#marble writes

 “I didn’t even touch you,” Zeladril muttered, getting back into position. “As usual.” 

“No, but you didn’t take an entirely head-on approach this time, either.” Where Zeladril was panting from the exertion of their training session, Alam’valin hadn’t broken a sweat. “You’re learning. Good. Again.” 

“Think we can take a break soon? We’ve been at this forever.” 

Zeladril blinked. Alam’valin was gone. He tensed and quickly whirled around; knew what was coming. He staggered backwards, doing his best to evade the flurry of punches that came his way, all arcing in a manner to mimic the motion of holding daggers despite Alam’valin’s hands being empty. One, two, three, four, five--he just barely got out of the way. He missed the kick. 

Once again, Zeladril hit the ground, and this time he swore loudly, his frustration getting the better of him. “Oh, come on!” 

“The Scourge won’t give you a break. They do not rest, they do not show mercy.” While Alam’valin’s words were stern, the expression in his eyes held understanding. He paused, almost hesitant, then reached out and offered his hand to Zeladril. “That’s three more than you dodged the last time. You’re getting better.” 

Zeladril pursed his lips, eyeing the other man, then he sighed, deflating, and took it. “How much longer until I can get on the field?” he asked, absently brushing some dirt from his clothes. 

“Patience. You’re learning from the ground up. It will take time.” 

“But we don’t have time! The Lich King is out there, destroying everything he touches! I need to be out there! I--” 

“Zeladril.” The sharpness in Alam’valin’s voice caught him off guard and his words failed him. “If I were to send you out before you are ready, do you know what would happen? You would be another body on the battlefield, or worse.” Alam’valin sighed softly and shook his head, his tone softening. “I understand your anger and your pain. But there is no point in trying to run off to help others when you would not be able to help yourself.” 

Alam’valin put a hand on Zeladril’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “You told me when we met that you want to help people. I am trying to give you the tools to do so, and you are improving in each lesson we go through. You’ll make a fine soldier yet, but that isn’t a process that can be rushed. Now--” taking a step back, he stretched, and turned towards the barracks-- “why don’t we get you something to eat?” 

Zeladril bit his lip, watching after his trainer for a moment before following. He knew Alam’valin was right, and with a sigh, a more familiar, warm smile crossed his face. “Why don’t you join me?” 

Alam’valin chuckled. “Nice try.” 

“Oh, come on. Can you blame me for being curious?” 

“You and every other recruit. And strangers. And even seasoned comrades I’ve had the pleasure of fighting alongside. My mask does not come off.” 

“Not even when you sleep?” Zeladril teased. 

“I’ve heard that one before a hundred times.” 

“Well, now you’ve heard it a hundred and one times.” 

“Keep it up and you’ll be running that many laps.” Alam’valin said flatly. 

“...Wait. Are you serious?” Alam’valin didn’t answer. “Alam’valin?” Still no answer. “Valin!” 

Your father wasn’t in his worn leather recliner when you finally snuck your way back inside. The fear pumping through your veins was palpable. Your vision blurred and that bout of nausea from earlier came back. The house was suddenly too warm for what you were wearing – even if it was a simple floral sundress.

You stood there for a moment more before you decided to move quickly, and silently, to your bedroom. Before you made it to your haven you felt fingers graze your scalp followed by a sudden yerk, pulling you down to the floor.

“Slut!” He seethed, having seen you come home with Tim. He drug you across the carpet into the living room, letting go only to smack you across the face. Your head whipped to the right from the force, hands throwing themselves up to protect yourself from more hits.

The kick to your ribs was sudden and unexpected, knocking the wind out of you and forcing you on your side – two more followed.

Your father didn’t say anything as he walked away, choosing to send his message with a glob of chewing tobacco landing next to your face. You lay there for a moment, feeling the tears silently and violently flow down your face.

When you do finally move, the bruises blooming on your ribs are very apparent, pain shooting from them with each breath and slight move you make. Picking yourself up from the floor you bring a hand to your head – the pounding in your skull only getting more and more painful. As you slowly make your way towards your room you begrudgingly strip yourself of your clothes.

The warmth of a shower will help the bruising go down – hopefully.

Grabbing your favorite nightgown you make your way towards the shared bathroom with your father. The rusty knob squeaks as you turn it – you can hear the water rushing through the pipes as they make their way out the top of the small shower head.

