands to fists. A scream, raw and feral escapes her mouth. Salt mixes on her tongue and she realises herself to be crying. Her tears a downpour of rain, the roaring of a waterfall.
She doesn't hear the commotion around her, but a burning stare clears through the haze of her mind and she locks gazes with Ward Cameron, his face so incredibly pale, lips downturned and eyes a pinnacle of panic.
Then suddenly somethings pricking her neck and her shoulders drop, her eyes droop and someone is catching her before she can fall flat on her face on the cold hard ground.
AN: decided to post this now cuz it's rather short...😁
