Beth.

“No, they can’t trace prepaid phones, that’s why drug dealers use them?  You know?  Info you probably shoulda picked up by now at very least by pop culture, if nothing else.  Where’ve you been?”  Juvie would’ve taught her that, right?  And most of the kids in the foster care system Miah had met at least had the street smarts that he did, if not miles more, making him look like the naive result of a Baptist home schooled upbringing in comparison.  Utah was his second guess, what with their terrifying unregulated ‘troubled teen industry’ - although camps like the ones he’d heard of required tens of thousands in tuition, which he somehow doubted any guardian to a sibling of Beth’s would be privy to.

“Girl… sorry, what was your name again?  I gotta real question here - I’ll forget your name a couple times before it sticks ‘cause I’m a little slow in that department…”  Miah took a pause for emphasis to make his next question harder to skip over, since he wanted the answer more than any of the shits he gave about her name.  “When was the last time you actually saw Beth?”

It had to’ve taken some genuine resourcefulness for the two to’ve gotten in contact with each other so recently, but Miah was pretty sure he knew Beth better at this point than the girl who sat in front of him did, despite the blood relation she and Beth shared.  “People change, yo - profoundly.  Doesn’t even take that long before any of us become completely different people from the ones you might remember.”

“So Beth?  She’s made plenty of friends - girlfriends in prison.  There’s also me… “  He didn’t tell her this, but Beth made it pretty clear that Miah was the only ‘friend’ she had who actually mattered in any dependable way, but he kept going.  “… there were other patients at the psychiatric hospital… staff at that same psych ward… connections in the outside world… “ 

His last two examples were about as exaggerated as he could get - there was no way in Hell he’d actually count the psych ward staff who took sexual advantage of Beth or her truckers-turned-Johns as ‘friends’ of hers just ‘cause they ‘let’ her blow them - and God knows what else - for drugs, for rides and for survival.  Because of people like them, Beth had been, for her survival’s sake, exploited in ways that Miah didn’t think he’d ever survive, which, despite the matricide, earned Beth a modicum of respect and a crap ton of sympathy from him.

“… so it’s not like she can’t make friends.  But she’s still not so great at staying out of trouble.  Now: based on what you know about her, go ahead and guess… I’ll even give you a hint: yesterday morning Beth was here, in this apartment… so where do you think she is now?”

Rebecca snorted, her breath coming out in a puff of smoke. “Friends? God. You don’t know her at, do you? We don’t have friends. We use people up, turn ‘em out like pretty little coin purses. What are you good for? A fuck and some drugs right? Some degree of comfort in being with someone else, I suppose.”

She stared down at her arm as she spoke, the tattoo both she and beth shared glaring back up at her. “When did you last see her? Does she have like.. a pub or something? She usually finds one of those to crawl back into.” Forcing a smirk back onto her face, she continued to puff away at the small joint she clutched in her hand. 

Miah made her nervous, the way he was talking about her sister. As if he knew her, as if Beth had told him stuff of great importance. Rebecca didn’t have anyone else but the ghost of the sister she’d grown up with, having even bitten the last girl who’d tried to crawl into her bed for some degree of comfort. The idea of Beth not being here.. of being somewhere Rebecca couldn’t reach her was terrifying. She could feel the walls closing in.

“Where. The. Fuck. Is. She?” She asked again, fear creeping into her voice. 

The resemblance to Beth - in attitude, anyway - was beginning to show.  “Excuse me?!  Some ‘dickhead’s’ girlfriend?!”

“Look, Princess Bitch, I’m not asking you any stupid questions, I’m probing you. For shit I need to know.  I’ve got some answers too, especially if you were able to make out the names of the people Beth was talking about through that dugged-up slur of hers.”  What’s-her-face ((Becca)) didn’t need to recall either his or Olivia’s ((Girlfriend’s)) names for him to know who Beth had been ‘bitching’ about.  At least Beth had the tact to complain about Miah’s own girlfriend to someone other than himself - that meant she was, in part anyway, actively trying not to set him off… so good for her?

