Wild Hearts

Promises

A sleeping bag, torn in places and stained a new colour. The evening sun filters through a sea of dust, and the only movement is the rise and fall of her chest. I'd call it graceful if I didn't feel this great tearing in the bottom of my stomach.

Sweeping aside the bottles with my foot, I decide which is the best way to wake her up, and then I go for the classic: shake her shoulder. I do that a few times, then a little rougher when she still refuses to stir.

"Come on, Corin," I murmur, pouting my lips. "Even I'm not this hard to wake up."

The steel door swings open from the main entrance, a hideous squealing in a warehouse so empty, and a guy sings loudly, his feet slapping the ground. He must be dancing. My stomach sinks a little.

It does the trick though, and Corin shoots into life, sitting up sharply. Her eyes are distant, and then they snap into focus, fixing on me. Pulling stray hair away from her eyes and over her shoulder, Corin looks like she can't decide whether to smile at my presence or treat me like a curse.

I gulp.

Her frown startles me, and then her hand whips forward. I flinch, sure she's about to strike, but then her fingers settle around my chin.

"Easy," she coos, tilting my head to the left softly. "not going to hurt you. Ouch. What happened to you...?"

Ah. I forget my face is a picture of misery. No wonder I was getting sympathetic eyes on the bus. Mostly scowls, but I was used to those even before the beating.

"A dickhead."

"He really did his work on you. Shit... This looks like a nasty cut. Was it a...?"

"Ring."

"Ouch. That arsehole!"

Now she's properly angry, and forces herself to her feet, glancing down at me with concerning eyes.

I try and shrug her concern away, but we both know that's futile.

"What the hell's their problem?" she says darkly. Sighing, I scrunch up my lips and then decide there's no point in shying away from this.

"I don't know. One day he just... snapped. He was nice, er, nice enough before that. Like really polite and friendly. Then he turned all his bitterness on the nearest target. Which was me."

I shrug again, trying to play it off because that's my easy solution.

It's not enough for her, and trying not to sigh, I elaborate. "Ever since then, he picks on me for everything. This is the first time he's gone for my face though. Something must have pissed him off recently. He was even crying. A shame."

"More than a shame," Corin snarls. "you should be returning the favour."

I throw my arms out limply.

"With these things?" I laugh. "Likely!"

"So things go to shit for this guy, and he has to take it out on you?"

"Yeah. He became a cliché."

"Became a cliché..." she echoes, clearly soaking up the words. "I like that."

Nothing more is said, and we are held in the silence of a Hell in daylight. I've only been here once during the night—a night that is fully alive. During the day, the blood marks are more apparent. The bottles pile up, and dust coats the place like a fresh layer of paint. It feels dirty and utterly depressing. It reflects far more on Corin that she calls this place her home.

No more about me. I hate that this hasn't changed for her. I won't be happy until she is.

"Have you even tried to see your parents yet?" I ask, stepping on a street of cracked glass. This could be painful if I didn't back away soon.