Wearing borrowed clothes to school on my second day hadn’t exactly been my plan, but I suppose it was better than wearing ill-fitting clothes instead. Minor victories. The plain, turquoise t-shirt, comfy jeans, and tan jacket had already been in the room when I entered it last night along with a couple twenty dollar bills and a note that they were ‘payment for the show.’ I had scowled a bit at that, but I had ultimately decided to keep the money. I needed some right then, and it was true that I’d been a crowd pleaser. I pulled the clothes on and idly wondered who they belonged to. They weren’t Faultline’s—she was definitely taller and actually had a figure. These seemed like they belonged to someone closer to my age who dressed for comfort over style. I only passed one staff member on my way out, and when I asked where the three capes I’d met last night were, he said Faultline was out on an errand and the others were still asleep.
The quiet that hung over the club was pretty disconcerting in a way. It just didn’t seem right to see it like this, without the flashing lights and pulsing beats, so I made my leave quickly enough after asking the guy where I could get breakfast. Bus fare cost a $1.25 if I remembered correctly, and while I had a quarter—at least, I was sure I had a quarter somewhere in my bag—I needed to break a twenty to get a dollar bill. I was hungry and wanted breakfast, so if I could kill two birds with one stone? All the better.
Once he’d given me directions to a nearby coffee shop, I ducked around the corner of the club once I’d left out the front, and I tugged off Tammi’s domino mask once I was reasonably certain no one was looking. The shop wasn’t far away, and I got there quickly enough by foot. It wasn’t until I had ordered my croissant and bottle of coke—the person at that counter had given me a look when I’d ordered that instead of coffee—that I saw the clock on the wall and realized I had only a half an hour to get to the school. There was no way I could figure out the bus transfers and actually get from here to there in time. Hell, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t even get halfway there before I was late, and I still needed to stop by the office to ask, “So, does anybody know where I live?” I wanted to do that before school, so I could go straight to Masuyo’s apartment after and get my own clothes.
Well, there’s one way I could get there in time, I thought.
Once my order was ready, I practically swallowed my croissant whole, I ate it so quickly. Once I only had crumbs and half a coke left, I hastily exited the shop and made my way back towards the Palanquin, bottle in hand. If capes like Gregor and Newter were known to associate with the club, then anyone who saw what I was about to do probably wouldn’t think as much of it. Made sense to me, anyway, and I didn’t have a lot of time to ponder a better idea. I simply ducked back around the side of the building again and pulled the mask back on. Once it was in place, the coins I’d had stored in my backpack and kept feather light with my power swarmed out of my bag and wrapped around—
I was trapped in the trunk, darkness everywhere—
The coins clattered to the ground as I shivered. Shitfuck! Nooope, that ain’t gonna work.
I almost resigned myself to just being late, but then I glanced at the coins clustered on the ground in a ring around me. Wait, am I over thinking this? I stepped onto a portion of the ring, wrapped the rest around my feet, then lifted that up into the air.
Fuck YES, I can fly! I thought while hovering a foot above the ground. Then I tried to take off like I’d seen Legend do and released a startled shriek when I nearly fell on my face. Whoops. Well that was graceful... I guess I gotta add metal to more points of my body, if I don’t want to flop over and literally break a leg. It took me the better part of a minute to find a happy balance between ‘stable enough to fly’ and ‘nononodarkplaceisbad!’ but I eventually settled on wrapping coins around my feet and legs up to my knees, wrapping some around my hands and arms up to my elbows, and wrapping some more just underneath my nonexistent bust. It didn’t feel that dissimilar to wearing boots, gloves, and a belt, albeit a ridiculously high belt, but what mattered was it worked.
I was flying! It was amazing! Granted, I didn’t seem to be flying incredibly fast or anything like that. It was hard to judge with certainty, but I appeared to be out pacing most of the cars I flew over below. But hey, I also didn’t have to deal with other drivers, stop lights, or even following streets, so perks—namely, flying!
I flew away from the rising sun towards the northwest while drinking the remnants of my coke, and I spotted Winslow in short order. I didn’t have a watch and my phone was still deader than a doornail, so I didn’t know how close to the bell I was cutting it. I did see students outside though, so that meant I wasn’t late yet, at least. I quickly found a place to touch down discreetly and began to pull my coins back into my bag. The imagined image of my bag slurping up the coins and burping made me giggle a bit, and soon enough I was tossing the coke bottle in a nearby dumpster and leaving the alley. Correction—I pulled off the mask and put it in my bag before I left the alley. Forgetting I had been wearing it the night prior was once more than I ever wanted to make that particular mistake, thank you very much.