On second thought however, the fact that Beth would spend the time that she had observing Miah and his situation only to frame Olivia as the one who needed to be bitched about kind of made Miah’s blood boil; they’d spent several evenings hanging out with Ashley ((Mom)), who, without even trying, pissed Miah off more than anyone else on the planet ever could.  And while the three ((Beth/Miah/Ashley)) were all able to maintain civility when they were together (which wasn’t that hard, considering that time was spent ‘bonding’ with drugs), and Ashley, so far anyway, was treating Beth a lot nicer than she typically treated him or Olivia, Beth had also witnessed Miah screaming and crying over the phone, which should’ve demonstrated to Beth what kind of piece of shit parent she was.  Maybe Ashley was coddling Beth like the daughter she never had (which in and of itself was irksome, considering the prickly way she’d always treated Olivia), but Olivia had been nothing but civil towards Beth.

‘Bitching’ about ‘some dickhead’s girlfriend’, how dare she…

“So it hasn’t occurred to you that I might be her friend?”  In fact, as far as Miah knew, he was actually Beth’s only friend… unless this new Sister Person counted, which he didn’t think she did.  And of course it fucking figured that this girl would show up with absolutely no means of helping herself or Beth, piling on even more street urchins onto his and Olivia’s virtual mountain of responsibility.

Rebecca flinched at the louder tone, a crack in her hardened exterior. She shook it off, taking another toke of the joint and holding in her lungs until it burned. She smirked over at Miah, letting the smoke trickle up. “Well hell, she called me at my hospital. I didn’t super have time to buy a cell phone as I made my way here, plus can’t they trace that shit?”

She shrugged, feigning apathy. “She was fucked - it’s not the first time some other drunk people have pissed her off. Will she be back soon?” She questioned, cut off my Miah’s question. “Friend?” She chuckled, “Beth doesn’t really make those? We don’t. She’s not the.. friendliest of people. Look, would you please just tell me where my sister is? I haven’t seen her in awhile.” She made sure there wasn’t any pleading in her voice, trying not to think of the last time she saw her sister across a courtroom. Beth had nearly taken down three police officers trying to get back to her. 

Miah slammed the door and fell against it, watching the girl explore the surface of Beth’s living space with an unintentional side-eye.  “Where’d you come from?  How far, I mean, do you…”  He almost stammered, and his sleepiness was beginning to take over again.  “… you know you just missed her, right?”

“Last night?” She chuckled, “Do I look like I have a cell phone? She called me... a week ago. She was high, off her fuckin’ face. Jabbing on about some dickheads girlfriend. I’ve been making my way here from.. well, that doesn’t matter.” She sighed, fiddling with any junk she found on the floor. 

Rebecca frowned as the door opened, nearly dropping the lighter she’d been clutching. It had been their Mom’s, an old zippo with a day of the dead skull, and it was the only thing she owned from before anymore. A last attachment to her young life pre-murder. She missed the pink skirts, high school corridors. The smell of perfume, bought cheap from drug stores. 

She peaked around the door, trying to see if she could spot her sister. Had she grown taller than her, she wondered, or was she still a shorter version of her big sister? Beth had always,always been tougher than her. She’d drag her out of bed with murmurs ‘Monkey, time to wake up. Monkey time to kill Mummy’. Becca lit a cigarette, wanting her sister to know she’d followed her footsteps in more than one way. Her fingers stank of it, her clothes always stale. She guessed Beth would give her a lecture, but then she’d give her a perfect little joint. Like old times…

“Who are you?” She asked, pushing a steel edge into her just as her sister had taught her. “Where’s my sister?” 

“Your sister?”  It was almost too funny - how closed these two had missed each other by - like the kind of contrived proximity he thought would only happen in the movies.    Miah scoffed, almost laughing at this hapless family and their amazingly stupid luck.  “Oh my God.  Wow.  Holy fuck.”

After another moment that he spent rolling his eyes so hard that his whole head rolled with them and slightly exaggerating a deep, exasperated sigh, Miah pretended to outwardly compose himself.  “So.  I take it you’re looking for a ‘Lizard Breath’ White?  I mean, I hope you’re not though, ‘cause if that’s the case, you’ve got some fucked up timing, Little Girl.”

“I’m Rebecca. Where the fuck is my sister? Why the fuck are you in her apartment?” She shoved her way past him, taking in the small space of Beth’s apartment. A mattress which looked like it’d been pulled off the streets, but photos tacked up all along the walls. Beth had always said the photos made a home, put a piece of whoever she was in whatever building she lived in. Becca had found a few lost at the squat Beth had lived in when she was seeing James. Beth was fifteen years old, and at twelve Becca half dragged her out of there. Home wasn’t much better, but there were less drug addicts and less chance of the police dragging into a cell.  