You strip off your clothes, taking your time so as to not feel the blossoming bruises on your skin. When you finally step in the shower the warmth envelopes you, easing the pain that your father had inflicted.

The smell of vanilla filled the bathroom as you washed your hair and cleaned your body, moving slowly so you didn’t have to see your father so soon again. You sat on the floor of the shower, letting the water slide down your body – hair blocking your peripheral vision.

The water turned cold.

As you stood you felt the ache at your ribs, the bruises were dark now. You turn the faucet off and grab the old dingy towel off the worn tile floor.

Vanilla lotion, nightgown, panties, vanilla body mist, skin care.

That's the routine you chose to follow tonight, opting to towel dry your hair you slowly creak open the bathroom door, making sure the coast was clear from your father.

You sped walk to your bedroom, towel still in your hands squeezing the last droplets of water out of your hair. Your back hit your room's door shutting it quickly. Closing your eyes you take slow deep breaths, quelling the oncoming panic attack. Opening your eyes they lock on your window.

It was definitely closed when you left… right?

Pushing that thought aside you walk over and latch it shut, making your way back towards your vanity. Throwing the towel haphazardly on the floor you grab your brush and brush out your hair.

This is when you felt the most like a princess. The old yellow lighting in your room makes it feel like your surrounded by candle light, the antique vanity being worn in all the right places, your white frilly nightgown resembling a peignoir, and the silver and white boar bristle brush in your hands was the cherry on top.

You wish your prince charming was here with you, protecting you from your evil dragon of a father, rescuing you from your tower and living happily ever after. Sighing you put your brush down, looking at yourself one last time in the mirror before you grab your diary and climb under the canopy over your bed. The white ruffle comforter felt like butter on your skin, keeping you warm in the coldest nights – which was rare here during the summer in Appalachia.

Your diary felt heavier than normal in your hands, pen still tucked perfectly secure, you grab it and open it, moving through it slowly, feeling every worn edge and reliving memories past.

The warmth of your bed lulled you into sleep before you knew it.

-

Tim was seething.

He had seen what your father had done, turning around on the sidewalk once you walked inside.

He was going to kill him.

No one was to harm his doll. His precious thing that was his and only his.

Brian was trying his best to talk him out of it.

“We can’t do it yet -” he was abruptly cut off by Tim,

“Bulltshit.” He snarled pacing around the cramped, run-down room. Hands shaking as he brushed them through his hair. He dragged a hand across his face as he slowed his pacing to a halt; “Ya’ right,” pausing he continues “We can kidnap him n’ torture him for’a bit, I’d love to hear that pig squeal.” A sickening grin spread across his face.

“We hafta get her trust first,” Brian added, softly as to not set Tim off again. Tim sighed, admitting defeat – although the anger did not cease his motivation for revenge did.

“Two months,” he muttered, “If she ain’t trust me then..” he paused one more, turning to Brian to look him in the eye “we take her.” Brian nodded, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. Every once in a while one of them would fall into this vicious cycle, seeing a pretty girl – or boy – the obsession would begin.

“You don’t need to treat me like I’m fragile,” they whispered. Looking away from the hooded man. The blood that covered them felt cold, as opposed to the warm sensation they were used to. They fiddle with the knife in their hand, nervous about the man's reaction. 

“No, but I will. You should probably know what it’s like, at least once in your life.” He replied just as quietly as their partner. The man walked towards them, arms out to pull them close. No words were needed to understand what had happened in the house. 

The hesitation behind their eyes as they watched the mother run towards her children. The affection –  and even protection – they never received from their own mother had their feet stuck to the ground. 

The sound of their mother's giggles was almost infuriating. Knowing she had yet again come home drunk, presumably with some lowlife following close to her tail. The sound of heavy footsteps following the click of heels only confirmed their suspicion. 

They sighed as they stood up from their bed, closing the book they were currently indulging in. Quietly snuffing out their candle, they made their way towards the window. Slowly pulling it open to get away from whatever situation their mother would soon cause.  

Whenever she chose a man to spend the night with, sneaking back in was the hardest part. Maybe it was the men’s ego in wanting to impress their mother, or the pure anxiety that coursed through their bodies when someone crawled through that window. 

They soon became numb to the punches the men threw and even their mother's harsh words. 

