in the company of wolves they respect i eat first

“yeah, they’re not really any place around here.” at least not as far as she was aware. it was difficult to judge how different the wildlife in america was in comparison to ireland. the end of civilization as everyone knew it came not long after she arrived in the country. after that (and perhaps a bit before, she wouldn’t know), animals went a bit haywire. she’d come across families of animals that she was almost sure weren’t native to the land. it was likely that they escaped from a local zoo, or something of the sort. zoos had always made her a bit sad, so she hoped that the animals caught within were able to escape. “-but they’re extremely smart. they’re problem solvers.”

growing up they’d usually had one cat at a time. sometimes two. their last cat had passed away just a few short months before her father had. understandably, they hadn’t even thought of getting another cat. too much had been going on. “were they allergic to them? our neighbors had horrible allergies to dogs, and most cats. they did have sphynx cats though. mars and venus were their names.”

nadja nodded, there were so many fucking species of birds in this world, she couldn’t remember half of them and her exposure to the diversity of them was largely due to late night, drunk viewings of planet earth. she envied the birds in a way that she didn’t other animals ( the ones she pitied for their inability to grasp the outbreak ). birds had their escape plans fused to their backs in muscle and bone.”that’s cool. i guess crows are like that too. they’re pretty fuckin’ cool; they lead wolves to carcasses and shit because they can’t open up the bodies and otherwise are stuck just eating eyeball tartare.” the wolves didn’t eat the birds in exchange for their services; pretty fucking cool.

“nah, they were just assholes.” she chuckled darkly, taste in her mouth souring at the thought of her parents, whom she assumed were long since dead now. “they didn’t want any mess in the house, you know? litter boxes, dog toys. couldn’t even get a fucking pet rat.” not that it had stopped her. the first thing she’d done when she’d finally successfully run away was to get a pet rat that she’d inaccurately named shredder. “cool names. sphynx cats are cool, but i always liked the fur.” as she inhaled from her cigarette, the paper burned mournfully. “i had a cornish rex before all this shit.” the word was practically spat with acrimonious disdain for the robbery of her final days with a treasured pet whose fate she’d never know. “her name was pyewackett. they look like sphynx, but with curly hair. cool fuckin’ cats.”

the knife, a new trinket in the collection, closed with slowed movements from the pain of the nick to tuck away in the pockets of a shearling parka. the pockets of the parka offered warm retreat for the trembling and, as the winter lurches into a new year, cold hands. rosario looked over at nadja, a glance, before leaning against the bricks with a sigh. the busy hours at the bar tired the friends, strange because they seemed to be the energy that kept the lights on, and a break enticed rosario despite the snappy cold. it was no secret that the cold was not a friend of rosario, even though the sands of la ceiba were memories of a life lost.   ❛   c’mon, don’t shit on jenga,   ❜   an unceremonious snort accompanied the dry and flat retort,   ❛   it’s not our fault that nobody wants to play dungeons and dragons or call of cthulu with us.   ❜  

a walk  drew enough interest for a raised brow, but a sudden chill snuck past the snug coat before the thought could go any further. rosario tugged the coat tight around herself with a dramatic pout and a sigh,   ❛   only if you promise to make mexican hot chocolate later? i have a cut.   ❜   the cut was barely painful, not after the momentary stings, but the playful nature was a change of pace from the sluggishness and irritation caused by the stir-craziness.

the two women were cursive and neon brightening the darkened windows of a rowdy bar, in a time where los abuelos’ old ‘OPEN’ signs have stayed unlit for years. boots and lace; switchblades and red lipstick on cigarette butts. but when the last of the drunks had paid their tabs and skulked off to whatever rathole they called home--doors looked by the eager amazon bouncer--marlboro red dangling from her lips--the girls both sighed with relief, their perky postures slouching from the wear and tear of being on all night. it was only in the comfort of one another ( and laika ! ) that the pair could allow themselves to show the luxurious weakness of exhaustion from a long night of hard work.

