Darker London

It wasn't long before the cold had seeped to entirely into Carly's bones that her whole body ached with each step.

Imagine if I died of hypothermia and that one stuck, Carly thought as she stumbled thought the night time streets, starting to laugh at the idea. Every person she passed - most of them under struggling umbrellas or sheltered beneath awnings - drew away from her and she couldn't blame them. She was wet and bloody and stumbling and laughing. She was the exact type of person everyone should have been avoiding.

( We sound so small; our hearts have no voices at all. )

The crash from downstairs had them all looking up, attention snatched away from the board game pieces on the table. Truth be told Joss wasn't paying all that much attention the game anyway, because Hope kept distracting him with her gorgeous intensity, and he'd really rather be doing something else instead of playing with Serenity and the empty chair that Leon had left.

The wind was making a racket around the house but that didn't disguise the crash, and it did absolutely nothing to disguise the scream that ripped through the house afterwards. Joss found himself on his feet, frozen in the middle of the room, his blood sprinting through his veins as he stared at the door that lead downstairs. He hadn't noticed that he'd grabbed Hope's wrist and pulled her to her feet too, not till she spoke.

Rachel scrolled through the pictures Danny had sent her of his new home, the way he'd decorated his bedroom, the cakes in the kitchen, the backyard, the cat, Deirdre making a ridiculous face at the camera, barely dressed even though it was the dead of winter. Alex was in the background of a couple of them, and Rachel stopped scrolling for a few moments to look at her. She couldn't tell if Alex looked more relaxed than before, couldn't tell what her feelings were about living in this new place just from two pictures. But god, Rachel wanted to know.

Zoe had told Rachel all about what they'd done; going to Alex's house to strip it of her stuff, make a clean break from her awful mother. Zoe hadn't hidden how proud she was of Alex, as if there was any pride to be had in a family's final death throes.

( ... )

Leon's mulled wine was coming along beautifully. He'd been working on this new recipe all winter and wasn't too modest to admit that tonight's batch might just be his greatest yet. Half moons of orange floated in a sea of star anise. He was tempted, briefly, to add to the space vibe with a little glitter; he was sure there was some food grade gold flakes left over from their midwinter celebrations.

Leon busied himself with his dinner preparations and next time he turned around, Joss was looking into the cauldron of wine (the cauldron itself a gift from Serenity's mums). "Divining anything good?" Leon asked, and Joss looked up and gave him a half shrug, but a half smile, too. This had been a pretty good winter for Joss; he was still a moody bastard some of the time, but he grinned a whole lot easier.

( ... )

Carly hated Christmas.

It hadn't always been that way, she hadn't always been the Bah Humbug type. Even as a teenager who thought she was too cool for everything, Carly had loved everything about Christmas. The bright lights, the terrible songs, the rampant consumerism. (Probably that last one the most.)

But it was hard to get worked up about Christmas when she didn't have anyone to spend it with. Even when her father had been difficult and surly, he'd always put all their difficulties aside for Christmas. Something about the tradition of it all seemed to make him more of a dad than he usually was, and they always went and bought the most beautiful tree. On Christmas day she and Jonas and their dad would sit around it opening presents and drinking their coffees and everything felt - for a brief bright and shining moment - like they were all happy together.

( Read more... )

In the months that followed the Great Cinema Massacre, Carly really tried to keep herself altogether. She had people around her who really cared and wanted the best for her.

( I step on broken glass, and dream of soft clouds )

There was a boy in one of Joss’s classes who called himself a witch, not pagan, he said, none of that god stuff, just a good honest witch. They’d smoked a bit of weed together, in the wild back lawn of the Vatican, Joss lying on one of the stolen park benches, Cooper in the empty bathtub, witch-boy high as a kite searching the edges of the garden for – Joss couldn’t remember now, something from Harry Potter – monkshood or some shit. He’d called the spell a recipe for living and that’s the bit that had stuck. A recipe for living. Put the raw ingredients in and life came out. Joss liked the simplicity of that.

Joss wished he was high right now, but he only had enough weed left for maybe one joint and it felt like a dick move not sharing it with Carly.

( ... )

“Can you come get us?” Joss said, in a voice that scared Leon for its fragility. This wasn’t a call asking for a ride, this was a rescue plea.

“What’s happened?” said Leon, already starting to move. “Where are you?”

“We’re walking…” said Joss, then took a little while – Leon could hear him muttering as he must have moved the phone away from his mouth – searching for a location. “Down Crowndale Road, near King’s Cross.”

“I’ll be there,” Leon had promised. “Soon as I can. Joss, what’s happened?”

( ... )

Alexandria had been through many variations of her name as she grew up. From Alexandria to Alex to, last year, Xan. She wanted to be the kind of person who could pull of Xan, it was way more unique than the other variations, short and powerful. But it felt like it took a lot of work maintaining a persona that fit the name Xan, and she’d slowly abandoned it. She was getting older now anyway, she’d turned seventeen recently and wanted her seventeenth year to be one of effortless coolness. Trying too hard to fit into a name like Xan reeked of effort, so Alex rolled her eyes whenever anyone called her Xan now.

She’d thought about going by her last name, Tai, for a while. She liked that too – it was pretty, but it just drew too many ignorant comments from people who assumed she was Thai.

( ... )

When Joss left Leon he ran, not far and not fast because Joss wasn’t a runner. Could probably walk for days but couldn’t hold speed for any great distance. Didn’t need to run far to make it to the tube station near uni, though. Leon wasn’t following him anyone. He didn’t think he would. Leon was good at letting Joss go. Made it easier in the end for Joss to come back.