"Why would I tell them to stop? You're always being a creepy fuck crawling through the house at all hours of the night."

"I should've left you on the side of the road when you were younger!"

"Just get out of this house and don't ever come back!" 

And when they would go? She would come crawling back to them. Saying they didn't mean it. Begging for them to stay. Claiming that they wouldn’t know what to do without them.

And then the cycle would repeat, until one day they snapped. 

The hooded man had to push past them to get to the mother running away. The feeling of his body brushing past them roughly brought them back from their disassociation. 

They shook their head to clear any remaining thoughts as they followed closely behind him. 

"Look," he paused, his hands coming in contact with their shoulders. He spun them around and hugged them tightly, one hand resting on their head while the other rested on the small of their back. "I don't understand.... what happened in there."  He took in a small breath, trying to find what words to say.

"I understand our job may be hard, but we can't just hesitate like that. Our boss wouldn't be too happy about it, would he?" He chuckled softly. The feeling of their warm chuckle against his chest brought him comfort. “Hesitation like this can get us killed.” 

The brusque sentence caught them off guard. But the man knew that being straightforward was the way to get to them.

“I know,” they say, their voice muffled by the mustard-colored hoodie. “I don’t know what came over me – but it won’t happen again.” They pulled their head away from the man’s chest, looking into the crudely painted red eyes. The same ones that covered his honey-swirled eyes that enraptured them time and time again. 

They just knew that his eyes softened behind his black mask. They stood there for Gods knows how long before he pulled off the ragged old mask. 

“Although our work may not be …. ethical to some people, we deserve to be treated like humans too.” He said, leaning towards them so his nose grazed the other in front of him. “It’s not like we signed up for this willingly.” He gruffly laughed, the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did.

“We’re hardly human anymore,” they paused, pulling away from the warmth of the hooded man, “I mean, for Gods sake, Brian, you came back from the dead.” They said, the anger and sadness slowly boiling over inside them. 

“I also did not willingly do that,” Brian said, pointing at them like a child. They simply just rubbed their hands over their face in defeat, trying to calm themselves. 

Neither of them asked for this, but it was still hard. 

“I know, I know.” They said, each word getting quieter and quieter as they spoke. “I’m sorry.” They turned, facing him, tears brimming at their waterline, threatening to spill over with each blink they took. 

“Oh my love, it’s okay,” he says, once again pulling them into a hug, rubbing their back in small comforting circles, as he placed kisses on top of their head

“Do you think we’ll ever escape?”  They said, resting their chin on his chest, gazing up at the tiny bits of stubble that were slowly appearing. 

“I don’t know,” he paused, gazing in the distance as the sun made its appearance over the horizon, “But Gods,” he paused, taking a moment of silence to dwell on the situation at hand, “I’ll do anything to escape.”

| Masterlist

| 2 | 3 |

A/N: you guys are gonna have to bully me to write this, i may be hyperfixated on it rn but golly -- i cant force myself to write for shit lol

CW: graphic depictions of gore, violence, blood, kidnapping, abduction, assault, drug use, domestic violence, incest(?), sexual harrassment, emotional abuse, child abuse, physical assault, stalking, dead dove do not eat, more to be added

WC: 1,560

The woods were always so serene at night. The cacophony of crickets off in the distance, the stream running alongside you. Hell, even the rumbling of thunder some odd miles away on certain nights. It all provided an escape from the mundane life you lead.

When you weren't spending your time in the woods, you were disassociating, constructing extravagant ideas of how you wanted to live. A cottage in the woods would be charming and hospitable, yet you were drawn to a more grandiose life. Filled with castles, horses, and fuck, maybe even a prince charming.

But that was too much to ask for, little old you.

Maybe one day, Prince Charming would stumble into your life, whisking you away to that world you dreamed of so often. Yet here you were, sitting in the woods staring at the sunset, basking in the last few slivers of sunlight that were left. Blissfully unaware of the sets of footsteps that were slowly circling you.

Then, just like every night, once the sun had disappeared below the horizon, you got up and made your way home. The grass gradually becoming accustomed to your daily travels, creating a pathway just for you.

Though you never felt the pair of eyes that would always watch you. Every slight step you took, each breath you would take. Even the way your eyes would dilate when the sun shone a little too bright. The way your delicate fingers would dance across the surface of the creek, as not to disturb the lives that lived beneath the surface.