“don’t shit on jenga?” nadja scoffed, cigarette muffling her words as she held it tightly in her teeth, fingers snapping several times to perform an old trick on a weary zippo, before lighting it successfully and brightening the dwindling cherry in her lips. “jenga--” she began, pausing to exhale a full plume of smoke with playful drama. “--can only be fun so many fuckin’ nights in a row.” the sentence was punctuated with the gesture of her hand with the cigarette. “god, we provide a fucking SERVICE to this town and nobody can deign to fuckin’ play call of cthulu with us?” that wasn’t entirely true, was it? there was a time when javier would’ve been more than happy to join them--all three spread out across a booth, cigarettes and drinks in hands.

laika danced below nadja’s feet at their change in posture and the associated buzzword ‘WALK’ and nadja rolled her eyes as if she didn’t thoroughly enjoy taking him out. smirking at rosario’s pout, nadja grabbed her leather jacket and slid an arm through it. “yeah, yeah. I’ll get your cocoa made when we get back.” she didn’t mention the stash of stale marshmallows she’d hidden away from a patron’s trade that night; it’ll be a welcomed surprise. “you need a bandaid?” she asked with genuine concern. “I still have some star wars ones behind the bar.” 

things slowly started gaining clarity. the buzz remained, but he was coming back to himself, at least — the war in his mind was coming to an end as common sense and instinct came crashing on one another. strangely, that only made things worse. though anger didn’t need logic to exist, it wanted it, fed into every rationalization as the mind spewed out explanations as if they were no less objective than a shopping list: you’re angry. why? because i’ve been hurt. why? because i hurt someone. why? because i was scared. why? because hurting’s the only thing the fucking world knows how to do, right? why?

❝  — i’m so tired,  ❞  he said.

but it never got anywhere, the anger. the urge to act on emotion was always outweighed by his fear of the consequences, because no matter how hard he tried, he could never seem to make himself the bigger enemy. he’d been itching all his life to become a goddamn fire but knew it took just a stomp to put the flame out. fear then came and closed the exit doors, locking the negativity inside to let the damn rot fester. it turned his body into such an inhospitable place. the throat choked on every sharp retort he’d left unsaid while his nerves surged with the tiresome fury of every punch he’d been too afraid to throw back. his veins became equal parts his father’s monster blood and his own poison rage, and god, his skin was an exhausting place to live in.

the apprehension spiked up when she smiled —  he didn’t have the energy to process why. all he understood was that it felt like an act of condescension; every goddamn nerve in his body was both exhausted and on edge and she had the luxury of finding that entertaining. devrim slid into the booth, movements graceless and sluggish, burnt out from both the buzz and from feeling too much. though his eyes betrayed resignation, his gaze didn’t falter. it locked on hers, weary but unwavering. ❝  sure, you get to be,  ❞   patronizing, he meant. the words were said with more weariness than contempt, save for his frustration at the powerlessness of a too-late comeback. ❝  you don’t have to be.  ❞  there was no point in pretending he held any power. if this was a fight, she was on the winning end. it was better to accept defeat with quiet dignity than argue and risk losing more of his pride. 

his eyebrows furrowed deeper. ❝   don’t call me kiddo.   ❞  certain words had such an ugly power to them. maybe he wanted to forget the voice attached to it. or maybe he wanted to forget the connotation it placed him under. maybe he didn’t like remembering the version of himself the word turned him into, how powerless and small he felt back then. though he no longer let the memories surface, every old feeling came flooding back subconsciously, forcing his gut to twist into a knot.  ❝   please,   ❞   he added.

“yeah, i’ll bet you fuckin’ are.” nadja's lips curved into a knowing, good-natured smirk. drunk people needed a certain kind of hand depending on the type. some people, assholes in their own right when riddled with SOBRIETY, became absolutely impossible. those were the ones she liked to PUSH. she could push a man to the brink in the spaces between a few choice words and since it was her place ( her and rochi’s ), and there were NO LAWS ( save those of man ), she could do whatever she wanted. rosario and nadja were their own sheriffs. kids like this? they needed TIME. they needed someone to look out for them, a cup of coffee, maybe some greasy breakfast that didn’t exist for anyone but spectres that haunted diners across america.

nadja raised an annoyed, if not amused, brow at his challenge. so much hubris, built from liquid courage that churned and boiled in his belly. “and you don’t have to be in my bar,” she warned, almost a mother’s cautionary tone somewhere in her gravelly voice, “but sometimes the universe makes a fuckin’ exception.” she should’ve been in canada even now, after all this time. she didn’t have to ( like he’d said ) leave vancouver to meet some band in cheyenne, wyoming just to get away from ANOTHER failed relationship. the only thing, as far as nadja was concerned, that a person really had to fuckin’ do was die. there were PLENTY of those poor sons of bitches roaming the city--the ones whom had been unable to stave off the inevitable. theirs was a fate much worse than death.

