𝗗𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘

Violent Daylight

Late September: 2016

Bucharest.

Saturday. James does not work on Saturdays.

He wakes up late, watery sunlight streaming through the window and the space on the bed beside him empty. Isabell has her own mattress, of course, but she crawls in beside him every night, stealing the corner of the duvet and muttering something about bad dreams.

She gets up earlier than him. Spends her mornings on the couch, watching cartoons and drawing funny little sketches of Alpine. She doesn't much like to sleep.

Isabell is nearly ten, now. In the past eighteen or so months, she has developed a look about her that makes you want to watch your step. Wolfish and wily, her eyes black and her bones lean, she reminds James of a predator. "She bites," He wants to warn people. "She bites, and with those teeth, she'll fucking rip you apart."

Sometimes, she scares him, and he knows that other times, he scares her. It's expected, really, in a situation such as theirs. She couldn't kill him, not ever, but his very existence tears her heart in half. James poses a threat to her life. She loves him so much that she doesn't care.

There's something terrifying about that. Like they're just waiting to burn themselves. Tempting the flames of fate.

Isabell has lost a lot, but she's willing to lose a hell of a lot more to keep their lives together. She's seen the darker parts of their freedom, now. She knows what it's like to be starving, freezing to death in an apartment that they can't afford to heat, sleeping on the floor of a train in a country that they've entered illegally. Almost two years of that has sucked half the childhood out of her.

Some days, James looks at her and she seems like the oldest child in the world. Then, in different lighting, she looks so young that it scares him.

In the mornings, though, she's just Isabell. Isabell, coming to wish him good morning when he finally drags himself out of bed. Isabell, eating cereal with him before he heads out to work. Isabell, warm and soft and sweet.

He smiles a little.

The door to the bedroom is half ajar, Alpine winding through the gap, and he can hear Isabell's TV shows playing in the background. James groans, rubs his eyes. He rolls slowly out of bed.

As suspected, Isabell is sitting on the sagging couch in the center of the living room, sipping on a glass of water. She looks up as he comes in, stretching out to give him a one-armed hug.

"Hey Jamie."

"Morning." He ruffles her hair. "Have you eaten?"

"Uh-uh."

"Why not? You've gotta be hungry. Make eggs or something. We have eggs." James yawns exaggeratedly, hunting around in the fridge, but Isabell says nothing. She stares at the floor, ignoring Alpine as she clambers all over her. He frowns at her. "What, what's that face for?"

Isabell chews on her lip. "We have no gas. No heating, either."

"Shit."

James knows he's been behind on the bills, but he thought he had a few more days before the situation got serious. However, judging by the stack of envelopes on the table, the tinge of cold licking at his feet, they've been well and truly cut off.

Nevertheless, he tries not to worry Isabell. She has enough on her mind.

"Tell you what, Iz, I'll go down to the market. I'll get something to eat, something we don't need to cook. OK?"

"Sure." She smiles a little. "Come back soon."

"Of course." James drags his coat out from under Alpine and tugs on his shoes, checking the money in his pocket. Not much, but enough for breakfast. One thing at a time, right? He glances at Isabell. "Don't set anything on fire, don't break anything, and if you're in trouble, you know where all the weapons are."