Distrust and Better Days
September 13th, 2016
He couldn?t remember how he?d ended up in the park, or what part he was at. He just knew that the sun cut through his vision in an obnoxious way and forced him to consciousness. Whoever created the sun needs to die.. That lone thought could likely indicate what had him passing out in the first place, however. He wasn?t exactly thinking clearly. A groan rolled over his lips as he shook his head from side to side in irritation. ?Will someone turn off the fucking sun already?? He grumbled, reaching dirty hands up to rub at his face. Blood laced with dirt, but from the way his skin stretched and stung over aching knuckles, it was safe to assume that it was his. Some of it, at least.
?Sorry, it doesn?t work that way. Maybe you should consider sleeping in a real bed instead of a bench in the park.? A sarcastic, careless tone came from what sounded like a woman nearby. ?Seriously.. How can you even sleep like that? Are you liquid like a cat??
?We?re all mostly water, so that?s not too far off,? he mumbled, coughing a bit to the dryness on his tongue making it feel close to sandpaper. There was a kink in his neck, but he?d be numbing that soon. His eyes slowly opened, and you could almost hear that Velcro sound when they did. ?Ngh,? he grunted, lifting his head from where it was dangling off the edge of the bench seat. One knee was hooked over the back of the bench, while the other was teetering on the edge of falling off the seat. One arm dangled off the side where his head was, the other was flopped above until he slapped it to the seat to work himself into a more upright position. It was a struggle really, getting feeling back into dangling limbs and avoiding moving certain ways were the muscles were stiff and sore.
?You homeless? I feel like you?re..? There was a pause, as if she was considering something. ?..a private investigator whose job went awry. Like, you might?ve shot someone, got hooked on meth or something. Am I close?? While her tone oozed with sarcasm, there was questionable wonder on if there was any hint of truth in that.
Rough laughter rocked his chest until he shook his head, trailing into a groan when he found out that it was a bad idea. Pain sprang up in his temples, forcing his eyes closed as his body adjusted to sit up and correctly on the bench. He doubled over, pressing his elbows to knees and his head into his palms, taking a moment to collect himself. ?No? to? all of that.?
?Damn,? she muttered. ?Totally thought I had it too..? A sigh spilled from her lips before the sound of a crinkling bag tore toward his ears like nails on a chalkboard.
?It was cocaine, not meth. Not even once.? His drab sarcasm laced his hoarse tone, the pounding in his skull dulling as he lifted himself from the hunched position. Lids peeled back to reveal mint green slits, his head slowly turning to look over at the woman sitting on the second bench next to the one he was currently inhabiting.
A woman with cocoa colored hair pulled into a messy ponytail, tanned skin and cappuccino hued eyes. She wore a sand colored top, a thin sweater that she?d pulled the sleeves up to her elbows. Her jeans were a pale blue, hems of them peeking a pair of pointy-toed brown leather boots from under them. She was wrist deep in a small bag of potato chips and her strong jaw was chewing away. Plump lips cracked into a tiny smirk to his remark, a snickering laugh coming out before she turned her head to look at him for a long moment. ?You? look like shit, fella.? Her hand came out of the chip bag, brushing the crumbs from her fingers with the use of the fabric of her jeans. She stuck her hand out then, though her eyes were as distrusting as they possibly could be. ?Peyton Young.?
?I feel like it,? he agreed, watching her stick her hand out and considered it for a long moment. Finally, his back slid against the bench until he was leaned on one elbow on the seat. He stretch out the other hand, grunting with the effort. ?Billy Shaw.?
Her eyes narrowed for a moment, looking at the cuts and bruises across his knuckles. She gave his hand a single and quick shake before letting go, using her jeans once again to rid it of grime. Switching the bag of potato chips to her other hand, she dipped into it with the hand she hadn?t touched him with. ?.. You could?ve punched someone?s Grandma. I don?t trust you.? Turning her eyes away from him, she stared ahead and continued on with her chip eating.