From there the journey to the school’s office was straightforward. It wasn’t far from the entrance, though I did take some time to marvel at how much metal was in the school. Lockers, light bulbs, piercings, jewelry... Hell, I could sense, judging by their relative sizes and weights, what were likely knives and guns. It was mind-boggling to realize just how much metal could be in a place when I hadn’t really paid it any attention before. Still, I was on a time crunch, so I forced myself to stop trying to count how many people were carrying weapons—spoiler alert, it was a lot—and made myself actually walk into the office. Just like yesterday, the secretary kept her eyes firmly on her monitor until I was actually standing in front of her desk. Only then did she acknowledge my presence with a brief glance, a perfunctory, “What do you need?” and returning her gaze to her monitor.
She did a double-take and stared at me, her mouth agape.
Oh boy, I thought wryly, she’s stepped up her rudeness. Which of course necessitated an appropriate response. “Careful, you could swallow a fly like that.”
“You’re—”
“June Fujiwara,” I stressed, remembering all of yesterday’s hoopla and deciding to get ahead of it this time. “Listen, weird question, but uh, do you have my cousin’s address on file? Phone number too, actually. And on a related note, could I use your phone?”
“Omigod! Jake!”
I involuntarily looked up at the (regrettably) familiar name, winced when I realized what I had done, then blinked when I finally acknowledged that, yes, Masuyo was standing in the open door to the principal’s office. In the blink of an eye, my cousin rushed across the room and wrapped me in a hug, which no, nope, nuh uh, not happening. I shoved her off, and she gave me a hurt look. I had no idea why though, or why she’d hugged me. We had only really known each other for less than a week, so why was she acting like this? There had to be more there, and it probably tied into why she took me in when Mom died, but asking her about it in the middle of the school’s office while Principal Blackwell and Secretary McRudeFace were watching was a wretched idea.
“My name is June. And, um… Hi, Masuyo?”
“Ja—June, where were you? You never came home last night!”
And so we reached the question that I probably should have decided on an answer for before now, though to be fair, I hadn’t expected to run into Masuyo at Winslow. I’d thought I would have a whole school day of generally ignoring teachers to come up with a plausible lie. Sorry I didn’t call, but the paper containing your address and phone number got blown away by a gust of wind into the bay, and when I tried to catch it, I accidentally fell into the water and ruined my phone and all the contents of my bag. Thankfully a friendly do-gooder whose name I’ve conveniently forgotten saw the entire tragedy unfold and, moved by my plight, housed me for the night and gave me these dry clothes to wear. No, I don’t recall where they live—I’m a wide-eyed kid in a brand new city, how could I possibly be expected to recall an important detail like that? Or this person’s name? Or what they looked like? Or what their house looked like?
You know. A plausible lie. Not at all like that one, AKA the lie I spun on the spot because I was caught on the wrong foot.
Masuyo sighed and ran a hand over her face while Blackwell and McRudeFace simply stared. “June…” she started to say before pausing and holding up her finger, a look I couldn’t decipher crossing her face. Personally I was just pleased she used my goddamn name this time with stuttering or needing me to prompt it with an opstay with the akejay. “Just… We’ll talk more when we’re back home, okay?”
“Sure.” Putting that off forever, if I can help it.
“I’ll… See what I can do to get you a new phone. I’ll check my finances when I get home.”
I had to bite my tongue to not snap at her over that. She keeps doing this. Why does she keep doing this?
“Do you have money or did that get ruined too?”
Really trying my patience. “I have money.” That was actually the truth too. I had who knows how much money in coinage of varying currencies in my backpack at that very moment, plus a few bills too.
Her expression tightened a bit, and she pulled out her wallet anyway, like she was uncomfortable and trying to hide it. I honestly had no idea how I kept my expression aloof—I was seething. Determined not to make a scene in front of the school staff, I silently resolved to slip the money back into her wallet later or, if she noticed, say a friend gave me lunch.