“Definitely her place..” she murmured to herself, tapping the cigarette ash into a mug already overfilling with old butts as she sat down on the floor. 

A glance through the peep hole quelled his anxiety; no, it wasn’t law enforcement, thank fuck.  It was some girl who Miah didn’t recognize.  Which was perplexing: did Beth make a friend?!  Miah opened the door and snapped a little more than he intended to.

“Hey, can I help you?”

Rebecca frowned as the door opened, nearly dropping the lighter she’d been clutching. It had been their Mom’s, an old zippo with a day of the dead skull, and it was the only thing she owned from before anymore. A last attachment to her young life pre-murder. She missed the pink skirts, high school corridors. The smell of perfume, bought cheap from drug stores. 

She peaked around the door, trying to see if she could spot her sister. Had she grown taller than her, she wondered, or was she still a shorter version of her big sister? Beth had always,always been tougher than her. She’d drag her out of bed with murmurs ‘Monkey, time to wake up. Monkey time to kill Mummy’. Becca lit a cigarette, wanting her sister to know she’d followed her footsteps in more than one way. Her fingers stank of it, her clothes always stale. She guessed Beth would give her a lecture, but then she’d give her a perfect little joint. Like old times...

“Who are you?” She asked, pushing a steel edge into her just as her sister had taught her. “Where’s my sister?” 

Obviously Miah would be her emergency contact; who else’s number would she even have?  Beth’s building manager wasted no time, calling him at 8a on the dot the morning after her arrest, catching Miah at the tail-end of the all-nighter he had already pulled on Beth’s behalf.  The whole frustrating night was spent at the police station, save for, since the bank was closed, the hour and a half it took him to fail at procuring the $5,000 they needed to post her bail.  

Now, as his head was about to hit the pillow, Miah realized he couldn’t ignore the shrill, factory-set ring tone that his phone was chiming incessantly; what if her rent was past due, and the landlords were on their way with their skeleton key, getting ready to sift through all the shit in her apartment, much of which would validate the case to criminalize her?  Over the phone, Miah assured the building manager that he’d be over immediately, even promising to clean out the apartment himself, since lying to a manager other than his own was rather inconsequential.  

It was finally time to put the knowledge he’d obtained through all the paranoid hours he’d spent studying how to flex his own legal rights to use.  Miah put his shoes on, grabbed a reusable grocery bag and jogged a few steps down the block to Beth’s building.  With him inside, her apartment was ‘occupied’ enough to legally keep out any unwelcome management or law enforcement.  He could go through all her junk later; Miah needed sleep.  

Grateful that, even though his night was just the worst and he wasn’t even in his own bed, he could turn off his phone and get up whenever the hell he felt like waking up, Miah laid down ((dunno what kind of couch or bed situation we’re dealing with, so…)).

After they’d allowed her to leave the centre, she’d tried going to her Dad’s. He slammed the door in her face as soon as he’d realised who she was. It had been over 5 years since she’s seen him and she’d grown into something that resembled an adult now. She was nearly the same height as him, 5″6 at last count, and the hospital food had thinned her out from the slightly chubby teenager she had been. The dyed black hair and smokey eyeliner hadn’t helped. 

With nowhere else to, Becca repeated the address Elizabeth to memorise. She’d borrowed a girls phone to look it up, and had now found herself on the unfamiliar doorstep. 

She pressed the buzzer for the right numbered apartment, although Elizabeth hadn’t bothered to change the label. She stood back, watching up at the window. The idea of seeing Beth after so many years was nerve wracking.

Landfill | Daughter

“Mother, Mother,

Look what you made. 

“Maybe, like, lose his number, kay?” He opened the top drawer of the tall dresser and lifted his drug mirror out, keeping it level so the rolled up $20, the razor, and the chunks of partial pills sitting on it’s surface remained where they were ((half an oxy 30 - it’s orange-, half an oxy 80 - it’s blue - and ¼th an oxy 80.  Were they whole, the pills would have the number of their doses stamped in them)).  Micah set the mirror on the floor in between himself and Beth, kitty corner to the overturned hamper that still sat in the middle of the room, serving as a dinner table.  He jumped back up, removing a prescription pill bottle with it’s label torn off from the drawer before he shut it, and tossed the bottle within catching distance of Beth’s hand if she were so inclined. “I’m the best ‘guy’ ever, I promise.”