He plunged underground and took the next train, packing in with so many other people. Joss held onto a pole and closed his eyes, someone’s elbow was pressing into his back, someone else’s arm was pushing into his. He was grateful for it, this press of people around him marking out where his body ended, all these other bodies acting like guards, made him feel a bit like nothing could bust out of his skin and escape because it was too crowded out here. He could almost pretend the arm of the stranger was wrapped around his shoulders. If Leon had been there right now Joss would have attached onto him and hugged him so hard. He wanted a hug and he wanted to be understood. Leon could give him a hug if he asked but Leon could not really understand.

( And there's nobody there to catch us when we fall )

Carly had been having one of her rough days. She could usually spot them from right out the gate, when she woke up already feeling like shit. They were the sort of days where she had a couple shots at lunch just to make sure she could complete work without losing it.

(Cain's hands around her throat.)

She spent a lot of time on those days glaring into reflective surfaces. I'm Carly Fucking Malec, so fuck right off. The reflection sometimes seemed a little doubtful about her words. Mirrors were harder to convince than the other people around her.

So once evening came, Carly went home and changed into something slutty put a flask in her handbag. She could sweep enough money for one or two drinks out on the town, but any more than that would break the bank. Her dress was the same red as her lips and her hair was loose and free and doing its thing with the help of three different products.

Her only interest tonight was getting fucked, was finding some guy who found her irresistible and making him say it. Being taken by some stranger who'd make her feel alive and passionate and daring.

(Cain's hands around her throat.)

She pushed open the door of the pub.

(Shake them off.)

At the bar she ordered a diet lemonade, a choice made because it was cheap as shit and hopefully someone else would soon buy her something proper. Men liked to buy her drinks, so why deny them?

Poetry evening and Carly was dressed all in white, her long lace dress hanging to her ankles, the thin white straps bright against her tanned skin. She'd found the dress in a secondhand store a few months back and, after trying it on and spinning in front of the mirror, had fallen madly in love with it. It had sort of become her poetry dress, her trademark thing.

It made Carly feel sort of like an angel, which was slightly different from the unkillable possibly-kind-of-alcoholic fuck up demon that she was. So let a dress make her feel like an angel once in a while.

( ... )

For Carly, the customers at Mariposa may as well have been from another planet when she'd started out there. While serving she caught snippets of conversation, mentions - actual serious non-joking mentions - of the words 'patriarchy' and 'feminism' and 'oppression' and then other words she didn't know what the fuck they meant, like 'passing privilege' or 'genderfluid' or 'transmisogyny' and they all had straight faces and who were these people?

But after three months there, Carly knew what almost all those words meant, even if she didn't quite get the point of a lot of them. Some of them she did get though and some of them, after thinking they were stupid, were starting to make sense.

( Read more... )

(warnings: mentions of messed up but mostly consensual sex, and daddy issues galore).

Carly was working, very hard, on two things. Two was enough, and maybe even one too many for a real new year's resolution.

One: Less alcohol. Less drugs.

( Read more... )

When Carly woke up she didn't know where she was, only that it was an unfamiliar bed and that she was alone. As well as that, her mouth tasted horrendous and she had no memory of the night before.

Rum. Rum was so fickle and cruel and why had Carly drunk so much at the party?

( Read more... )

Mariposa was the exact opposite of a Carly kind of place, with its vegans (no sugar, no milk, fair trade ethically farmed tea? Who were these people) and students talking in corners about Marxism and socialism and the allegory of the cave (which last week had been just a bunch of words, but now Carly had even explained it to someone else in another group of dreadlocked hippies and got to feel surprisingly clever. Who even needs university?) Mariposa even had poetry readings which was, without a doubt, the gayest thing Carly had ever heard. ("I love poetry," Lanie had said in delight and Carly rolled her eyes: "that's because you're the gayest too.")

( But the waitressing wasn't too hard )

Upon hearing of Carly Malec's situation, Serenity had done everything she could to try to make it so Carly could come work at Mariposa. They did have an employee leaving, but not for a few weeks. She figured if she switched some shifts around she could fit Carly in ASAP.

She texted Carly and asked her to come into Mariposa for a meeting. Sure, Serenity was already pretty decided, but she had to at least pretend to do the official thing. When Carly arrived Serenity told her to order whatever she wanted on the house and then she led her back to a more private booth.

"How are you doing today?" Serenity asked, trying not to give the girl a worried once-over.

After work, Carly got changed in the backroom, shimmying out of her unflattering polo shirt uniform and into the dress she'd recently bought but couldn't justify, even though it had been on sale. Although, as soon as she saw her reflection in the full length window of a shop as she made her way down the street, she decided that the dress had already paid for itself.

( Read more... )

Having rich friends was a fortunate thing when one was dirt poor, and so Carly was grateful for the continued and slightly weird presence that was Lanie Thwaite; Lanie who knew where the best parties were happening or who would arrange them somewhere if there weren't any to be heard of. Lanie who was never stingy with her alcohol and who could always be trusted to have something a little more special on her and pass it off to friends. Thank God for Lanie.

The party was being thrown in an old church somewhere out near the East End - Carly had gotten there on the back of some older guy's motorbike and she didn't know how she'd get home yet. That could be dealt with later, when she was far more drunk. It felt like ages since Carly had properly been out, either too exhausted from work, or dwelling on that 'probably a demonic being' thing, or dwelling on boys she'd stupidly allowed to break her heart. But Carly didn't want to be that girl. She wanted to be the infamous Carly Malec again and what better way than pressed against some unshaved biker and with a head slightly swirling with gin?

( I'm now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy )

Carly was putting a lot of energy into being angry; she knew that it wasn't a healthy way to live, but she also 'knew' that it might be the only way to get her demon side to properly manifest in the way that Merry has spoken about.

('Knew' was a ridiculous term. Carly didn't know anything. It felt like such a long time since she'd known anything at all that was real.)

( Read more... )