Forsaken

𝑡𝑤𝜊

tw: implied assault

Rowan knew smoking was bad for her.

It gave her a god awful cough and often felt as if a hole was burning it's way through her lungs with each new puff. Only it burned in exactly the way she wanted it to. In a way she could control. With little thought she could pin point the exact source of her pain right in the middle of that hole in her chest. She liked that.

Her actions did in fact have consequences, perhaps small ones in the grand scheme of the entire world, but their existence was undeniable. The smoking was proof of that.

So perhaps the fact it was bad for her was part of the appeal.

Or at least that's what she told herself as she slid a cigarette between her lips. Maybe it was all a lie. She just liked a smoke.

He liked to smoke.
"I love you Thea"
The memory clouded by smoke breathed between parted lips.

Ash dropped down onto the flagstones and between the cracks beneath her boots. She found herself down the streets of a rundown estate, walking until her cigarette was all but burning the ends of her fingertips. The sun had scaled itself higher into the sky with each passing minute she took to reach the outer roads.

A sign rutted into the side of a wall caught her attention.

The Old Mule

Her stomach churned dryly against itself and all of a sudden the chipping paint sign of a galloping mule became rather appealing. Her hunger had her testing the door to see if they were open and sure enough it slackened against its hinges at her touch.

She let the nub of her cigarette slip out of her hand, landing on the ground by her feet with a trail of ash following behind it.

With one last look over her shoulder she slipped into the pub, passing through a curtain of warm air as the door swung shut behind her and sealed out the cold.

The walls were flushed with dark burgundy and stained wood skirting, a patterned carpet fraying beneath her feet. Nothing special beyond four walls and a kitchen but the smell of food was enough to draw anyone in.

A few groups populated the tables around the room, favouring the bright window seats where they could eat in the morning light, whilst she began to eye a table in the corner.

An older man sat with his grandson, slicing into some toast as the young boy scribbled something frantically on the back of a menu.

A woman ate her breakfast alone.

Another young family enjoyed their meal together.

Rowan made a b-line for the back of the pub, conscious of the way eyes flickered over to her as she passed. What a sight she must be. Her fingers dusted with ash, her cheek blistered blue, sniffing for scraps like a stray. A mother would point her out to her young daughter and say 'that's what happens to girls who don't behave'.

She dropped down into a booth tucked away beneath the staircase, comfortably away from prying eyes. For a while she just sat, kicking aimlessly at the leg of the table.

She was sixteen now. She could get a job in a place like this. She should be looking for a job.

Knowing she couldn't linger much longer before they asked her to either buy something or leave, she made her move. A steaming plate sat on the bartop, two pieces of toast and three sausages lined up in a row, the order waiting for someone to collect. Or rather tempting anyone to take it.

"Accio plate"

At the pull of her fingers the plate flew across the room and onto the table before her, the sausages sliding across the ceramic in the slick of their fat. Not exactly a subtle move but the path between the bar and her table was hidden well enough for her to take the risk. Better than than the risk of walking straight up to the bar and taking it.