Catcher Told Me I Was Rotten

>Three:

She liked Lottie, because Lottie wasn't... well, as loud as the rest of them.

Rebecca supposed it was nice, being involved with a group of people like her housemates. The most pleasant part was they were all quite awkward in their own way; and she supposed that it made it easier for her to socialise, in that sense. There was Jack, who never seemed to spend time with anyone outside of their building besides his girlfriend, Anna; there was Tracey, who tended to scare potential friends away unless they were zealous social justice warriors like herself. Then there was Elliott, who was actually surprisingly popular, but at the same time, regarded warily by most; and then, of course, there was Lottie, who seemed to be a perfectly happy sort of quiet. Contented, not nervous; not shy. She spoke when she wanted.

Rebecca was much the same. She was disappointing, though, when it came to her silence; she was frightened, perhaps of saying something wrong, or rash. She was the type to run every possible scenario or conversation through her head – in the past, nine and a half of those scenarios out of ten tended to end in disaster. However, she had come around in the year and a bit of residence with the group of four, and had become a little more adventurous in her interactions.

She'd stationed herself up at the island for her morning cup of tea (the routine of which struck her as quintessentially British), intent on quietly watching the small worlds as they unfolded around her; observing, as Tracey rose behind everything else, and into the kitchen. A steady chatter began about her latest project-cum-protest that could remain mostly one sided, so long as Rebecca made the occasional interested noise, intoned differently each time to give the impression that she was taking in everything.

Next to come was Elliott – almost an hour later, which was slightly... surprising, to say the least. He would usually revive, groggy and grumpy, sometime around noon on a Saturday unless someone showed up to physically caffeinate him. However, today it seemed that he was intent on chumming up beside Tracey, only making the occasional passing remark towards the considerate, purple-haired girl in the corner. Rebecca didn't mind that too much, anyway. In fact, she secretly dreaded the concept of a fully-fledged friendship with someone like Elliott – how exhausting it would be. He was the kind of person who always had to be doing something, riding the universal slip stream, while she was much more comfortable just sitting back and remaining vigilant.

Jack only arrived back at the house at around half nine. He had the usually stains of shame – or Anna, as one would call her in polite company – as he breezed through the common area in pursuit of clean(er) clothing. Those dusky pink lipstick marks that all of them could probably pick out of a line-up of colour swatches soiled his shirt collar. Angry bruises and bites, unapologetic in their aggression, bloomed coal-black against his dark skin. Just another typical Friday night, then.

He gave Rebecca a small nod of acknowledgement, which she could bring herself to appreciate. His mere presence didn't try to coax her into speech.

When Bram, the resident stray, made his first appearance of the day outside the kitchen window, that was everyone accounted for... bar Lottie. Which was odd, seeing as she wasn't the type to sleep past ten most days.

"Anyone seen our darling Charlotte around?" Elliott enquired some time later, from his island of blankets and cushions on the couch. He felt the cold like no one else Rebecca had ever known – no, really, he wore fleeces in July. "She had that interview thingie yesterday."

"Shit, that was this Friday? No wonder all the law students were staggering around like zombies. Isn't Catcher Enright supposed to be like... God, I dunno, it's too early in the morning to do similes." Jack re-appeared, barefoot and considerably less dirty looking, in a baggy white jumper. Leaning across the counter, he scooped up an apple from the bowl beside Rebecca. Breakfast time. "An Antichrist, or something."