Junk Love.

twenty-three.

Mel curls up against the wall trying to think clearly. For once she wishes she were sober. Maybe then the shouted Mandarin blended with the sizzling of fried soy wouldn't resemble a marching assembly from hell.

Seated at one of the back booths, she attempts to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Visiting Calvin in this state was reckless but seeking sanctuary at the Chinese restaurant is practically suicide.

Five minutes. Mel promised herself a time limit standing outside the door with neon Mandarin glyphs reflecting off her skin like a crimson tinged omen. Today has been a strain of one bad decision after another. She'd smoked a full cigarette outside to summon the confidence to walk in.

If Nian were here she'd have left already, curled up outside somewhere to sleep off this wretched day. Instead a young man she doesn't recognize works the front counter. She winces at each chop from a huge knife hitting between fish heads and the cutting board.

Mel remembers reading about disassociating after a trauma. Wherein one doesn't even feel a part of themselves anymore. Initially she wondered if not dwelling on Dalton, how hard he hit her or how she feels when she looks at the bruises in the mirror, meant it hadn't affected her.

But it had. So deeply she feels as pretend as a Barbie Doll. A pin up for the satisfaction of sadistic men. Twisting even Calvin into a monster in her eyes. Perhaps Carter too. It's why she's been running all day.

"Nǐ zài zhèlǐ zuò shénme?"

Mel tethers herself to a porcelain mug. Lost in thought and staring into black coffee waiting for it to bear teeth like the rest of the world. The foreign words are direct, breaking into the chaos. Nian stands at her booth with his stumpy arms folded across his chest.

Mel traces her fingertip round the rim of the glass absent minded. "Wǒ mílùle, Nián."

"Must be lost." Despite switching to English his tone is as rough and sharp as his native tongue. "Coming back here. It's not safe."

"You know?"

"I know."

Mel's lips thin into a grimace. "I just need to use a phone then I'll go. I don't want anymore trouble."

A low grunt, impossible to pin any emotion to, accompanies the nudge of his head toward the counter. A silent gesture of approval. Expecting that to be the end of their talk, as most conversations with him result in similar abrupt edges, she stands from her perch at the booth. Nian remains in place like a noble sentry specifically sent to observe her table.

"I am sorry, Mel."

A familiar spark stirs in her. Dimly bursting like a firecracker through the dark spell "the elephant" has cast through her whole body. Sorry for what? My face? Or that your son is a monster even you can't control? Currently more concerned for the phone call than for justice, Mel supplies a muted thank you in Mandarin before shouldering by.

The phone Nian offers is an ancient appliance hooked to the wall. She's surprised individual buttons are on the face instead of a rotator dial. Her stumpy fingers prod numbly at the numbers and she has to start over twice.

Being closer to the counter, and the chop chop chopping of the fish heads, makes it impossible to tune out the noise. She plugs one ear straining to hear the prompter. Frustrated by a robotic voice droning about jail fees and visitation she hangs up. Dials again. Same result.

"Mel."

"Just a minute," she snaps. Muttering the number under her breath she stabs her thumb against the buttons, seething.

"Mel."

"I said..." Although she starts at a yell, once she whirls around, her voice withers in the back of her throat. Shriveled up and blackened on the edges like burnt paper. "Give me a minute."

After everything she's experienced the past forty eight hours there's a very real possibility her mind has caved in on itself entirely. This could be an illusion. Because how could he be real? Standing in front of her dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket with the collar turned up, his charcoal hair sleeked back, like he never left at all.

"Carter." Her voice is airy, hardly there.

"I missed you baby girl."

Knocked from her stupor, Mel launches at him. A tangle of arms and legs she hooks her thighs at his hips. She kisses him at odd angles. First his cheek, then his forehead, leading down the bridge of his nose to his lips. Reacting, he grips a handful of her hair deepening the kiss until stars pop in her vision. His mouth is velvet and sweet.

Although she could bask in this moment forever she pulls away first. "How did you find me?" Mel asks, breathless.

"You said you were working at the Chinese restaurant. First place I looked when I got out." A jolt of worry sours her rapture as Carter's brow narrows. He gently caresses the discoloring on her cheek, her hood slipped when she'd ran to him. "You're beautiful, my love."

My love. Not gypsy, or jinû, or junkie, or street trash. Refreshing. Only Carter can make her feel immortal and forbidden as the Apple in the Garden of Eden. Exhilarated, Mel mashes her lips to his again. A sloppy kiss but, now that he's really here, she couldn't stand not to taste him over and over.

☯

FIN.
Part II.