"Finchly."
Only one person ever had the bollocks t'call to me that. Finch Lee. Finchly. He calls me that like he f*ckin' knows me. Like we're best friends or somethin'. He's just standin' barefoot in the kitchen'a my crappy little apartment, his eyes as big as two fists held up for a fight. He smiles with his teeth, framed by all that beard an' I have t'brace myself 'gainst the door in case my brain decides I need a kip there on the floor. Ain't been inside two f*ckin' seconds an' I'm already itchin' for a good row.
Barely even registers that Ol' Connie Petain's been dead for a year, like.
"Y'can just get the f*ck outta my house," I cry an' I spit. "I ain't buyin' what you're sellin', mate."
And he does that thing I've always hated, the one where he just keeps smilin' even though I know he's dyin' inside. Makes me wanna punch him right in the ol' chomps.
"You dyed your hair." That's all he says, like he's frickin' outta his gourd soft an' low. Makes my teeth stand on edge, so I look 'round the room for somethin'. Chair legs is too messy, too heavy. Toothpicks for stakin' Kin is just too bloody tiresome, so I give up an' I nod nod nod like a f*ckin' bobblehead.
"Yeah, blue. Like the color blue, Connie. Better than the red, but that's why ya turned me, innit? Red hair. She got red hair too what I recall."
When 'ave I ever sounded so pitiful? I'd punch m'self in the throat if I thought'd do a lick 'a good. He winces though. Good, I say. That shoulda hurt. I got a life for myself now. Got a spot where I can call my own at the Prince's right hand an' yeah, my flat is pretty much crap but it's mine.
"I never said..." And he stops just right there an' looks all sorts of ashamed. Like I just caught him porkin' me sainted mum. That expression ain't winnin' the lottery but it'll do for now.
I'm feelin' braver. I stand up an' I point at him an' he flickers like he's movin' too fast when ain't really movin' at all. F*ckin' ghosts. Don't threaten me with introspective broohaha. Broohaha. Brujah. Cheers!
"I ain't that damned Dekker cow," an' I don't mean that. Not the cow thing. Me an' her get along alright enough but he don't need t'know that. "I ain't ever goin' t'be her. Whatcha lookin' for, Connie? Forgiveness? For what? Aside from the creepy crawly reason for turnin' me, I'm happy with my life. Happier without you."
An' he's gone. Just like that. I slink back down to the floor an' stretch out an' stare at where he'd been. Hadn't been. Whatever. Don't believe in retrospection either, truth be told. I got my future t'look forward to. Dead is dead is dead an' I ain't that just yet.
Ain't ever gonna be if I got any say-so in it, Chief.
Only one person ever had the bollocks t'call to me that. Finch Lee. Finchly. He calls me that like he f*ckin' knows me. Like we're best friends or somethin'. He's just standin' barefoot in the kitchen'a my crappy little apartment, his eyes as big as two fists held up for a fight. He smiles with his teeth, framed by all that beard an' I have t'brace myself 'gainst the door in case my brain decides I need a kip there on the floor. Ain't been inside two f*ckin' seconds an' I'm already itchin' for a good row.
Barely even registers that Ol' Connie Petain's been dead for a year, like.
"Y'can just get the f*ck outta my house," I cry an' I spit. "I ain't buyin' what you're sellin', mate."
And he does that thing I've always hated, the one where he just keeps smilin' even though I know he's dyin' inside. Makes me wanna punch him right in the ol' chomps.
"You dyed your hair." That's all he says, like he's frickin' outta his gourd soft an' low. Makes my teeth stand on edge, so I look 'round the room for somethin'. Chair legs is too messy, too heavy. Toothpicks for stakin' Kin is just too bloody tiresome, so I give up an' I nod nod nod like a f*ckin' bobblehead.
"Yeah, blue. Like the color blue, Connie. Better than the red, but that's why ya turned me, innit? Red hair. She got red hair too what I recall."
When 'ave I ever sounded so pitiful? I'd punch m'self in the throat if I thought'd do a lick 'a good. He winces though. Good, I say. That shoulda hurt. I got a life for myself now. Got a spot where I can call my own at the Prince's right hand an' yeah, my flat is pretty much crap but it's mine.
"I never said..." And he stops just right there an' looks all sorts of ashamed. Like I just caught him porkin' me sainted mum. That expression ain't winnin' the lottery but it'll do for now.
I'm feelin' braver. I stand up an' I point at him an' he flickers like he's movin' too fast when ain't really movin' at all. F*ckin' ghosts. Don't threaten me with introspective broohaha. Broohaha. Brujah. Cheers!
"I ain't that damned Dekker cow," an' I don't mean that. Not the cow thing. Me an' her get along alright enough but he don't need t'know that. "I ain't ever goin' t'be her. Whatcha lookin' for, Connie? Forgiveness? For what? Aside from the creepy crawly reason for turnin' me, I'm happy with my life. Happier without you."
An' he's gone. Just like that. I slink back down to the floor an' stretch out an' stare at where he'd been. Hadn't been. Whatever. Don't believe in retrospection either, truth be told. I got my future t'look forward to. Dead is dead is dead an' I ain't that just yet.
Ain't ever gonna be if I got any say-so in it, Chief.