@wingsofaleida
When they met, Daphne was so burrowed into her little shell that she barely had a word to say to Aleida. She only knew she liked good music, knew that she had at least some of that same anger and hate that Daphne harbored, and that she was safe. She proved to be safe several times so that now, more than two years later, Aleida was one of the few people Daphne truly considered their friend.
It was past dinnertime and although Daphne was nursing a growling stomach, she didn’t whine about it. Instead, she settled a vinyl into her record player, cranked up the volume, and stepped back with a little smile. “I found this one yesterday,” meaning they stole it, “what do you think?”
She reached for the cover and moved over to her couch, a torn up, plaid thing with cotton hanging out of the sides. Her apartment was not nice by any standard, the walls were a hideous pinkish brown, the carpet stained and frayed in more areas than not, but it was hers. It was hers and she had five locks on her door and then some on her windows; nobody was getting in unless she wanted them to.
She held the cover out to Aleida. “I heard a lady at work talk about it.” It was U2′s new War album. Daphne sat cross-legged beside her friend, nodding their head ever so slightly to the beat of Sunday Bloody Sunday.
