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Here's to the Broken Kids | Part One | Chapter Seven

Here's to the Broken Kids | Part One | Chapter Seven

Posted November 26th, 2018 by Zelda

by Unclevre
in a perpetual predicament

A/N: This is very short and dramatic, and unedited. Also, I realized that in an earlier chapter I mentioned Jake's hair is long which is wrong. Isaac is the brother with long hair, Jake's is shaved off. I had to clear that up for the reference in this chapter to be right. 

TW! for suicidal ideation. It's fairly passive but still. 

Once again, thank you for taking the time to read this, I appreciate your reads a ton. Also please feel free to start up a conversation in the comments, it doesn't have to be about the story!

- Re

Chapter Seven


   Ann’s teeth chattered. The days were rapidly getting colder and with nothing but a worn hoodie and her equally worn skin to keep the cold out, it wouldn’t be long before she froze to death. Maybe that was for the best, she thought, examining her hands. Her fingers tingled like they were falling asleep and it was getting harder to clench them, pale blotches stood out on her otherwise tan skin. Her feet were catching the cold too, and she knew if she took her sneakers off she’d find similar blotches. Frostbite; the beginning of the end.

   She was still in Thorold. It was a big enough city, plenty of places to sleep. Lots of shelters, but she’d found out a few cities ago that shelter workers kept and eye out for wanted people. So she’d found a junkyard with enough abandoned cars that no one would notice her catching a nap in one and holed up there. The security on the place was pretty lax, there wasn’t even razor wire strung across the chain link fence.

   Shivering, she hunkered further down into the backseat, and stared out at the sprinkling of snow drifting from the sky. By November the snow would be piled up around her car home, blocking her entrance. She would have to be gone by then, she could move west, beg her way to the coast where it was warmer. Or she could stay. She thumbed the hem of her hoodie, the frayed edges catching on her broken nail. She could stay right here in this car and wait for the hypothermia to finish the job. It would be so easy. Hell, she could speed it up. She tugged her hoodie up, exposing her bare midriff and the way her belly caved into her pointy ribs. Cold air chilled her skin, and she pulled the hoodie higher, intending to take it off. But she stopped halfway when she thought about her body being found. How it would look; a bloated corpse with burnt red skin dressed only in underwear and a bra. All curled up and sad in an abandoned car. Some unfortunate junkyard employee with a potbelly would walk by and accidently peer in, or maybe it would be that younger guy, the one with the shaved head who kept picking up crowbars and beating new dents into the cars with it. She slid her hoodie back on. She really didn’t want to be found by that guy.

   Good choice.

   “Oh, screw off,” Ann grumbled, and then for spite she added, “Good luck getting out of this one.”

   The voice had gotten her out of tight situations before, against stacked odds. But this felt different. Winter was setting in rapidly and the voice had just exhausted itself on four days at the wheel of Ann’s body. It was as good as trapped. It couldn’t play false saviour and drag Ann to warmth, not for now anyways. Ann didn’t know when the voice would have its strength back, but she hoped it would be long enough. She rolled over on the seat, the leather cushions were warm from her body. It was a nice car, at least. It was unmarked and she couldn’t tell what it was by looking at it, Collin would have been able to, he loved old cars. Still, it was nice. A good comfy place to live.

   She felt her eyelids growing heavier. The heat of sleep washed over her, relaxing her tense muscles. Then, something else. The start of a familiar prickle deep in the base of her skull. Her eyes flew open as she bolted upright, clamping her hands over the back of her neck.


   The prickle speared into her brain, fanning out across her synapses. She shuddered, hyperventilating against the frozen car window. No, that couldn’t be happening. It was too soon. Her hands turned to claws, digging into her fragile skin. It was too soon.

   Her hands relaxed, bit by bit, until her wrists were propped like dead weights on her shoulders. She couldn’t feel her toes, couldn’t make out the shape of the car parked next to hers. A few more seconds and her vision was too blurred to see where the door padding stopped and the window started. And her heart felt like an alien beating out of her ribs, and her tongue was too fat to fit inside her mouth, and all she could hear was the wheeze of someone else using her lungs to breathe.

   You should have known better.

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