The telly's light cast a vaguely blue glow across the room. The rest of the flat lay in darkness; the only sounds besides those from the screen were just some banging and swearing from the neighbors. Probably watching the same match. All told, it looked to Rose like the beginning of a bad slasher film.
Not that there were anyone here worth killing or stealing from, mind.
Almost identical to her mum's, this place. She looked about the room, eyes landing on a worn afghan, a couple of beer bottles, a half-chewed up sofa that they had scavenged from a few streets over. Anything remotely nice was something he had inherited from his gran. The layout was near identical to her home- same mish-mash of furnishings, nothing really matching.
Her chest tightened. Didn't need the stars to read her future- she was already living it. Just throw in a couple of wailing terrors into the mix, and this was what she would be. Her fingers that had been scratching at the short hairs on the back of Mickey's neck slowed and then completely stopped.
"You all right?"
She hadn't even noticed that her breath had picked up until his voice snapped her out of it.
"Uh, yeah." She tucked her hair behind her ear, letting her knees settle from against her chest into a cross-legged position. "Just a little tired, you know?"
"Mmm." His eyes were already back on the match, mouth hanging a bit in his concentration.
She leaned forward. "Hey, Mick?"
"Yeah?" He didn't turn.
"Do you ever want more?"
"Sure." He absently handed her the empty bowl that had been sitting in his lap.
She gently shoved his shoulder, chuckling. "No, you lump. I meant out of life."
"Huh?" He finally turned to her, confusedly. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know, just…" she shrugged, looking off at nothing. "Getting off the estate, different scene, I suppose?"
"During a match?" he asked, pointing at the screen.
Rose chucked a pillow at his head. "Wouldn't ever have a chance to ask you otherwise," she said without heat.
He smiled, conceding. "Guess you're right." He rubbed his chin. "Who knows? I mean, I've got a steady job, you're at the shop…" She could almost hear her mum finishing the sentence. "What else could you want, Rose?" "I mean, maybe I can go and get more schooling, do IT work, but that would be a few years on. We'll see, yeah?" He reached over and rubbed her ankle, focused on the screen again.
"Yeah."
A few breaths, and she was dying for a smoke. Grasping the pack from the side table, she went into Mickey's bedroom and crawled through the window to the fire escape. The night air was brisk- the chill masking the stale smells that normally clung to an estate. Taking in a breath, Rose felt the tightness in her chest loosen, as if getting out of the room was all she really needed.
Still- might as well. She flicked the lighter and lit her cigarette; the first drag's familiar tang easing her just that least bit more. She snorted. What was getting into her, anyway? She didn't have a bad life. Mickey didn't mistreat her, and she had a permanent job. And her mum loved her fiercely, in her own sort of way. That was more than most of the girls her age who lived nearby could say.
A long drag, a gentle flick of the wrist and fingers. Now it was so instinctual, she didn't even notice she was doing it until it was already done. The ashes floated slowly down from her perch until she couldn't see them anymore. All she could see was a bit of white in the black blur of the street. Just a reflection of the moon in a puddle.
Rose looked up at the moon, cocking her head to the side. She might as well be trying to fly to the moon for all her daft ideas of late. Shaking her head, she put out her stub on the grating and then crawled back in through the window.