Stray

V

                 

V

Peyton

I was awoken by the usual demon cries of the alarm clock. Begrudgingly, I got out of bed. Sleeping in my work uniform was clearly a mistake. I brushed off the last of the pasta that someone had spilt on my shirt last night.

I glanced in the mirror. Oh gosh. Was that onion? I picked out the tiny purple-white cubes of onion out from my knotted hair.

We'd closed up late last night, having not expected a rush of customers near closing hour on a Monday night. I hadn't wanted to stay back to help with clean up, but it was the least I could do, considering Marco was doing me a huge favour by letting me work at an 18 and over bar while I was still six months away from actually being eighteen.

One thirty until six thirty. I'd gotten a solid five hours of sleep while still covered in people's dinners.

If I managed to get ready with time to spare, I guess I could afford to have a shower. As per usual, my mum had left already. I popped two pieces of toast into the toaster, rapping my knuckles against the tabletop as I waited for them to toast.

We lived in a tiny house; it had a kitchen adjoining to the living room, two bedrooms and a bathroom. One half of the living room had started off as our temporary storage space, only to become the permanent one. Cardboard boxes were stacked two metres high and odd bits and pieces were scattered on the ground.

The toast was ejected, somersaulting in the air before landing on the table. I certainly hoped it was clean, but then again, I didn't fuss. I slapped two blobs of butter across the tops and crammed them into my mouth, grabbing a cloth to quickly wipe up the mess.

The bus was bound to come coughing down the street to my bus stop soon – it was already seven thirty. Guess I'd have to pass on the shower. I headed back into my room and pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans and buttoned up my flannel shirt.

Not too shabby, I thought as I looked in the mirror; 'too shabby' being a hairy, greasy ape-like creature.

I crammed the books on my bedside table into my bag and zipped it up, charging back out to the door, locking it before breaking out into a sprint towards the bus stop. I got there just as the driver was about to shut the doors.

"Sorry," I heaved as I clambered on, scanning my bus card.

As per usual, the bus was half full by the time it got to my stop. I chose a seat right near the front and set my bag down by my feet. I was so tired the sporadic clunking of the bus would be enough to rock me to sleep.

I folded my arms up and rested my head against the window, shutting my eyes. My bag was fairly unguarded, but anyone who was desperate enough to steal my bag would be rewarded with some excellent maths textbooks and my crummy stationery.

The sounds around me faded out, and the stop and starts of the bus also ceased to bother me. I was half asleep yet still aware – a strange state to be in really. That was, until the loud rumbling from outside. I lifted my head off and looked out.

Cain was riding his motorcycle alongside the bus, revving his engine each time we came to a stop and had to start again. He looked up at me with a smirk. I picked up my bag and moved to the other side, sitting next to some poor junior student from my high school.

We finally got to school and I watched as Cain rode in through the front gates and parked in the motorcycle bay. I quickly got off and kept my head down, walking away, only turning back to see him take his helmet off.