Misfits (#2)

59.

Her eyes soften, "Really? Don't bullshit me. This took me a solid two hours."

"Really." I smile, "This shit's my seven year old self's dream."

She squeals again, jumping on her tiptoes. And then she attacks me, swivelling around so she's on my back, "You like it?"

"Do you want me to scream it? I mean, I can, if your hearing was impaired the first two times but I don't think the others would appreciate that. I scream well." I smirk.

"No. Don't scream. I just-" She tightens her arms around me, half choking me and then ruffles a frantic hand through my hair, "I'm just so excited. Christmas is like..." She sighs with a loopy smile, "Everything."

"Uh huh." I cock an eyebrow, "You'd be fucking dangerous if you ever smoked a joint."

"Can I?" She asks.

I laugh, "When hell freezes over, blondie."

She hops off me, one hand on her hip and looks up at me for a moment. And then, like most times, her eyes start to soften. She takes my hand and says quietly, "I wish she was here today. I'm sorry."

That familiar pang hits my chest. After several months, you'd think those waves of pain lessen. They don't. They only become familiar and expected, which makes them slightly more manageable.

Everyone has their person besides them. Or at least, that's what it's felt like for the past three months, where I've been without mine. Alone. Torn from the one person who means the most to me. Seventy eight days and counting since I saw her last, so many mornings and nights and endless minutes.

Throughout the relentless misery, I've had a handle on myself. No alcohol. None of it, even if it's just a sip here and there. Daily soccer practice instead of partying as much, though I haven't entirely given up on the party lifestyle, and instead of internalising all my pain, I let myself feel it when I need to.

When you haven't grown up traditionally, with nurturing touches or any source of stable comfort, it becomes difficult to realise what you deserve. If you deserve anything at all. My entire life has been one of neglect, by others but mainly, neglecting myself.

That was how it all started. I never valued myself enough to stop drinking before it became unhealthy. I never saw anything as worthwhile - myself, sex or intimacy were pastimes, ways to chase away feelings I didn't want to feel. Nobody was there to show me the worth of things, so for me, everything was inverted. Violet Fawn showed me my worth.

When you meet people that start to make things worthwhile, you realise somewhere along the way, you're worth something too. Somewhere, you've found a family worth anything.

A piece of me has been miles away for seventy eight days and counting. Nothing could ever be entirely whole without my Violet Fawn.

"She'll be here." I say and smile a little, "I'm bringing our ballerina back to us, hell or high water, blondie."

Val starts to grin and then leads me into the kitchen, insisting that now I'm awake, I have to help her out with all the shit she's baking. You'd think she was creating a platter for the Queen of fucking England but I'm definitely not complaining.

Soccer's had me on a strict diet but Christmas is a guaranteed cheat day. So for the next few hours, I enjoy pissing Valencia Emerson off and listen to her ramble on about everything under the sun. I don't want to ruin this day for her so if that means I have to maintain a goofy grin, as they all expect, then I will.

"Okay, pack those brownies up and I think we're done." She says, starting to clean up the mess that is the kitchen.

"Who are these going to?"