He had always wanted you, craved you even – the insatiable desire to have you never left him. 

But just the thought of talking to you sent his stomach to his throat, his hands clamming up, and his heart ready to beat out of his chest.

Was this love?

Oh, it had to be.

This is what it must be. 

There was no other option in his mind.

He had to have you. He had to have all of you – or none of you. No one deserved you but him. 

You were all his.

You never noticed anything different in your little trips to the woods. 

Never noticing the bigger footsteps in the mud, how there always seemed to be one flower placed perfectly where you sat. You liked to believe it was a woodland creature leaving a gift of generosity, adding to your little fairy-tale daydream.

What you did notice was the constant sound of twigs snapping and animals running, disrupting your little daydream. It almost made you sad, the reality of your life squirming its way back into your brain. 

Yet the rays of the sun beaming down on you would draw you back in.

Oh, how beautiful you looked with the sun illuminating your skin. It makes you look like a God in the flesh. Someone so pure. How he would kill to see you in white – and kill he would.

Maybe this was the day to introduce himself, to finally hear what your voice sounded like.

His feet were moving before his brain could comprehend what was happening. Almost as if he was enchanted by your beauty, and he'd be a liar if he said he wasn't.

The footsteps caught your attention this time, now that you could tell they had a destination in mind. Your head snapped in the direction of the sound, eyes growing wide like you were a deer in headlights. The man was hidden by the shadows, but you knew he was there. His presence grew with each step he took until he finally reached the light.

His black boots were covered in mud, his jeans dirty with sweat and dirt, his flannel haphazardly buttoned, and a black wife-beater peaking out just under it. His brunette hair practically glowed, each strand illuminated with the orange glow from the sun.

He stopped just feet from you, leaning against a tree and pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds. He smacked them against his hand before pulling one out and putting it between his lips. You watch his every movement, although your eyes are not as wide this time. He seemed harmless –  no quick movements, and no strange statements coming from him so far. You turn back to the sunset, skimming your fingers across the water.

"What brings you here?" He asks gruffly, lips still holding the cigarette as he tries to light it. 

One.

Two.

Three flicks are all it takes before it catches.

"Just watching the sunset," You speak quietly in contrast to his voice. Pulling your hand from the water and wiping it on your pink, floral printed sundress, "I was about to get going."  You stand up from your spot and turn towards the man.

He still leans against the tree, occasionally taking drags from the cigarette in his hand. "Well, how come?" He asks, blowing smoke in the other direction away from you, "It hasn't even set yet, doll."

The nickname makes your cheeks heat up, a small smile tugging at your lips, "I just have some work to finish up before it gets too late." You tug at a strand of your hair, gently twisting it between your fingers. A nervous habit of yours that he never realized you had, oh, how he found it precious.

"Aw, it won't hurt to watch it set all the way, sweet-cheeks." There he goes with the nicknames again. "C'mon, I'll even watch it with you." He practically begs. Hoping to stay in your presence just a little bit longer.

"I don't really know you, though." You state, still twisting that same strand of hair. God, you're killing him here. Can't you see he won't hurt you? He'd do anything to protect such an innocent thing like you.

"I don't bite sugar." He smiles at you as he makes his way next to you. He sits down just a couple inches away from where you were just sitting. Glancing at you, and then back down to your spot in a silent offer for you to join him.

Oh, what will it hurt? You wouldn't mind sitting next to someone every once in a while, especially someone who you find attractive. Maybe this is the prince charming you'd been dreaming of. You turn back to the sunset and sit next to the strange man.

"I'm Tim, by the way." He states, keeping his gaze on the sunset as he finishes off his cigarette.

You give him your name, not so subtly looking at him. Getting a closer look at his face. He has dark, prominent sideburns, light stubble lining his jaw, and slightly chapped lips. You watch as he puts his cigarette out on a nearby rock before tossing the butt into the forest. You frown a little, making a mental note to pick that up later.

"That's a beautiful name," He says, finally looking at you. His eyes catch yours, and you quickly look away. Your cheeks slowly turn a shade of crimson, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear, and giving him a small grin.

"Thank you." You say, looking back at him, and then to the sunset just inches away from making its escape below the horizon.

You sit in silence for a few minutes after the sun completes its descent. As the slight breeze tussles your hair, you turn to Tim.

