Sister Cities

Part 96: Jinx

Put my past self in the ground

I've been dancing on the grave

I'm not the person that I was then

I'm tearing her away

I was bitter, I was careless

I was nineteen and afraid

________________________________________________________________________________

 I wake up to Vi yawning on my head. I'm stuck to her front like a starfish since it's the only way for us to fit on one cot. Last time us two shared such a small sleeping space, I was twelve and rat-sized, and she didn't have as many muscles, so this was an adjustment. The one single thing I can halfway appreciate about Caitlyn's parents and our stay at their mansion is that they put big beds in their guest rooms.

Vi sits up, holding my half-asleep form upright with an arm, and looks over to where I left my sheets and pillow in a heap at the center of my mattress. "Rough night?"

She didn't notice me leaving or returning— or, if she did, she didn't interfere— and only mumbled semi-consciously and patted my back when I starfished. I'm lucky. Her just saying that brings back the mess I made so viscerally that I have to peel myself off and skedaddle to a corner to start changing into my clothes. "Just a bad dream," I say, sounding as shrill as Squeaker's left antenna.

"We can push the beds together later, if you want."

"Maybe." I stuff my bare foot into a sock. The one that's supposed to be on it is under Ekko's pillow because I'm crazy and thought that was a good idea when I did it, like it would make it so he didn't forget.

We're only doing this once. It doesn't mean anything.

Now I want both of us to forget. I need a memory wipe.

"What're you doing today?" Vi asks, lumbering to a different corner with her bag. "You seem like you're in a hurry."

"Same old, same old. But yeah, I'm leaving early. It's been a couple days since I got any work done. Things are falling apart without me, I hear."

She hums skeptically. "Who's walking you?"

"No one. Who's gonna assassinate me with enforcers crawling everywhere?"

"Enforcers."

"Touché."

"Bring a glue gun."

I put on the arm warmer I made from the fabric she bought me. It's a lot like the one I used to have, but better. I have the new-old boots too, the ones I debuted at the ball, but nothing else in my little wardrobe is quite the same. Usually I like that, but when I go to straighten my mini dress down over my tights, I'm reminded of Ekko's rough, dispassionate move yesterday— You really think I'm gonna be part of your fucked-up self-torture project?— as if I was too disgusting to look at for a second longer. I rip the camisole off and put on my baggy shirt and shorts instead. Something to hide the scars and the shape of my body.

"Manipulative slut," Mylo mutters.

"Vi, punch Mylo," I say, pointing. Vi comes over and decks him.

"What did he do?" she asks.

"Nothing."

I'm still hearing the words in a couple minutes when we go down to the ground, but they're in my own head. I didn't think I was doing any manipulation— I'm used to manipulating people on purpose; I thought I knew how it felt— but obviously my offer was a big fat mistake, and if I was planning to make it the whole time, maybe that's bad enough.