glad to see the kid slide into the booth, huffing with palpable defeat, a sturdy fist beat the back of a worn leather jacket behind her. “hey--” she demanded the man’s attention. “go get me a coffee from rosario. move your ass.” HARD EYES were stronger than words and the man nodded politely, excusing himself from rowdy conversation and milling his way through the crowd to the bar. those who were regulars knew how to keep their cups full and their scales balanced in the favor of los abuelos’ prolific owners. 

attention back at the kid, nadja realized she’d hit a nerve. an old pet name from someone long loved and dead? something darker, deeper perhaps? there was no way of knowing and she didn’t care to pry anymore than she cared to share her own weak points. everyone had an ACHILLES HEEL and it was so rare that they were the teeth and claws of real threats, but rather the small tragedies of daily life, long since diagnosed terminal in a dying world. “alright, karate kid.” she changed the nickname back to something attached to the present as the man delivered their coffee. thanking him with a curt nod, she slid a cup to the boy. “I’d offer you cream of sugar, but I don’t fuckin’ have any.” she cracked her knuckles and pulled an ashtray closer to her, lighting a cigarettes--holding it firm between her teeth as she continued to speak. “besides only bad mother fuckers drink their coffee black.” an offering of some of his, likely bruised, ego back.

“having the power to talk to animals would be super awesome. i could have talked the wild dog that stole my food yesterday out of being such a jerk.” she pondered the idea with a smile, remembering her days of dress up she’d forced to brother to participate in. they normally dressed up as superheros, but there was one time in particular she’d pasted together sad looking princess dress. if she remembered correctly, she’d made the dress out of construction paper. construction paper that promptly started dissolving as dye ran down her legs and arms. 

“a rook.” one day when aoife had her window open he’d swooped right in and out. when aoife recovered from the shock of it, she’d looked over to see him perched on the flower box attached to the window. almost as if to remind her. “she was such a smart bird.”

“not sure it would’ve worked.” nadja chuckled darkly, smoke billowing from her nose with a snort. “half the time you can’t talk people out of fuckin’ you over to survive; why should animals be any different?” but she DID much prefer animals to people. anyone who truly knew nadja could say as much. despite her theatrics and apparent love for extroversion she was, ultimately, misanthropic. animals, nadja thought, certainly had the capacity for being dicks, but no one was quite so good at it as humans.

“I don't know that kinda bird.” nadja shrugged, assuming it to be native to ireland or to be a bird so uninteresting she had never heard of it. a final confession, nadja took a long drag from her cigarette. “I always wanted a crow.” they were smart birds. they could recognize and differentiate between people. they held grudges ( and told their friends who to look out for ) for SURE and brought people gifts. even wolves had some healthy respect for the birds that led them to unopened carcasses. “my parents wouldn’t let me have any pets as a kid. even a fuckin’ outdoor pet like a bird.” as soon as she was old enough to rent her own place instead of COUCH SURFING she’d remedied the situation. some days she still wondered if pyewacket, the lanky black cat, had made it out alive. she guessed not.

“no! i’m being serious!” aoife turned towards the person, a soft expression on her face. “i had a bird that used to come around back at home. i used to put seed out for it in the morning before i went to school. do you think it got sad when i wasn’t there in the mornings any more? would it be mad at me? do we know how long birds can hold grudges for?” she’d often wondered how long the bird had shown up at her window until it gave up, moving on somewhere else. she wasn’t sure what state ireland was in, but she liked to think her little bird friend would have been able to find food somewhere else. 

"that makes you a fuckin’ disney princess in my book.” nadja rolled her eyes to mask her interest in the story. since childhood she had DREAMED of befriending a crow. after a late night viewing of willard, she’d become obsessed with the idea of rate or bats or crows swarming from the shadows and doing her bidding. all the dreams of an angry child, but she still held a fondness for them. “what kind of a bird was it?” brow raised, nadja lit a cigarette, puffing in and out to catch the flame to tobacco rolled inside old paper. “I hear crows can hold grudges a long goddamn time.” another thing she liked about them.

“reese’s peanut butter cups and tits that dispense whiskey.” realizing that she left out the most important part, nadja flashes a bright smile. “oh, and unlimited fucking cigarettes.”