Herring

I'll Figure It Out Myself

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…

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Day one of not going to school. I woke up, stared at the tiny crack in the ceiling, and decided that horizontal was a perfectly valid life choice. The crack stared back. We had an understanding, the crack and I. It wasn't going anywhere. Neither was I.

Aldy needed water. I knew this because I'd been telling myself to water him for approximately four hours, which is the kind of procrastination that borders on performance art. Eventually I hauled myself upright—ribs screaming, ankle complaining, the full orchestra of fuckery—and limped to the kitchen. Filled a cup. Limped back. Poured carefully.

Deia: "There. Don't say I never do anything for you."

Aldy said nothing. Cacti are ungrateful bastards and I respect that deeply.

I made coffee. The machine maundering as usual. I didn't growl back this time. Just stood there, watching the dark liquid drip into the pot, thinking about how coffee is just bean water that we've all collectively decided is essential to survival. Humans are ridiculous. We take a thing, set it on fire, grind it up, run hot water through it, and call it a necessity. I love it. I love bean water. I love being a ridiculous human.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of nothing. I read a book—the same fantasy novel with the cracked spine, the one I'd held to my chest like a talisman when I first got home. I read the same paragraph four times because my brain kept wandering off to stare at the void. The void stared back. We also had an understanding.

I ate cereal over the sink. Standing up. Like a f*****g animal. Milk dripped onto my shirt. I didn't care. The shirt had seen worse. The shirt had seen latte and pink fruity bullshit and Daisy's blood and my own tears. Milk was a f*****g vacation.

I thought about texting Kezia. Opened the thread. Typed "hey". Deleted it. Typed "still alive somehow". Deleted it. Typed "what's the point of any of this". Deleted it. Put the phone down. Picked it up again. Sent a single emoji: the middle finger.

She replied instantly: "love you too b***h"

I smiled. It hurt my split lip. Worth it.

———

Day two. I woke up and immediately wished I hadn't.

Not in a dramatic, oh woe is me way. Just in a practical, consciousness is overrated and my body still feels like it was used as a piñata way. The bruises had ripened overnight—purple deepening to black, yellow spreading at the edges like a sickly sunrise. My face in the bathroom mirror was a crime scene. I looked like I'd lost a fight with a brick wall and the brick wall had brought friends.

I stood there for a long time. Staring. Not recognizing.

Who the f**k is that.

The girl in the mirror had my eyes. My ink-dark hair. My grandmother's cheekbones. But something behind the eyes was different. Harder. Or maybe softer. Maybe both. Maybe she'd always been there and I was only just now seeing her.

Deia: "You look like shit."

She didn't argue.

I thought about the bridge. The water. The cold. Varietta's face, present and alive and calculating, as she shoved me down. I thought about how easy it would have been to just... stop. Stop kicking. Stop reaching. Let the water do what water does. Let the dark take what the dark wanted.

It would have been so f*****g easy.

I thought about it now. Standing in my bathroom, bruised and broken and staring at a stranger in the mirror. Thought about how easy it would be to just... not. Not go to the bunker. Not fight. Not try. Let the rent increase win. Let Daisy win. Let the void win. There were pills in the cabinet. Nothing fancy—just painkillers from the hospital. Probably not enough to do the job properly. I'd just wake up with liver damage and more medical bills. That would be on brand. That would be very f*****g Deia.

I opened the cabinet. Looked at the bottle.

My stomach grumbled.

Loud. Aggressive. The kind of grumble that says excuse me, what the f**k, feed me immediately.

I looked down at my traitorous abdomen.

Deia: "Seriously? Now?"

My stomach, being a stomach, did not respond. But it made its point. I was hungry. Starving, actually. The cereal from yesterday had long since vacated the premises. My body—this broken, battered, ridiculous body—wanted food. Wanted fuel. Wanted to keep going, even though I hadn't asked it to.

Fine. Fine. You win. We'll eat.

I closed the cabinet. Made toast. Ate it standing at the counter, the way I always did. The bread was slightly stale. The butter was cheap. It was the best f*****g toast I'd ever had.

Feed the body. Not the mind. The mind can wait. The mind can always wait.

———

I went to see Grandma Saoirse.

The walk to Resthaven was longer than I remembered. Or maybe I was just slower. Every step was a negotiation with my ankle, my ribs, my everything. The Seattle grey hung low and indifferent, the way it always did. Rain threatened but didn't commit. Typical. Even the weather couldn't make up its f*****g mind.