September 13th, 2016
He couldn?t remember how he?d ended up in the park, or what part he was at. He just knew that the sun cut through his vision in an obnoxious way and forced him to consciousness. Whoever created the sun needs to die.. That lone thought could likely indicate what had him passing out in the first place, however. He wasn?t exactly thinking clearly. A groan rolled over his lips as he shook his head from side to side in irritation. ?Will someone turn off the fucking sun already?? He grumbled, reaching dirty hands up to rub at his face. Blood laced with dirt, but from the way his skin stretched and stung over aching knuckles, it was safe to assume that it was his. Some of it, at least.
?Sorry, it doesn?t work that way. Maybe you should consider sleeping in a real bed instead of a bench in the park.? A sarcastic, careless tone came from what sounded like a woman nearby. ?Seriously.. How can you even sleep like that? Are you liquid like a cat??
?We?re all mostly water, so that?s not too far off,? he mumbled, coughing a bit to the dryness on his tongue making it feel close to sandpaper. There was a kink in his neck, but he?d be numbing that soon. His eyes slowly opened, and you could almost hear that Velcro sound when they did. ?Ngh,? he grunted, lifting his head from where it was dangling off the edge of the bench seat. One knee was hooked over the back of the bench, while the other was teetering on the edge of falling off the seat. One arm dangled off the side where his head was, the other was flopped above until he slapped it to the seat to work himself into a more upright position. It was a struggle really, getting feeling back into dangling limbs and avoiding moving certain ways were the muscles were stiff and sore.
?You homeless? I feel like you?re..? There was a pause, as if she was considering something. ?..a private investigator whose job went awry. Like, you might?ve shot someone, got hooked on meth or something. Am I close?? While her tone oozed with sarcasm, there was questionable wonder on if there was any hint of truth in that.
Rough laughter rocked his chest until he shook his head, trailing into a groan when he found out that it was a bad idea. Pain sprang up in his temples, forcing his eyes closed as his body adjusted to sit up and correctly on the bench. He doubled over, pressing his elbows to knees and his head into his palms, taking a moment to collect himself. ?No? to? all of that.?
?Damn,? she muttered. ?Totally thought I had it too..? A sigh spilled from her lips before the sound of a crinkling bag tore toward his ears like nails on a chalkboard.
?It was cocaine, not meth. Not even once.? His drab sarcasm laced his hoarse tone, the pounding in his skull dulling as he lifted himself from the hunched position. Lids peeled back to reveal mint green slits, his head slowly turning to look over at the woman sitting on the second bench next to the one he was currently inhabiting.
A woman with cocoa colored hair pulled into a messy ponytail, tanned skin and cappuccino hued eyes. She wore a sand colored top, a thin sweater that she?d pulled the sleeves up to her elbows. Her jeans were a pale blue, hems of them peeking a pair of pointy-toed brown leather boots from under them. She was wrist deep in a small bag of potato chips and her strong jaw was chewing away. Plump lips cracked into a tiny smirk to his remark, a snickering laugh coming out before she turned her head to look at him for a long moment. ?You? look like shit, fella.? Her hand came out of the chip bag, brushing the crumbs from her fingers with the use of the fabric of her jeans. She stuck her hand out then, though her eyes were as distrusting as they possibly could be. ?Peyton Young.?
?I feel like it,? he agreed, watching her stick her hand out and considered it for a long moment. Finally, his back slid against the bench until he was leaned on one elbow on the seat. He stretch out the other hand, grunting with the effort. ?Billy Shaw.?
Her eyes narrowed for a moment, looking at the cuts and bruises across his knuckles. She gave his hand a single and quick shake before letting go, using her jeans once again to rid it of grime. Switching the bag of potato chips to her other hand, she dipped into it with the hand she hadn?t touched him with. ?.. You could?ve punched someone?s Grandma. I don?t trust you.? Turning her eyes away from him, she stared ahead and continued on with her chip eating.