If she was going to continue being like this, then I would definitely need to consider Faultline’s offer. Or else just use my powers to make my money in some other way. I was no stranger to stealing clothes, makeup, purses, and all that jazz, and it would only be easier with my new powers. In fact, now that I had powers, I could finally get access to the sorts of things I hadn’t been able to steal before. Namely, hormones for my transition. I could just rob a pharmacy for them. For that matter, any pharmacy I robbed would have valuable drugs like narcotics I could sell, and places like that were doubtlessly insured against robbery.
The idea of running on my own was very appealing, since I liked being self-sufficient, but if Brockton Bay was anything like home, then the statistics for being a solo villain—or hero, for that matter—were probably shit. And if Faultline had ten grand to throw around as a signing bonus, then working for her would probably be pretty lucrative.
It was food for thought.
----------------------------------------
Masuyo left shortly after giving me some money—ugh—a new slip of paper with her address and phone number on it, and since first period had started by that point, I was sent to class with a note and a fresh copy of my schedule. I had different classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays than the rest of the week, and I was pleasantly surprised to find I shared the class right before lunch with the girl who had shown me the way to the office yesterday. Our seats weren’t next to each other or anything as convenient as that, but that still meant I knew where she was once when the bell rang. Not that I could possibly miss her in that outfit. Jeans with holes everywhere that revealed purple fishnets, a white crop top featuring a flaming skull with a black speech bubble and red symbols clearly meant to be censored swearing, and an over-sized bomber jacket. And neon green lipstick. Can’t forget that. How on earth did she get away with wearing that here?
“Hey, wait up!” I called out as I jogged a bit to catch up to her out in the hallway once class was over. It seemed like she wasn’t heading in the direction of the cafeteria—at they very least, the rest of our class was heading the other way—but she might have been heading to her locker to get a bag lunch or something, so I didn’t pay it any mind.
She gave me a confused look when I slowed to a walk next to her, but recognition lit up her eyes after a second. “Oh hey, newbie. What up?”
I briefly entertained the thought of telling her what had happened yesterday sans my gaining powers, just for the look on her face, but I ultimately rejected the thought. “Eh. New school shit. I haven’t got anybody to sit with at lunch. Mind if I tag along?”
She tossed me a look. “I’d been planning to peace out and hang out on the Boardwalk. You down?”
I cocked my head a bit in thought then shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Any particular reason you wanna play hooky?”
“Do I need one?”
“Nah. Just curious.”
She smirked a bit. “Awesome. Name’s Aisha, by the way.”
“June.”
“Like the month?”
“Yup.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“A’ight. Let’s bail, Junebug.” She pointedly ignored my glare at the horrible nickname, and it just so happened that she almost tripped over a small pile of pennies someone—certainly not my power when nobody was watching!—must have dropped on the ground.
It turned out she had been walking to the rear entrance of the school where the kids smoking reefer had been the day prior, which made sense. If anybody in this dump were actually going to stop us from leaving, it seemed more likely to happen walking out the front door. The rear entrance was on the west side of the building, and though we needed to head east in the grand scheme of things to head towards the bay, we very deliberately made our way south for a while before finally grabbing a bus towards the Boardwalk. Nobody really paid us any mind beyond an eyeroll and a “don’t cause any trouble” from the bus driver, who seemed like he was long past caring about kids playing hooky. Aisha clearly knew the city well, as she naturally weaved comments into our chatter about how the street we just passed was constantly being fought over by the E88 and ABB, the Merchants—a gang of drug users and pushers, apparently—frequented that neighborhood to the north, and so on. We thankfully didn’t need to take any transfers, which explained why Aisha had walked as far as she did to catch that particular bus line, and reached the Boardwalk after a little more than half an hour.
The salty smell of the breeze wafting in from the ocean hung heavy over the area, which was littered with people walking to and fro on a long wooden walkway over the beach with periodic docks and stairs of the same material respectively jutting out into the water and descending to the sandy beach below. An eclectic array of shops were located along the walkway, ranging from ice cream parlors with homemade flavors to gift shops carrying tourist bait trash to boutiques selling dresses that probably cost more money than I’d ever seen in my life. The effect left me a bit homesick for Coney Island, truth be told. It probably would have been worse if there had been an amusement park, but even if there had been one, it would have been impossible to mistake this place for home. Coney Island didn’t have bulky, uniformed men who I was pretty confident weren’t police positioned here and there amid the crowds, nor did it have the sight of a forcefield over a retrofitted oil rig out in the water. Some kind of bridge made of light suddenly stretched out from it in a gentle arc, connecting to the paved road on the other side of the shops, and two motorcycles crossed it, the roar of their engines matched by some cheers from people who were probably tourists. The riders were clearly capes, and though I recognized Armsmaster’s blue tinkertech armor and halberd slung across his back, I didn’t know the lady in army fatigues, combat boots, an American flag mask over the lower half of her face, some sort of sash around her waist in traditional USA colors, and her hair pulled back into a ponytail—another casualty of my limited research time before coming to Brockton Bay.
