waiting by the mailbox

and i'm listening to the whispers

She's getting dressed, short skirts and silky fabrics and expensive shoes with heels long enough to injure a man, mind absent when she grabs her bag. Her shoes clack against the ground despite her efforts on being quiet and she's finally reaching for the door, her hand on the knob when she hears the sofa shift and turns, blue flashing and she's out the door, running down the steps. Noodle doesn't make it far, just barely a block away when Murdoc comes screeching by, smog curling from his car and she enters just as quick, buckling her seatbelt in when he floors the pedal.

They've been doing this for a while now, attending parties, getting drunk, and getting away from Wobble Street. She'll dance her troubles out on the floor and he's in the back getting wasted and stoned and laid by stranger or three. Until the club shuts down for the night and all the patrons scatter like ants and she's left with her uninhibited band leader to take home. Which she does, dragging him the entire length, his dead weight being the most of her troubles; she's thankful for him in a way, already giving her his keys before he starts letting go, it was a habit formed from when they first started attending parties together weeks ago, she persisted and he really didn't need another DUI.

-

Loud music booming in her ear, she's moving with the beat, feeling reckless and wild. She's been dancing for hours now, since she escaped the house that evening, a gaggle of local girls welcoming her into their group. Noodle, taps one of the girls' arms, gesturing towards the bar, smiling when the girl nods and follows her to the stools. She waits as the girl begins to order, feeling bored as her high slips, tensing in warning when an arm wraps around her.

"A round of shots for these ladies," the stranger says, smirking when she turns.

She's scowling, plucking his arm off her as she gets off her seat. Noodle turns to the other girl, looking apologetic when the girl shrugs, awkwardly raising their purchased glasses, the shots pushed to the side. Reaching for the drink, the strange guy snatches it, taking the cocktail and downing it. She's clenching her fist, feeling frustrated; the guy is getting too close to her face and she's just about to punch, being interrupted at the last second, a familiar green body crashing against the counter.

"Wha' shots?" Murdoc asked, shooting the glasses back, clicking his tongue, "I dun 'ee any. Why dun you le' go of my lady friend over 'ere 'n piss off? 'fore she gets 'eally mad, you wouldn' li' it," he chortled, lowering his gaze down the man's form before traveling back up, "She aims low."

-

"Sum'thins' wrong wit'chu," he slurs wobbly, his finger in her face, eyes glazed and incoherent.

He's been murmuring lately, complaining, about everything when he's drunk and she's tired of him, of the comments. She's tired of the dancing and her aching feet and the booze and the heat and the sweat and the smoke and the people.

She tired of Russel being "'oo fucking big", and 2D being "a na'eve fuck", and Murdoc being a douche.

"'n you!" he's laughing now, dark and insulting, and she feels like hurting him when he opens his mouth once more, "you're li' a fucking 'icked puppy."

She drops him on the floor then, his pained groans protesting, tearing off her heels, running to her room.

She tired and she's had enough of him tonight.

She doesn't feel like doing anything anymore right now.

-

She's sitting there in the absolute dark, by herself, confined by her bedroom walls, ears straining to listen to the shuffles from upstairs where she knew where he would be going and what he was doing, and she feels like she's suffocating.