"I should really get going, before it gets too dark," you say, a small smile etching on your lips, "don't wanna get lost."

He nods in agreement as he turns towards you. As he stands up, he reaches his hand towards you, a silent offering to help you up. You take his hand, and his grip is strong, using little to no effort to help you up. You nod at him as a silent thank you.

"Let me walk you home, or at least out of the woods. Wouldn't want anything happening to a pretty little thing like you." He says, slowly backing away and leading you out of the comfort of the woods.

Oh, how he would kill anyone if they ever so much as lay a finger on you.

No.

If they even looked at you. If they even dared to breathe in your presence. He would have their head for sure.

"Why, thank you, my knight in shining armor." You say gently, giving him a small smile.

"I'm more of a comfortable flannel typa guy." He says, glancing back at you.

You laugh quietly, and god, it was music to his ears. He would do anything to hear that sound again. It was his weakness – his drug even.

He gives you a light smile, slowing down his pace to fall in line with you.

"You're very beautiful," he says, looking at you, watching the blush grow on your face. "How 'bout we get lunch together sometime?"  

You look at your feet and wring your hands together before finally looking at him again, "You're really sweet, Tim."  

You notice the park coming into view again, "I would love to get lunch with you." You smile gently at him, the blush fading from a bright red to a soft pink.

Tim thought the pink suited you more, but his mind was wandering.

The smack on your ass was rough. ​ Much rougher than what you were used to. ​ Your father was not a gentle man in the slightest – but he was usually forgiving with his “little lamb,” as he would call you. ​ The decanter in your hand sloshed its amber liquid violently as you stumbled towards the kitchen. ​ “On the rocks this time,” Your father's gruff voice filled your ears, “I hate that warm shit.” He spat. ​ The cool tile of the kitchen seeped through the cotton of your frilly socks – the humidity of the day making them feel almost damp and sticky. Walking towards the counter, you reach for the crystalline whiskey glass – a wedding gift that your mother gave your father years ago, before their divorce. ​ Giving the ice machine on the counter a couple good smacks, you reach in and scoop some ice into the glass. Finally, pouring the whiskey on top, enjoying the quiet tinks the ice made against the glass. ​ Grabbing the glass, you walk back into the carpeted living room, handing it to your father. He looks at you before he takes it, making a show of dragging his rough, calloused hand over yours before he finally takes it. ​ “Y’aint goin off into the woods now,” he states, taking a long swig of the freshly poured whiskey, “not safe f’ya lil’lamb.” ​ You stare at him blankly, the smile you’ve grown accustomed to wearing around him still playing on your lips. “Wasn’t gonna go out there tonight, Pa,” liar, “got some chores I hafta finish.” ​ He finally glances at you, quirking an eyebrow like he almost didn’t believe the lie that came from your lips. He dismisses you with a wave of his hand, sending you back to whatever wifely duty you were to be doing.

You knew he’d pass out before five o’clock – drunk on the Evan Williams he’d been drinking since the sun came up. A daily ritual, you could say. Rushing to your room to make sure you were as prim and proper as could be – hoping to see your knight in shining armor again.

You hadn’t had the chance to watch the sunset since your first encounter with him a couple of weeks ago - stuck in the endless loop of taking care of your father's every need, mostly to fill his whiskey glass. Brushing out your hair carefully, you loop a hair tie through two sections of hair to create pigtails, adorning them with white bows on each side.

Applying more powder foundation to your face – the most natural-looking makeup you could get without your father losing his mind – you smile at yourself in the mirror.

A true, natural smile. Not the fake ones you use on your father, or the ones you use at church when the older ladies ask you how life has been treating you.

You gaze at yourself for a good bit. Critiquing the little aspects of yourself you didn’t like, or how nicely the golden cross sat against your sun-kissed collarbones. Your father hadn’t joined you at church in a long while, adding to the rumors of infidelity and shortcomings to your family name.

The ladies there always tried to set you up with their God fearing sons, claiming that it would do you some good, but none ever swept you off your feet like the knight you yearned for.

Or made it past your father.

You sigh, looking away from yourself, noticing the beginning of sunset off in the distance. Your father's snoring is faintly heard in the distance. Earlier than normal – you thought.

Pushing back from your maple vanity, you stand, gathering your small satchel, as you head towards the back door. Slowly and quietly making your way out, making sure the screen doesn’t slam against the frame – taking a moment for yourself before you run.