“I recognize Armsmaster,” I spoke up, drawing Aisha’s attention, “but who’s the military lady?”
She gave me a funny look for a moment then shrugged. “Miss Militia. So wait, you new to the city too?”
“Yuuu-p,” I replied, popping the final consonant, drawing a snort from her.
The capes finished crossing, and the bridge melted away, so traffic began moving normally again. “The hell you doin’ moving to Nazi Capital USA?”
I somehow laughed and sighed at the same time. “Mom finally killed herself. OD, not that I was expecting her to go any other way.” A bit of discomfort entered her eyes and posture, so I promptly deflected. “So, what’cha wanna do now that we’re here?”
She shrugged, some of the uneasiness in her body language fading. “Food first, then some ice cream. I gotta hankering, and I wanna enjoy that shit before it gets too cold for it.”
Well at least she waited until it was in the low 70s to satisfy that particular desire. Just thinking about having ice cream in yesterday’s weather sent a shiver up my spine. “Sounds good. But, um, most of these places look real expensive.”
She snorted. “Costs more than it’s worth, most of it. You gotta know which places are worth buying from and which places are worth stealing from.”
I glanced her way and watched as frustration tinged with embarrassment spread across her features. I didn’t know what to make of that, so I just responded normally, hoping she might drop a hint about what was up with that look. “Makes sense. There were some stores back home where it was easier to shoplift than others.” I glanced askance at a not-policeman as we passed through his line of sight. He met my eyes briefly, and I resisted the urge to look away immediately. That was one of the first things I learned when I began to steal—avert your eyes too quickly, and you seem like you’re up to no good. If you stared for a couple of seconds then slowly moved your gaze away, you would come across as curious instead. “We didn’t have whoever these jokers are skulking about though.”
“Yeah, you gotta watch out for the Enforcers. They catch wind you’re a thief, then BAM!—you’re tiny pieces in a dark alley.” Oddly, she sounded relieved, which what the hell, but then I put two and two together and realized she was relieved I hadn’t made a big deal about her mentioning stealing. Her earlier embarrassment abruptly made much more sense. And, okay yeah, weird to just put it out there like that. We had code phrases, gestures, and the like back in Brooklyn, which was useful for discreetly finding a fence but inconvenient when you were first starting off and didn’t know what to say and do. Did they have that here? Maybe they had and I’d missed the signals because they’re different?
Whatever. Problem for another time. “They sound like a fun bunch. So, any place around here that won’t charge a hundred bucks for a veggie wrap?”
Aisha laughed incredulously. “A veggie wrap? The fuck you eating that shit for?”
I poked her stomach, exposed as it was by her crop top, and she scowled and swatted my hand away. “Some of us have to diet to stay thin.”
She rolled her eyes at that. “Whatevs. I know a place, c’mon.”
‘A place’ apparently meant a rundown diner off the main strip a block away from the actual Boardwalk. It looked like a bit of a dive, but I was willing to withhold judgment until I’d actually tried their food. There had been some unpolished gems back home too, but I roughly suppressed those thoughts. If I kept comparing everything in Brockton Bay to back home, then I was bound to get caught up in a funk. You live here now, I thought. Get used to it.
A waitress bustled over when we stepped in and frowned once she got a good look at us. “Aren’t you two supposed to be in school?”
Aisha opened her mouth to reply, but I beat her to it. “Flatterer. We aren’t that young.”
The waitress raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh. I guess it ain’t any of my business, as long as you’re paying. Booth or table?”
“Booth,” Aisha chipped in.
She grabbed two menus from a nearby box then lead us over to a free booth, laying them down on each side before stepping aside to let us slip in. “Know what you want to drink?”
“Lemonade,” Aisha responded at the same time I replied, “A coke.”
Once the waitress left, Aisha raised an eyebrow. “Thought you were dieting or whatever?”
“I am?”
“Uh… A coke ain’t diet food.”
