#enduers

you were not the girl that you were when it happened, you weren’t even sure if you were the same girl as last week, sitting on foldable metal in a damp rec centre with coffee that you weren’t sure was even made that same day.    your grief has never left you, and you had accepted that. you wash the dishes, you open the curtains, step over the creaks in floorboards that you memorised alongside the cracks in the ceiling.  you do not need to be a house to be haunted,   haunted by yourself and  the ghosts of friends  buried six feet deep.      you should have died,   everything was planned so that you would die.  sometimes, you think you did,    and that just nobody had noticed yet.     parts of you had died back in lakewood, and you don’t think you will ever get them back.  girlhood is abandoned on the very eve of the rest of your life,  you had attended too many funerals for your age, wakes for friends,  for people that you should not need to mourn but you did.  everyone in the room experienced grief, all carried ghosts in their lungs but did not speak to them.  you fold into yourself, hands hugging elbows closer to chest as if it’ll save you from such intimacy.    are we gonna be okay?     you asked yourself that everyday, and everyday you told yourself that you had to. that you could not stay in the corner, picking at the wallpaper that you had since you were a child.    a house was not a home, not when that is where your suffering started. it grew, uncontrollable, like ivy on the side of the house.  it was only so long until it reached inside the window frame and wrapped around your throat.

𝙴𝚇𝚃. :      𝙳𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃𝙵𝚄𝙻  𝙶𝙰𝚉𝙴  𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙳𝙸𝙴𝚂  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙱𝙰𝙳𝙶𝙴      --      𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂  𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙽'𝚃  𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃  𝙲𝙾𝙿𝚂

suspicious gaze looks upward from where he shoves bags of groceries in the trunk of the impala ,      body tenses as the other approaches :      he knew a cop when he saw one ,      could see it in the way the man carried himself ,      the lumps where concealed badge and gun are housed .      he slams the trunk of the car            (      dean can bitch to him about it later ,      sam didn’t really care      ) ,      pivots to turn and face the man .      fingers fish out his crappy old flip phone ,      send a quick sms to dean from behind his back before eyebrows raise and figure leans against the impala .

𝚂𝙰𝙼 :​      and what exactly is it that you want to talk about ,      officer ?

voice remains pleasant ,      expression remains steady ,      but there’s a panic seeping through his bones ,      eyes narrow for a moment as mind races to think of any slip ups he            (      or ,      more likely ,      dean )      could’ve made in the past week :      fake badges ,      credit card fraud ,      potential murder      --      𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 .

​​𝚂𝙰𝙼 :​      i am in a bit of a rush ,      so if we could keep it brief ...

stay.   stay in small heath, stay in birmingham. even just awhile longer,  delay your  inevitable  return to london.  the case with the com.munists was slowing,  only so much information tommy would hand over.    (everything has a price, that had been made clear)    but the offerings were getting less and less, the government was only willing to hand over so much to a criminal.   so ada’s sudden offering meant that you would be much closer to the investigation, so obvious in your walking of the streets that something was stirring in small heath. but you had never learned how to say no to a woman as beautiful as she, as charming. supposed it was a family trait,  the ability to wrap those around the fingers.  the preacher may never marry you both,   and the stares from those who did not know you may never stop, but you can kiss her over a flask of whiskey and simply exist in the confines of apartment:    and that was enough for you.   and so you muster a smile, already taking the steps necessary to approach her, and to take her face between your palms.     you didn’t need to speak, you didn’t need the words to describe how much you wanted to stay,  even if it should be cut short, even if you must rent a room elsewhere so that her brothers  prying eyes  did not watch their every moves.   but you were alone, you did not need to worry about keeping your touches secret, underneath the table and behind a closed door. so you press your lips against hers,   a silent yes.

 she    had    never    been    fond    of    irene    williams'    friends.    like    her    step-mother,    they    were    unsophisticated,    snot-nosed    sticks    in    the    mud    that    thought    themselves    higher    than    royalty   going    by    their    manner   and   how   they   acted   in   her   home.    she    would    have    said    something,    perhaps    acted    out,     if    it    hadn't    been    for    the    promise    she    had    made    her    father    the    night    before.    (    be    nice,    they're    our    guests     ).   yeah,    sarah    made    the    effort.    baring    a    toothy    smile,    too    enthusiastic    to    be    genuine    and    with    little    care    to    appear    otherwise.    but    she    was    not    a    barbarian,    sarah    knew    when    to    be    polite.    a    practice    unknown    to    her    dear    step-mother's    guests,    it    appeared,    when    regarding    her    very    own.    searching    the    room    as    though    possessing    a    brand    new    pair    of    eyes,    she    noticed    what    she    had    previously    failed    to.    ❝    how    rude!    ❞     she    let    out    an    indignant    gasp.    ❝    now,    just    who    do    they    think    they    are?    ❞

❝    it's    starting    to    sound    like    you    want    a    favor    more    than    you    are    willing    to    help    me.    ❞     she's    never    been    the    type    to    take    no    for    an    answer. . .    at    least,    not    without    someone    forcing    her    hand    and    relinquishing    any    other    choice.    sometimes    it's    not    as    easy    as    willing    it.    with    her    chin    poking    out    and    her    arms    folded    across    her    chest,    sarah    is    the    very    image    of    petulance.    stubborn    and    uncompromising,    like    a    spoiled    child    right    before    a    tantrum.      ❝    where's    the    chivalry    in    that?   ❞