Destructive (On Hold)

A Change

And then I reconsidered; Calypso had lead a tougher life than I had. She was right. I had shelter, I had food. I could have survived. 

But did I want to? In a place like that? No, I'd rather have died.

I reaffirmed my position in the matter; I wasn't going back. I didn't have to live like that.

I suddenly realised I was walking alone. I stopped and looked behind me, to see Calypso biting her nails as she gazed into a store window. I traced my steps back to where she stood.

She was looking in a boutique. There were dainty mannequins standing upright in proper lacy white nightgowns, with pearls strung around their perfect plastic necks. My favourite mannequin was stuck in an elegant pose, her white-blonde head tilted back and her hand stretched gracefully in front of her. In her palm was a silver charm bracelet. There was a charm of a bowtie, a Celtic cross, a milk jug, and a turquoise stone, the only bold color on the bracelet. The whole thing was beautiful. 

The rest of her outfit consisted of a posh dress suit (but was possibly a cheap rip off of Chanel) that was white with a black waistline and collar, and gold buttons. The mannequin's feet were clothed in white cotton shoes embroidered with flowers shaped out of string.

My eyes were drawn back to the charm bracelet. Its twinkling glare was hypnotising me. I wanted it. And then I saw the price tag.

"150 pounds!" I gasped.

Calypso glimpsed at me. "Let's go inside," she said.

"I... we can't afford anything."

"Just to browse," she added quickly.

I nodded wildly. I had never seen clothes as nice as these, except when Aunty and Uncle went out for the night and left one of the older kids in charge. Technically, I'm one of the older kids, but I don't act like it. I was stripped of my childhood so early, I was spending my teenage years reaching out for it desperately. So I was never in charge. They wouldn't have listened to me anyway. It was usually Evan, who told everyone to leave him alone while he got stoned in Uncle's private office.

A tinkling bell rang as Calypso pushed the door open and barged inside, as if she belonged in such a store. In her ragged state, her face smothered in soot and dirt and her wrinkled too-big leather jacket, she was definitely out of place. But with the dignified look on her face, I began to believe that she was simply in a costume, in a mask, to hide the fact that she was indeed a posh citizen of Seaview who shopped in dainty little boutiques often. 

Anyway, the store was empty except for the little old lady behind the desk who raised her eyebrow disapprovingly at us before returning to the wordfind in the local paper. Calypso and I immediately sifted through the clothes racks avidly, admiring the simplicity of the lacy garments we had never worn in our lives. 

"Hey!" the old lady snarled at us.

I jumped. I didn't think she even noticed we were there.

"Don't be getting my clothes all messy with your dirty child fingers!" she warned.

Calypso held up her hands in apology, and then headed to the front of the store. "Sorry, Miss. You do have quite a collection of finery," she said politely. Her Southern accent had disappeared, but I could tell she was straining her voice to sound like she did.

The woman turned to me and began a pointless lecture on how these days kids just ran amok, vandalising things and such.

"Er, I've got to go," I said, and pushed past her to the door. Calypso followed behind. The old lady pressed her lips into a thin line and did not object to our departure.

It wasn't until we were at the end of the road and past the shops that Calypso pulled the charm bracelet out of her breast pocket. I gasped. It was the one I'd longed for in the shop window, cradled in the mannequin's cream white palm.

"Calypso! You didn't!"

She grinned at me and looked away slyly. "But I did."

"You stole that! We could get into lots of trouble! That was worth a lot of money."

"Don't be acting all preachy. I saw you drooling over it, and that lady was being a right hag, anyway. We don't have to keep it. We can sell it for how much it's worth and then we won't have to worry about you being so starving all the time." She exaggerated the word starving and held her hand to her forehead in mock distress.

She had a point.

"I keep telling you. The road is no place for someone who won't quit whining. Stealing is the only way you will make money when you are homeless, trust me. Nobody cares for beggars anymore. Time to stop being picky and take what you're given," she said, her yellow-brown eyes piercing mine. Her tone was eerie and determined. She seemed like a different person from when I first met her.

"You want to make it all the way to London?" she asked.

I nodded.

"We can help each other there." She paused, peering around like a hyena searching for its prey. "Let's go," she breathed, and a gust of wind whipped the ends of her black (was it once brown?) hair in her face. And we set off once again.