“Well, I mean, I’m not dieting all the time,” I defended. “I get veggie wraps, salads, and the like for lunch, but I do whatever’s convenient for breakfast and dinner. And I can’t not have a coke.”
She grinned. “Riiight. Sounds like the makings of a good diet. You’ll be five hundred pounds in no time.”
I kicked her under the table. She kicked back, cackling.
Yeah, I had a feeling we were going to get along just fine.
I took a second to examine the menu and confirm they did indeed serve veggie wraps here. When the waitress came back with our drinks, she took Aisha’s order—a chicken sandwich with fries—then turned to me and asked, “And you, sir?”
I scowled. “I’m not a guy.” She gave me a skeptical look, and I grit my teeth. “Look, I’m here for food, not your opinions. Just get me a fucking veggie wrap.”
“There’s no need to swear,” the bitch haughtily replied.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be giving people shit over how they look,” Aisha sneered. She visibly looked her up and down. “Ain’t like you got room to be talking.”
That got her mad. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. Get out of here before I call a truancy officer.”
“Happily,” I bit out, spitting in the drink she’d just brought to the table.
The two of us left, and Aisha paused to flip the bird at the waitress at the door before cackling and running out when the lady yelled at her. I watched with a smirk from the sidewalk, basking in the vindictive pleasure of being defended by a friend.
“Didn’t realize this place had started hiring assholes. C’mon, let’s find somewhere else.”
“Sounds good.”
A short while later, we were enjoying some hot dogs from a good cart Aisha knew of, leaning against the boardwalk railing and chatting idly about random topics. I’d never been the sort to comfortably sit around with someone in silence, so the babble was a-okay in my books. Oddly, I found I got really uneasy if I looked at the bay’s waters for too long, so I made a point to face away from them.
After the previous topic reached its conclusion, Aisha unexpectedly asked, “Do you get that a lot?"
“Get what?” I asked, thrown by the non-sequitur.
“Get mistaken for a guy.”
I sighed bitterly. “My whole damn life,” I replied, actively avoiding why. “I’d been hoping it would be different here. Would’ve made being forced to move here worth it, at least.”
She tilted her head, a considering look on her face, then nodded. I almost questioned why, but she spoke up before I could ask. “That sucks.” She paused. “I guess I did that too. Sorry again about that.”
With how unapologetic Aisha seemed to be in every other way, especially her attire, it felt important that she had apologized—twice over the same thing, no less—so I gave her an easy shrug. “You’ve been chill since. So, y’know, we’re cool.”
She smirked. “You been to the Market yet? We should go Saturday and see about getting you something rockin’ to wear to school Monday.”
“You mean that big flea market off of Lord Street? I’m down with that.”
“Tourist,” she said with a roll of her eyes, though I could hear the humor lacing the words. “Brocktonites just call it the Market.”
“Okay, ‘Market’ I can get behind, but ‘Brocktonites’? You’ve gotta be kidding me. That sounds so lame.”
“The hell else we gonna call ourselves? Bayers? Brocktonians? Brockers?”
I laughed at the last one. “Okay, I’ll give you that. I guess it’s not your fault whoever founded this place didn’t pick a kickass name like ‘New York City.’”
“You’re joking, right? They just took the name of the state and tacked ‘city’ on the end!”
“And I suppose John Doe Brockton or whoever founded this place using his last name with ‘bay’ on the end is better?”
Our hot dogs consumed, we continued our friendly bickering while window shopping for some time before parting ways for the day. Of course it wasn’t until after Aisha had left that I realized I was an idiot—knowing the address of something didn’t actually translate to knowing where that street is.
And Aisha could’ve given me directions too. Fuck my life.
----------------------------------------
It thankfully didn’t take me very long to get back to Masuyo’s apartment. In the end, I asked one of the Enforcers if I could borrow their phone’s map app, posing as a tourist looking for my aunt’s house. I was only lying about the exact details, so it was easy enough to be convincing, and I got a small thrill out of being a thief right underneath the asshole’s nose. I was careful to only search for the name of the street—I didn’t want the asshole to come knocking later after all—then found a secluded place to take flight with my power, mask in place. Once I’d found my way to the street, it didn’t take that much longer to actually find the apartment building. It was a little ways due east from Brockton Bay University, just a bit north of the north end of downtown, so I was confident I could find it easily enough in the future.
