Stay High

Chapter Six

The next morning, I wake up at 3.30AM.

I hop in the shower, and I pull on my new clothes. They feel strange on my skin. Softer than I'm used to. It's uncanny, doing up the buttons. My fingers struggle to slip the shiny little shit looking things into the adjacent hole, but eventually I have my shirt done up. I tug on the bottom, staring at my dirty reflection. I run a hand through my hair, attempting to straighten it, to flatten it. But my hair is unruly, always has been.

I sigh, staring at myself for a moment longer. You can do this. It's a simple job. Okay. Perhaps not simple. But. It's a job. A job.

The relief at having a job is enough to urge me from the bathroom. I still can't believe my luck in finding this job. It seems unreal. I grab my phone, and stop momentarily to look at my newest sketch. A quick outline of Heather, leaning on the counter, doing her crossword. It will become a cherished picture, I know. Because it captures the moment everything changed. I will forever be grateful Heather. I will be able to pay this months rent. My bills. I might even have an actual cooked, hot meal one night this week.

The thought makes my stomach rumble. I tap it with my palm, turning to grab the receipt for the clothes and the remaining cash from yesterday. And then I head out at a jog, hoping to catch the 4AM bus. It's a, thankfully, coolish morning. The sun is yet to rise, although she will grace us with her presence in another hour. But for now, the air has a sombre chill to it.

I flick at the sleeves of my shirt as I stop at the bus stop, and roll them up to my elbows. The way my brother taught me. I still remember him, kneeling in front of me, on my first day of school. He wore his High School uniform, tie loose and sleeves rolled up.

"This is cool and practical." He explained, rolling my sleeves up. Mum had scolded him, pulling my sleeves back down. But I'd rolled them up as soon as I'd arrived at the school. It became my small connection to him. It always reminded me of him, and once the thought made me so happy. But now I wanted to rip the sleeves down and never think of him again.

But. In this weather. That wouldn't be practical. As he used to say.

I grumble to myself as I climb onto the bus, taking myself right to the back. I settle down and look out the window as the bus pulls away from the curb. I'm not surprised to see no one else. Not at this hour, at least. I am surprised the closer we drive into the city, though. More and more people are walking about, looking like they have places to be. It shouldn't surprise me as much as it does, and I find myself thinking of Mr Graham and Mr Killings, much to my frustration. I also think about Bentley, though. How much I regret kicking him out. God, sometimes I wish he and I could have been friends. Even though we are from different classes, different worlds. Who cares?

You do. You don't want to be caught up in the rich and famous lifestyle again. You really don't.

I sigh, standing up when we arrive at my stop. I thank the driver and step off.

I almost don't expect anyone to be at the bakery when I arrive. I expect it to be the ultimate prank. Giving me hope for a job, only to have it ripped out from beneath me.

But I see Heather though the window. Or, I assume it to be Heather. She wears a wolf mask, and she's laughing at a man, who also wears a wolf mark. They're lifting their hands at each other, in what I assume to be a threatening way. But it looks comical. I knock on the glass, and they both turn around to me. The man lifts his hand in greeting, and Heather lifts her mask, grinning. She picks up another mask and races over to the door, unlocking it letting me slip inside.

"Here." She says in greeting, shoving the mask at my chest. "This is for you. This is how we welcome people to the pack." She slides hers back down, and then leads me over to the man, who is cleaning the coffee machine out. He waves again, and then reaches a hand out to shake it. I shake his back, half expecting him to remove his mask, but he keeps it on.