Junk Love.

seventeen.

Mel is used to it. Used to men merely loving the idea of her before discarding her like an outdated Playboy magazine once the reality of her set in duller than the seductive photograph he'd painted in his mind. Hence the vacant doors of her unconditional love. Beaten into believing either she's too consumed by selfish desire or addiction to make a living.

Mel is shaken up. Like her fragile make-shift town was quaked by a nine point o earthquake. She's enjoyed snow-thin lines reflecting back on mirrors. Then burning drinks to make her amnesiac to an agonizing of reality.

At a tender age, Dalton only intensified her penchant for self destruction. Frightened, she had tossed her kitchen hat onto the counter and fled Chinatown. Near the city church, where Carter mails his letters, Mel finds sanctuary.

They'd slept under this bridge together once. When Carter had shamelessly slipped that Be Mine candy heart between her teeth and promised her the world despite what that looked like compared to "normal" society. The snail-like progress of life outside what they shared makes her feel like she let him down somehow.

As the cool of the concrete ebbs into her skeleton, Mel faces a harsh reality. Losing her guitar makes it impossible to earn the money to bail Carter from jail before his court date. Now she's faced with the responsibility of employment when, before, community and money hadn't been such a priority. She's always found an odd comfort absorbing into the pavement without expectation.

Mel slurps another hit from the crispy foil blackened by smack. It's the last drags. Barely enough to lift her back up. She's a prodigy in survival but can't cope with being alone. The roots to blossom abusive relationships such as the one she'd developed with Dalton Nian.

Hands reduced to violent tremors she scrapes a hollow straw across charcoal reminders. It's the only ghost she can mirror on her own defenses but it's never enough. Against Mel's will, the tremors ebb achingly through e rest of her limbs.

Collapsed in a fold of shuddering arms and legs she leans against the brace of the concrete bridge. Briefly, Mel is able to manifest Carter's image without the usual sour taint of melancholy.

He's a jungle cat rescuing her from the uncharted Amazon. Even a snuffed halo can finally find her place to belong. It isn't meant to last, though. Mel will always shake in her bones then pitfall into her own mind. This particular withdrawal is akin to a seizure-like urge but, still, she smiles at the city smog above choking with it.

☯

Mel wakes with a different kind of craving. A rancid vinegar aftertaste plaques her teeth. She's sobering up, hungry, and cramped from sleeping on the ground. Sultry midday sun is her only companion as she leaves the bridge, following train-tracks leading downtown.

She tries not thinking of the nightmares which ghosted her afternoon nap. Red and blue lights strobed off Carter's marble skin like a bad trip. He's struggling, handcuffs restrain his arms behind his back, and his eyes are vivid with fear. Mel wasn't able to turn around to see why until after the gunshot.

"Dalton..."

The scream Mel never let out still pinches the back of her throat tightly. Seeing Dalton again is dizzying and maddening. There's a potential in him but not for anything good -- a hunter, a killer, her abuser.

After getting snacks at the gas station Mel endeavors to start the day over. She won't sulk about missing guitars, or Carter, or the shriveled foil crinkling in her back pants pocket.

Finding a tree to shade her from the blistering heat, she tries to focus on a picture book. Reading about wild creatures was once a favorite pastime. Perhaps her interest in learning about animals is why she compares Carter to a jungle cat. Whereas Dalton reminds her of those scaly amphibians whose spit paralyzes or blinds prey. In its own way, she supposes the streets are a wilderness.