I carefully descended, stowed my coins and mask, then made my way inside, easily retrieving the metal key from the sea of metal in my backpack by flexing my power. Out of habit I almost tossed my backpack onto the floor by the door as I slipped inside, but I aborted the motion halfway through at the last second. If I left it there, then Masuyo might think to move it, would doubtlessly notice it was insanely heavy, and would probably investigate. I had no idea how I could explain my stash of coins, so it was better to avoid the scenario altogether. I tugged the bag back up onto my shoulders and started towards the pullout couch I was sleeping on instead, flipping on the lights as I entered the living room.
I was halfway through unfolding the bed when Masuyo emerged from the hallway leading to her room and the bathroom. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. You’re home.” Not hearing a question, I didn’t bother replying. After I got the bed fully unfolded, she asked, “So… How was school?”
Something about the way she said that made me suspicious, so I glanced at her over my shoulder. “It was fine. Why?”
“Nothing interesting happened?”
Ugh. Did the school call her about me skipping? Maybe I can divert her attention? “I guess… If making a friend counts.”
Masuyo’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Who is he?”
I crossed my arms. “Her name is Aisha.”
“Ah, sorry, I just thought… Well, never mind. It doesn’t matter what I thought.” Damn right it doesn’t. “I’m just… I’m just glad you’re here. You scared me when you didn’t come home yesterday!”
A part of me really wanted to tell her This isn’t home, especially after my bout of homesickness earlier at the Boardwalk, but I managed to hold my tongue. This place may not be home, but it was still a roof over my head. Yesterday had made it abundantly clear that was nothing to scoff at. “Yeah… My bad.”
She ran a hand over her face, a look of frustration peeking out from between her fingers but disappearing by the time they slipped off her chin. “I checked my finances, and I’m sorry, but I can’t get you a new phone until after my next paycheck on Friday. We can go to the mall on Saturday, okay?”
I bit my lip, feeling frustration well up in my gut. When I had lived with Mom, I’d grown used to being self-sufficient while she lived from drug trip to drug trip. The only things she had ever done for me were giving birth and somehow—and god only knows how—managing to pay rent regularly enough that we hadn’t been tossed out on the street. Then along comes Masuyo trying to pay for everything, someone I hadn’t known until Social Services introduced us and said we were family. And don’t get me wrong: I didn’t doubt that we were related or anything like that. Sure, I had some freckles and my hair edged more towards brown than her midnight black hair, but we had the same button nose and cheekbones, and our eyes were the exact same shade of chocolate brown. I could definitely see us being cousins. To get back to my point though, I was frustrated because I wasn’t used to someone caring about me. She was concerned when it seemed like I didn’t have lunch money earlier and made a point to give me some, even though it was obvious she didn’t really have the money to give. I was used to going hungry when I didn’t have lunch money—AKA all the goddamn time. Then she got all freaked out enough to apparently try to hunt me down at the school when I didn’t come home last night. I was used to being at home whenever I pleased because I could count on Mom being too high to notice my comings and goings. On some level I knew I should be happy to have someone in my life now who gave a fuck, but it was weird.
I didn’t want weird. Leaving home behind and moving to this stupid city with its modern day nazis was weird enough. Nearly getting killed after my first day of school, my third day in this bloody city because I was trapped in the trunk, can’t get out, ple—Fucking stop it brain!—because I’m trans or Japanese or both or because I was a convenient target I don’t fucking know was the worst kind of weird. I was full up on weird, and I didn’t know how to or want to handle Masuyo caring about my wellbeing.
“Don’t worry about it,” I replied, trying to keep my voice level. I wasn’t sure if I succeeded or not, but I tried dammit.
“It’s not a problem.”
Trying wasn’t the same as succeeding. You fucking liar. “Stop it.”
“Huh? Stop what?”
“Stop lying to me,” I hissed. “Stop it.”
“I’m not… I don’t understand?”
“I don’t want your goddamn charity! I don’t want it or need it!”
“J-June…”
“I was fine when Mom was only good for a bed to sleep in, and I’ll be fine now that she’s dead and you’re doing it instead. Just… just stop worrying about me and get out of my life, okay?” Fuck, she was crying. I didn’t mean to… Fuck. “I’m going out for a walk.”
“June, please… It’s almost dark. It’s not safe.”
“I’ll be fine. I just… I need some fresh air. Go study your nursing books or something.” Do something that matters instead of worrying about me.
I grabbed my bag and left, doing my best to ignore that she was still crying when I walked past.