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05 i'll keep my ears on, i'll keep my eyes open
Mercy's finger tap anxiously against the outside of her truck as her other hand clutches the bottom of her steering wheel. The wind whips against her skin, freckles and grey dots flashing in the June sunlight. Her bottom lip is bitten blood-red, gnawed at by gnashing teeth and sharp nails pulling at the skin until it rips. It's quiet. Her stereo hums restlessly with the pulse of a miscellaneous rock song that she'd smuggled past her mother, but there's a distinct lack of underlying white noise stirring the air at her ears. Mercy pulls her hand from the window.
It's only a matter of time.
She's barely been home this week, her dream's misplaced. Mercy has bounced between Nino's, Henrietta's one coffeeshop and driving aimlessly through town's wide, maze-like streets beside her stops at St. Agnes and Monmouth Manufacturing, finding herself hot on Ronan Lynch's trail without meaning too. It's easy to get lost in Henrietta's hold unless you've grown up there, wandering senselessly amongst the greenery of an endless labyrinth of the town's own creation. It's a trap. Outsiders are hooked by the claws of the countryside, blinded by the small-town quality of charm that Mercy thinks Henrietta distinctly lacks, and then lose themselves within the winding streets.
"You're becoming boring, Little Spider." Illusion's chin tips down towards their chest, head leant back against the headrest as they look to Mercy. "Why are we driving aimlessly when Henrietta has so much to offer you?"
"We," Mercy says, gesturing between them with her free hand, "aren't doing anything. You're free to leave at any point. I don't want you here."
They poke at her phone, resting in the cupholder of her truck. It's new, plucked from her dreams the night before, without a charging hole or cable and it's reflective screen free of the spiralling cracks that branched from her old one like the roots of an old oak tree. Their presence is particularly strong today. Hand tightening against the steering wheel, Mercy scowls. The radio volume shifts, sound increasing with every crank of the dial.
