[Little-brother's eyes felt like a wall and that crept into her nose and eyes like Scottish fog, stinging briefly and hard against the roof of her mouth. He looked like dad, gray creeping in at his hairline, jaw a little blurry, sunshine creeping in, like a one-two punch to the stomach and he looked like horror, worn visceral, outside-in. Maggie closed her eyes, her lashes flaking with someone else's rust, shimmied into the shirt that buttoned over drying blood and stained it, inside-out.]
Yeah. [She could hear the stretch of his voice around the words, thin like elastic, but good boy, Neil. Stiff fucking upper lip. Something to be proud of. She swung around too fast for the bruised hip, but she didn't flinch when it screamed at her, ran nonchalant fingers through hair that hadn't been clean in months.]
I could use a shower. [She made the grin happen, lips curling upward, dry over teeth. It wasn't free and easy, but she wanted bed so bad she could taste sleep, even the drop-dead kind in heat that pushed at you all night long. She wanted to scrub until her skin squeaked.] Tell me you know a place. Lou's?