She blows smoke rings into the cold air; the sun beating down on her. Her fingers shake slightly as she takes another drag from her cigarette – the smoke tastes bitter as she inhales; and she wonders, not for the first time, why she hasn't given them up yet.
Her black nail polish is chipped; her long talons uneven and broken. Her skin is pale, in stark contrast to her dark brown hair which flows down her back; the curls making it appear ragged and uncared for – which, in all fairness, it is. It needs cutting – but now isn't the time. She's not sure when the time will come; but for now, she can live with her split ends – they aren't high ranking on her long list of priorities.
She loosens her claret and yellow tie; undoing her second button and pulling her leather jacket tighter around her skinny body. She's sat on a wall outside school, alone – her friends have long since left for their homes; wherever they might be. They're the lucky ones, she thinks. They're the ones with homes to go to – citadels, shelters, protective barriers from the world outside that seemed hell bent on kicking everyone in it down.
Stubbing out the cigarette on the terracotta wall; she tugs at her black skirt; pulling it slightly further down her lean thighs in a vain attempt to look reasonably conservative. She hates the way men look at her; but she has learnt by now that it appears to have no correlation to the way she dresses – she just seems to have that sort of effect on men.
Someone sits down beside her – a woman, she realises – and remains silent, obviously waiting for some form of acknowledgement before she speaks. She doesn't get any; and so speaks regardless.
"Filthy habit – give up while you can." The woman states, expertly flicking the cigarette end off the wall before placing her hand where it had resided just a few moments ago.
"What, so you're not going to lecture me?" she asks in response, eyebrows raised as she remained staring steadfastly in front; her gaze not wavering from the road in front of her.
"You're not in class, so no, I won't. Count yourself lucky; you know what I'm like."
She snorts with laughter; but it sounds hollow and false, "Thanks, Miss. I could do without it, to be honest with you."
"Why aren't you at home, Jade?"
A long pause follows, eventually broken by Jade – albeit, not with the answer she'd wanted.
"Miss, you know that English coursework?"
Nicki smiles – Jade reminds her of her young self; defiant, private and fiercely independent – she's unwilling to admit that she needs someone to save her; and that's something Nicki knows from bitter experience to be dangerous. She puts an arm around her student's shoulders – a move classed as horrendously inappropriate by many – and is surprised to find that she doesn't flinch away.
Jade sighs; her shoulders sinking from their formerly high, proud position – her posture slumping and her wavy chocolate brown hair falling over her shoulders; cascading down to her waist – it hides her expression; something she's more than grateful for at this particular moment in time. She doesn't like people seeing her expressions; knowing what she's feeling. Especially the ones who try to tell her that they know how she feels – convinced that it would comfort her – when nobody could possibly comprehend her emotions. And then there were the people who told her it would all be alright. If there is one thing that she's entirely sure about; it's that nothing will ever be quite alright – ever again.
She shakes her head, more hair falling over her shoulders. Bringing a hand up to her – surprisingly tear free – face, she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear; a gesture with far more of a meaning that one may think. She's finally – after so many years out in the cold on her own – letting someone in. The person she is allowing in is not what one would call a conventional choice – not many people would put that much faith in their English teacher – but then, Jade Thompson is a very unusual girl.
"I'm sure you've been told this more times than you care to remember," Nicki begins, choosing her words with caution, "But honestly, I know how you feel."
The silence following is deafening; neither wishing to break it and begin the conversation that any sane person would put off for as long as was humanly possible. Jade breaks first, with a sigh, refraining herself from lighting up yet another cigarette for comfort.
"How can you possibly know how this feels? Nobody does. Nobody's brother gets murdered; closely followed by their useless parents being killed in a car crash and not bothering to leave a will, so that everything somehow winds up with the tax man due to a colossal cock up by our ever bloody righteous government; who then proceed to spend it on fucking duck houses and tennis courts." She spits furiously, sucking her teeth in a way which could irritate the most unflappable person on the planet. She was building up a barrier of words as if they were stackable knives or weapons that she knew would protect her from whatever life threw.
"You're right," Nicki answers; uncertain of what she was about to say due to the hurricane of words currently flying round in her mind, "I can't know how that feels. But when I was your age; my parents didn't want to know me. I was taken into care when I was eight; and I never saw them again. Then my sister and I were split up; and everything fell apart from there onwards," she pauses for breath; unsure whether she should have said anything at all, "And I realise that probably doesn't compare to what you've been through, but I have more of an idea than most."
Jade thinks for a moment, staring blankly forwards, eyes not focusing on anything.
"Sorry, Miss. I didn't realise..." she pauses again, "I just thought that you were one of those posh middle class people whose parents and family and that were perfect, who had everything they wanted and no idea what life's like anywhere but grammar school." She admits in a fast flow of slightly jumbled thoughts, raising her eyebrows and then frowning within a couple of seconds.
"Do you want a cup of tea?" Nicki asks simply. It's a very British solution to a problem, she thinks – I'll put the kettle on, love, and you can tell me all about it over a nice brew. Jade, however, doesn't seem the quintessentially British type who would be willing to admit everything over a cup of tea and a ginger biscuit.
"Yeah please, miss."
Nicki withdraws her arm from her student's shoulder, standing up and dusting the crumbs of bricks from her black trousers. She holds her hand out to Jade, who takes it in her own and stands up; clearly not bothered by the terracotta grains that are attached to her skirt as she picks up her massive leather bag – which, Nicki muses, probably contains all of her worldly possessions.
The pair make their way across the playground in silence; two tall slim shadows stretching across the tarmac.
"What kind of biscuits are on offer with the tea?" Jade asks, a beautiful smile gracing her features for a moment as her English teacher laughs. She likes to divert the topic of discussion away from herself as often as possible; for when nobody knows anything about her; nobody can find a way to hurt her – in theory, anyway.
"They're ginger biscuits."
"Fox's?"
"What else?"
"They're nice, they are."
"Yeah." Nicki replies simply. The simple conversation contrasts greatly with the complex character that she is conversing with – and it's, oddly, an insight into her. Beneath the hard exterior, there really is a girl.
I haven't got a clue where this came from; I just sort of ended up writing it! Hope you enjoyed – please leave a review.