Junk Love.

ten.

Sleep is fleeting. Wrapped up in each other, a tangle of entwined arms and lanky bodies, Carter and Mel jolt awake to the same noise. It's merely a lock jiggling loose, slight, but she's used to sleeping with one eye open. Putting her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, Mel grabs Carter's hand then leads him back up the crawl space. They slip away lithe as shadows.

That morning, the liquor store entices them both like a cunning hypnotist. After a quick trip across two blocks of battered sidewalk, Mel is spilling open her guitar case on the counter. The clerk squints despite wearing wide framed glasses. He doesn't notice Mel's jitters nor the feral madness in Carter's eyes.

Every cent they have is spent on liquor. Because in such a demented wonderland, where the rabbit hole is endless, alcohol is all that's necessity. Once a buzz hums like wildfire in their veins they're granted a uniquely separate serenity. A false confidence that makes misery not such a soggy painting. Rather, an intricate muriel with sharp edges and vivid colors.

By all means they should be hopeless, or scared, or lost. Whiskey has an innate way of convincing that laughing too loud while stumbling over cracks in the sidewalk is enough to drown out the rest of the noise.

Such devout consumption of toxins has coaxed Mel and Carter into their own separate spiritualities. Two stagnate bodies, leashed to souls ripped from their insides, dragging them along a path beyond their control. A delighted sorceress hexing subjects into addiction.

Mel's life is chained to a wrecking ball always snapping back for more smashing. She isn't meant for good things. A dusting of rubble harrowing her path is all the conviction she needs. Yet, this moment, side by side with her alpha, she absorbs the only place that has felt closest to home.

The vibrancy of Chinatown compliments Mel kissing her skin neon and giving her a whole new aura. Once signaling Carter to tuck the rum under his jacket, she leads him to a thrift shop she used to frequent.

She's unaware of her charms -- a seductress in her own right. The curves of her body enthrall him when she turns to ensure he's following, skipping backward lightly with a beaming smile on her face. She hasn't smiled so much, and so elatedly, anywhere else.

"I love it here." Mel says as she pushes her hand through the clothes rack until the hangers rattle together. "I'd come here with my change and buy the fanciest clothes I could. Then I would dance in the parades to pretend I was the richest girl in the city."

The oblivious innocence she radiates is gospel to him. As if by fate, stands under a mannequin displaying a richly colored fox-fur coat. Beckoning her closer, Carter drapes the jacket over Mel's shoulders. Her purple hair is a halo around the copper collar.

"It's beautiful." She says, striking a small but charming pose.

Carter smiles. "It suits you." When she moves to slip the jacket from her shoulders he closes his hand around hers. "No. Keep it."

"We can't afford it and--"

He hushes her by pressing his finger against her lips. "Leave it to me."

Usually Carter would insist they simply run out but he's witnessed how every inch of this place has an almost spiritual effect over her. It's important to her. Thus making it important to him. So, after donning a nicely pressed suit jacket for himself, he takes her by the hand to waltz her to the front counter.

Mel watches Carter, transfixed, as he speaks to the clerk in a faux tone that has even her convinced. Before long, the owner nods, then persuades them to leave with a promise to pay note. She knew Carter was slick but never a con.

"Carter..." She trails off as he ushers her out of the store, swept up in the moment. There's an exhilarated glint in his eye that makes her taut with alarm. "Carter this isn't right."

"Relax, baby." He matches her gaze intensely, soothing her by tracing slow circles on her cheek with his thumb. "You'll never be alone again. As long as there's a breath in me I'll take care of you."

She wants to protest she doesn't need taking care of, not now, and not ever. But it's also like the stuffy fur coat is a noose around her neck, tightened by the simmering caress of his fingertips, and she remains breathless.

Neither of them notice the shadow hovering in the alley behind them. Or maybe only Carter has... He isn't willing to tell Mel in the presence of such perfection. A little longer, he hopes, he'll get to be awed by her. If only a little longer.

☯