The hawthorn tree was still there. Still dropping white petals that didn't care if anyone was watching. The headstone was still simple. She fed everyone who came through her door. Still true. Still devastating.

I sat on the wet grass. Didn't care about my jeans. Didn't care about the cold seeping through. Just sat there, breathing, letting the silence settle around me like a second coat.

Deia: "Hey."

The tree said nothing.

Deia: "I know. It's been a minute. I was in the hospital. Then I was home. Then I got the s**t beaten out of me in a bathroom. It's been a whole thing."

Wind moved through the branches. The petals shivered.

Deia: "I thought about joining you. Earlier today. Not in a serious way. Well. Maybe a little serious. I was standing in the bathroom, looking at the pills, and I thought... what if I just... didn't. Do any of it. What if I just stopped."

I picked at the grass. Pulled a blade. Turned it between my fingers.

Deia: "But then my stomach growled. Can you believe that? My f*****g stomach. Saved my life because it wanted toast. How stupid is that. How absolutely, cosmically stupid."

I laughed. It hurt. Everything hurt. But I laughed anyway.

Deia: "You would've thought it was funny. You always thought my dramatics were funny. You'd say, Deia, girl, you've got too much life in you to quit now. The universe isn't done being annoyed by you. Something like that. You had a way of making everything sound like a joke and a blessing at the same time."

Silence. The tree. The petals. The grey sky.

Deia: "I miss you. That's the whole thing. I miss you so f*****g much and there's no one else to tell. Kezia tries. She's good. But she doesn't know. She doesn't know what it's like to wake up and feel like you're already drowning. She doesn't know what it's like to have a dead woman's ring on your finger and no idea if it's cursed or if you're just losing your mind."

I held up my hand. The opal caught the light—pink and gold and green. Still beautiful. Still terrible. Still mine.

Deia: "I'm supposed to go to some street tonight. Midnight. A job. Criminal s**t. Anders—this guy I met, long story—he set it up. I don't even know which street. Probably Falk. Or near Falk. That's where everything happens now. Falk Street is the new center of my f*****g universe, apparently."

I lay back on the grass. The sky was grey. The petals were white. The world was very quiet.

Deia: "I'm scared. I'm so f*****g scared, Grandma. Not of the job. Not of the criminals. I'm scared of myself. I'm scared of whoever I'm becoming. I punched a girl so hard I tore her face open. I bit someone. I liked it. I liked it. What the f**k is happening to me."

The wind didn't answer. The tree didn't answer. The dead don't answer. That's the whole problem.

I closed my eyes. Breathed. The grass was cold. The ground was solid. I was still here. Still breathing. Still ridiculous.

Deia: "Okay. Okay. I'll go. I'll figure out which street. I'll do the stupid job. I'll pay the stupid rent. I'll keep being alive, even though it's exhausting and humiliating and mostly just bean water and stale toast. I'll keep doing it. For you. For Aldy. For my stupid, grumbling stomach. For spite, mostly. Spite is a great motivator. You should've taught me that one."

I sat up. Brushed the grass off my jeans. Looked at the headstone one more time.

Deia: "Thanks for listening. Or not listening. Whatever you're doing over there. I hope it's nice. I hope there's tea. You always loved tea."

I walked home. The rain finally committed. Of course it did.

———

That night, I sat on my floor—my beautiful, correctly-textured floor—and thought about Anders.

Not his face. I still couldn't quite remember his face. The scarf. The beanie. The three coats. The eyes. Dark, watchful, amused. Like the world was a joke he'd already heard and was waiting for everyone else to catch up.

What street, Anders. What f*****g street.

Probably Falk. Everything was Falk. The wall. The alley. The almost-robbery. The chase. The whole stupid spiral started on Falk Street. Made sense it would continue there. Or near there. Somewhere in that labyrinth of shitty alleys and bad decisions.

I looked at the ring. The opal glimmered. Pink. Gold. Green. Violet. Blue.

Fine. I'll go. I'll find it. Or I won't. Either way, I'll be out of this apartment, doing something instead of sitting here waiting for the walls to close in.

I pulled on my jacket. Checked my pocket for the marker—still there, still black, still ready to prove I existed. Looked at Aldy.

Deia: "Don't die."

Aldy said nothing. I took that as agreement.

I stepped out into the Seattle dark. The rain was waiting. The city was waiting. Falk Street—or whatever street—was waiting.

Midnight. You'll know where.

Yeah right I'll know where.

I walked. Into the night. Into whatever came next.