Running towards your oasis always makes you feel free. Like the chains that have been holding you down your entire life have finally been released. The wind whipping through your hair has defeated all the brushing you had just done a moment ago, but you didn’t care.

Your knight was waiting for you.

The streams of golden light filtered through the trees, illuminating the spot you always sat upon at this time – like a throne built just for you. You haven’t seen Tim yet, but you weren’t worried. Even if he didn’t show tonight, he would have to show up again at some point.

Right?

You gather your leather-bound diary from your satchel. It was rare for you to bring it here, but tonight felt like the right occasion. Flipping through the soft pages – edges worn from years of use, you finally found a blank page. Clicking the pink pen in your hand, you began to write – about everything and nothing at the same time.

From the mundane life you lead, to the mysterious man you met some weeks ago, and the animals you were hoping to see.

You never noticed him approach.

Minutes may have passed before he even sat down. Watching your hair glow in the glimpses of sun the trees let through – and how delicate and precise your writing was when you had all the time in the world. When he finally did sit, he was quiet – slowly pulling his pack of Marlboros out of his flannel's breast pocket.

A quiet yelp left your body. Lost in the world of your writing, you only noticed him when he finally sat. Spooked by his presence, your heart rate spiked - adrenaline kicking in, causing your palms to sweat and a bout of nausea to hit your stomach.

“Whatcha writing?” He asked, not looking at you, choosing to focus on the cigarette in his hand.

You paused for a minute, taking a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself before finally speaking.

“Nothing really, jus’ daydreamin.” You close your diary, winding the leather strap around the book, being extra careful to tuck your pen in, making sure it wouldn’t get lost.

When you looked at him, it was as if his world stopped. The quiet hum that was always at the back of his mind was no more – the buzzing of cicadas stopped, and the quiet rustling of the leaves seemed to ease.

She was like a signal jammer – one that could only stop Him.

He looks at you for a bit while he takes a drag of his cigarette; careful to blow the smoke away from you – he doesn't miss the way your nose scrunches up in distaste for the smell.

~

It was nearly nine o’clock before you sat down in the sticky red leather seats of the diner Tim insisted on taking you to. Saying that he hadn’t had the chance to take you for lunch yet due to your inconsistent schedule of your nightly rendezvous.

“S’not the best place in the world,” he paused as he adjusted himself in the booth, “but it’s quiet.”

He was right when he said it was quiet – the diner was nearly empty on a Friday night, most opting to go to the local dive bar, or tailgating for a college football game some odd miles away.

The waitress was slow when she came to the table, taking your orders and then meandering off to the next customer. Your dinner with Tim was quiet; the hours spent mostly learning the basics of each other, like where you went to high school, current occupations, and dreams that you never got the chance to obtain.

You were never aware of the new set of eyes watching you that night – completely and irrevocably captivated by Tim. The way his eyes lit up when he was passionate about a subject, or how they darkened when you realized you were hitting a touchy subject.

He was a gentle man – unlike your father – soft touches on the back of your knuckles to show he was listening when you started to ramble on, the occasional head nod to let you know he understood.

You were falling hard for him, even though this had only been your second encounter.

First date in a sense – though you’d never let him know you saw it that way. He would think you were sleezy and easy, someone not worth his time. But oh, how you wanted to be worth his time – see him every day, dates like this every weekend.

Just thinking like this caused your cheeks to heat up and a warmth to pool between your legs. Whore.

“I ought to get back home,” you say, pushing a strand of hair out of your face as you glance away from Tim. “Don’t want my father to start to worry.” Tim nods his head – god, he doesn't want you to go, he’d do anything to keep you here.

“S’alright, I can walk you home?” He offers, standing from the booth and holding out a hand for you to take. You take it gracefully, quickly lifting yourself from the booth.

You lead him out of the diner to your home, the fifteen-minute walk coming to an end too quickly.

“This is her,” you say, turning your gaze to the beat-up home – Ivy trailing up the walls, paint chipping off the siding, and rotting front steps – “I ought to be quiet so I don’t wake my father.”

He gives you a curt nod.

“Will I see ya’tomorrow?” He asks, his gruff voice cutting the growing silence between you two.

“Same time as tonight?” You state, more of a question, anxiously awaiting his response. He nods once again, lighting yet another cigarette of the night.