Bubbles

Chapter 2

Penny

I skip down the street at 2am with my earplugs in and my feet barely touching the pavement.
I'm listening to I Feel Fine by The Beatles because it helps me forget. The moon is shimmering uncertainly in the far corner of the sky, hurt by the loss of limelight. I stop and shake my head empathetically. It's okay, moon - the sun isn't nearly as pretty as you. And it hurts to look at.
Suddenly the ground is coming closer to me and my palms are out and there's stinging as they brace against the concrete. I blink.
I sit up and perch on the kerb. These shoes always make me trip.
The cold causes goosebumps to sear up my legs, and consequently my teeth start chattering. My right earplug has fallen out but I don't bother to replace it; I'm focussed on movement in the garage parallel to the pavement.
A lone motorcycle purrs up to the fuel pumps. The rider isn't wearing proper protective gear. My brow creases at this, and I mentally put knee pads in place on their scuffed black jeans.
They take off their helmet, revealing a head of curly chocolate hair. They twist sideways to get off the bike's seat, and I catch a glimpse of their face - definitely feminine, pointy nose and freckles.
I purse my lips and look down, going to skip the song that's come on. I never liked this one, but never had the heart to delete it. If I listen to it enough I'll get used to it.
"Hey, sweetheart, are you alright?"
The biker somehow walked across the road without me noticing, and is now standing in front of me.
"I'm not supposed to be a sweetheart. I'm supposed to have a hard heart, my mum says so." I wrinkle my nose.
She narrows her eyes in confusion, then cracks a smile before offering her hand. I take it, and feel something wet press against her warm skin. I pull back and examine my hand - there are streaks of blood from my fall.
I shudder. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."
She pulls me up anyway. "I know. It's okay. What happened?"
"These shoes always make me trip," I explain, gesturing to my feet. "My mum seems to have picked them especially."
She giggles quietly and I like it. "Your mum sounds like a bitch."
I step back, horrified. You're not allowed to call my mum bad words, or she gets angry.
"I'm only joking!" She snorts, unknowing.
I shudder again and fold my arms, clenching my phone tightly.
My playlist is finished, the music's stopped. All I can hear is silence and a distant siren.
"You should get home, honey. You're shivering. Do you want a ride?" she looks at me with that weird caring in her eyes that strangers have.
"No, my house is only an hour away," I smile helpfully, and turn around to start walking back. "I go fast."
I walk a lot, it helps me lose weight. I need to stay slim or my dresses won't fit, and that can't happen. I love my dresses.
I feel a hand on my upper arm.
"An hour? That's mental! How long have you been out here?" The biker looks at me with wide eyes. "What's your name, anyway?"
I laugh at her anxiety. I don't get it. No one bothers when I leave the house, whatever time of day. Dad used to try to stop me, but I just used the bathroom window to leave. He always said he'd get a lock, but he never got round to it.
"I'm Penelope," I give her a serious expression. "But never call me that. It's Penny or Pen. I think I left at about half twelve or something - I don't know, Greg never fixed my clock. I rely on bodily instincts and the position of the moon. What's your name?"
The biker has turned her head slightly, in a way that makes it seem as though I've grown another head.
She seems to regain her sense of security after a few seconds.
"I'm Lucinda. But never call me that. It's Lucy or Luce." She uses my words and smirks lopsidedly.
"That's a pretty name. Anyway, I really have to go." I turn around again, and find myself missing the heat of her palm.
"I won't accept just losing you as soon as I've met you. Come here," Lucy stops me again, and takes my wrist. "I'll give you my number, incase you decide you want a ride after all, okay?"
She takes a pen out of the pocket of her jacket and pulls the lid off with her teeth. I feel her scribble the numbers on the back of my hand.
"Mum doesn't like it when I have ink on me." I sniff. It hurts when she washes it off - my skin goes all red.
She shakes her head and sighs, curly hair moulding to the shape of her cheekbones.
"Wipe it off later. But don't forget it."