The Seven

Chapter 6

Larkin's throat scratched as she let out a low, quiet groan. The black machine rolled to a stop in front of her excuse for a home, and she could feel the disgust radiating off of her escort's aura. She blinked and gave a sideways glance to a tree out the car window, crumpling her brown paper bag of food from the market in her palm.

"You know, you don't have to act like this is normal for you. Sneer all you want, A good half of this province lives like this," she said, rotating towards the car door and leaning for the door handle.

The escort let out a gruff laugh, taking Larkin by surprise. She wasn't expecting him to be so open about his disdain for her lifestyle.

"Trust me. Driving facetious teens to miserable shacks is the most normal thing I get to deal with."

Larkin rolled her eyes, her face warping into one of sick disgust at the escort's flippant dismissal of her family's economic state. She shivered as she stepped out of the car, the thought of an entire city of these people in Central Môraine working as the center of the government she lived under haunting her. Her arm reached out to slam the car door closed defiantly, but he had already begun pulling away from her driveway and she barely got away with a gentle shut. 

Larkin huffed through her nose, looking around before stepping up onto the rickety porch out front. The pillars holding up the roof were peeling white paint like a snake sheds its skin, and the wood was splintering so much she dare not touch it. It definitely didn't look safe for her father to be using those as support when he was fixing the roofing on the house.

Shoving open the door with one hand, Larkin yelled into the house, waiting for a reply. She was met with the hollow echo of her own voice.  Her heart sunk, realizing that her parents were at work and that she would have to break the news to them later in the day. Over dinner, perhaps.

Better than eating with Beverly or whatever her name was.

Larkin shuddered as she thoughtlessly placed the brown bag of goods on a counter in their kitchen area. Continuing to her bedroom, Larkin shed her coat onto the floor as she walked, slipping off a shoe with each step, effectively leaving a trail of clothes behind her. Larkin knew her mother would reprimand her for such careless behavior, but the wrinkling of a coat was the smallest thing Larkin had to worry about at the time.

She flopped down on the bed, her breathing matching with her heartbeat. Staring up at the ceiling, the white paint chipping off like it was on the porch, she turned onto her side and sighed, burying her face in her hair and pillow. Her dress had rose to her knees and her favorite worn-out blue blanket tickled her toes at the base of her mattress. Larkin could feel herself melting into the bed as her worries faded, her eyes closing further with each breath. 

Larkin was slipping out of consciousness and into slumber when the loud squawk of a forest bird awoke her. Rolling over to face the window, a small slip of paper on the sill caught her eye.

Sitting up, she snatched up the note, unfolding it as she leaned against the wall behind her. The torn edges and blue lines were dirtied by the familiar dust that covered everything Larkin had seen in Outer Môraine. She exhaled as her eyes skimmed over the familiar handwriting, written with a black fountain pen. She ran her fingers over the small drips of dried ink, smiling at the message before glancing at the clock and standing up.

You know where. Four o'clock.

~O

•  •  •

She had changed into a pair of black pants and slipped a dark jacket over her tattered white shirt, leaving her hair loose and wearing a pair of deep umber boots on her feet. The laces were covered in dust as they dragged along the ground, scuffing as they stepped over sidewalks and between crowds.