₀₄ pinky promise

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THERE WAS TRULY NOTHING WORSE in Mel's post-traumatic world than a silent car. Where stagnancy would force her brain to compensate. To fill the void. The way that cloud over her mind would separate into droplets of thoughts and memories she would otherwise shove back. Ichor drops, multiplying like amoeba. Whether it was music or voices, Mel needed sound. Hell, she'd even prefer TV static, because at the very least, it could drown out her inner voice in a sea of scratches and squiggles.

     The car's engine fell dead in an apartment building parking lot, and alas, silence. The headlights spotlighted two circles of nothing on the building. All other lights had long melted out except for one. Mrs. Carlisle had always been the kind of wait up.

     Jenny had been glaring numbly out at the world, frozen against the passenger seat all the same since she'd sobered up enough to straighten her spine. Her eyes' black-lined outer corners were smudged to the sardonic ash of her magma tears. She looked about ready to tear up the lace of her Like A Virgin costume from the inside, leaving a shell of Madonna's sex appeal on the floor. She remained all silence and restriction and bitterness, until—

     "Sorry."

     Only a notch above a whisper. It caught Mel off guard.

     "What's that for?" She asked. For a moment the quiet was so thick that her inhale dangled in the air.

     "For doing it again," said Jenny, pulled up from somewhere hollow. "For not being in control." And Mel thought of the cold, cold grin of Tommy H. She could only assume the same for Jenny, who sighed, "You know, Billy—he thought a smile bought him a ticket. He was being an entitled asshole, but," Her eyes stuck to the dash, "I think there's something wrong with me."

     Mel shook her head. "Jenny..."

     "I'm serious. I just—I can't control it anymore. I hit him." Jenny swallowed. "And he deserved it, but I can't even remember a single thought I had leading up to that moment."

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