“An ex. He lives maybe.. an hour or so from here. We haven’t spoken in a while but he owes me a favour.” She shrugged, tucking her hands into her sleeves. She was exhausted, having barely slept since they’d woken her and told her to pack her bags. Her court order was up and they didn’t think they could help her anymore than they had. A prescription for her medications was shoved into her hands, and security has escorted her out. She wondered about Logan, and whether Rebecca thought she was alive yet. 

She frowned for a moment, trying to figure out whether he was talking about food or drugs. Deciding she was interested, either way, she shrugged. “Sure.” She took the drink, sniffing it with a grimace before following orders and drinking it quickly. It soothed her throat.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a minute or two, allowing herself to enjoy the quiet buzzing that came from smoking a joint. Always allowed her to think a little clearly, or slower, either way, it was easier. She groaned at his words. “Ugh, fuck you like reminding me about that. Probably three days with a stretch.. or without a call to Kevin. I don’t really want to go clean man, fuck you know how it is.”

“Well fuck man, that ain’t gonna work. I’ll break the second I start feeling shitty. Don’t you remember we tried that once? We fought over an oxy.” She chuckled, pushing open the door before it could shut. “I can’t smoke cigarettes inside?” She groaned, “Seriously? You’ve got all that fruity shit to cover the smell.”

“Ah right, so you see her now. How’s she doing?”

“Was that your plan?” While swiping the magical plastic teardrop-shaped contraption that unlocked the building’s high tech lock system so they could get out of the chilly breezeway, Micah hushed his voice and in doing so, suggested Beth do likewise.  “Yeah, I remember . . . I remember winning.”  A glint of sarcasm seeped through into his otherwise smug tone because in the closet he’d ‘won’ by basically crying.  The subtle sarcasm disregarded the subsequent fight several minutes later, outside by some tree where the two were again physically fighting about something entirely different.  That time Micah genuinely had the upper hand.  ((Jfc this whole page is heartwrenching))  “Naw, cigarette smoke clings to, like, everything forever.  No more chain smoking or you’ll be doing it outside, where it’s negative asshole degrees out.”

“Pt … how is … how is she?

“I ain’t asking for shit. I’d.. figure something out.” She replied coldly, not knowing what she would figure out but hating being so helpless.

 “Your mom? I thought you couldn’t see her?” She asked, nodding but holding up the half of a joint she had left. It had gone out in the wind, though she wasn’t done smoking it. “Can I smoke in your flat?” She asked, vaguely noticing his shivering and realising she must be as cold as him. She’d barely noticed, though her jacket kept the worst of the chill off her damp hair was making her colder. Acutely aware of it now she hugged herself, waiting to see if she could smoke inside. 

“Of course you would … unless your plan was to detox here, which would be fine.  I could help you with that, but the second you ask me to help keep you clean I’ll scoff my ass off.  I’d fuck that up so fast … and you would too.” 

((What’s in his hand?  Good question!  It’s one of the bottled nut milks that I thought he should’ve grabbed after he had already made it down the stairs and you replied.  He’s got it because if she’s starving, this will make her feel better.  There’s sugar and fiber and calories and fats in there, and it tastes like ice cream so it might be more palatable for someone who isn’t used to fresh vegetable sushi.))  This was not the time to be extra sensitive about feeling patronized.  Nothing she said surprised him; in fact, he probably could’ve told her everything she just shared.  Micah dropped his argumentative tone as he continued, glancing around nervously to make sure none of the building’s other residents were within audio range.  “None of that surprises me.  God, okay, so we’ll start here then: since you’re, like, ‘basically the opposite of clean’, are you gonna get sick soon?”

She took another drag, tapping the joint lightly to scatter the ash onto the floor. She was scared, her heart beating faster as she felt panic overtake her at his words. “I uh.. I guess? Yeah. I’ve got enough for.. tomorrow, if I don’t have anything today, and then... Yeah..yeah. I’m gonna get real sick. I’ve been using heavily.” She spoke a little too quickly, taking another puff and kicking some stones that had collected on the sidewalk. Chewing on her lip as she tried to figure a way to prolong the inevitable. “M-maybe, if I only shoot up once tomorrow, then maybe.. two days till it starts getting awful. I can stretch it out. I’ll start to get a little sick maybe tomorrow, but i’ll wait as long as I can before finishing it up. O-or.. you don’t got a dealer, do you?”