Lost In The Gray
Bye bye to everything
I thought was on my side…
"You seriously letting her crash here?" JJ hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the doorway. The girl – Marianne, according to her, not that he believed that – was in the bathroom tidying herself up, John B having given her a pair of Kie's socks she'd left over, lying that they were clean.
"What else I'm supposed to do?" John B hissed back, rumpling up his hair. "Send her back to her fucking psycho stepmother so she can get raped by the stepbrother? I don't think so, JJ!"
"I didn't mean it like that," JJ snapped, running his hand down the side of his face. "But c'mon, Bird, you're up to your neck in shit as it is without adding to it. Your dad's missing, DSC is throwing around words like foster care and your uncle's gone AWOL – and they're gonna find that out sooner or later, man" –
- "She's my uncle's goddaughter, JJ," John B said wearily, having now seen both photo and the postcard, verifying she was telling the truth after all. "That makes her practically family. I get what you're saying, man, but she's on my neck now, whether I like it or not. So she should be counting her lucky stars that I picked her up and not some weirdo."
"She's got angels watching over her, bro," JJ said darkly, only to glance up as the girl came back in, her pretty face seriously pissed off.
His blue gaze flickered over her, summing her up in one swift glance. Kook. She was of their age, give or take a year or two, with long dark damp hair falling down her back, the light catching a gleam of blonde highlights. Short as fuck but with a great rack and good legs, the sundress clinging to every curve. The big green eyes and sinful mouth with that full bottom lip were just window dressing though, only given character by her ever-changing expressions, like clouds across the sky. Hot as hell but a fucking bitch with it, meaning he wasn't going to risk his nuts by even thinking of going there, being pretty sure she'd rip them off without a second thought.
"What is it now?" John B said wearily to Marianne, giving JJ a warning glance as he did, having seen JJ grant her the good ole JJ once-over. That was the last thing he needed on his plate, JJ bagging himself another round with Marianne and the poker, John B sorely tempted to just let nature take its course since JJ needed some sense knocked into his skull.
"Nothing," Marianne snapped. "I was just going to tell you that I've folded up the clothes you lent me and put them in the big hamper in the hall."
"What hamper?" John B asked, confused.
"The-hamper-in-the-hall," Marianne said in a monotone, looking at John B as if he were insane.
"Forget the hamper, man," JJ snapped, not wanting them to get into it. He glanced over Marianne again, becoming distracted despite himself. Red looked good on her, especially against that tan, JJ liking how it was natural. The red hi-tops and white lace socks might have looked weird on any other girl, teamed with a fancy designer sundress, but she pulled it off effortlessly.
"JJ, could you rustle up something in the kitchen please?" John B said, an edge entering his voice.
JJ blinked before recovering himself. "Yes, mommy," he said in a deliberately high-pitched voice, making John B swat his ass, JJ then taking off into the kitchen with an even higher pitched giggle.
Marianne was watching them, confused. "I'm sorry," she said suddenly, startling John B. "I didn't know the two of you were an item or I wouldn't have said what I did."
John B stared at her, startled. "Oh, man, we're – JJ and I aren't together," he then laughed, throwing himself down on the sofa. "He's just my wingman. But don't bother about the other stuff – I'd have thought the same in your position."
Marianne hesitated before sitting down in the armchair opposite, feeling literally like a fish out of water. John B had listened to her story before telling her an abbreviated version of his own, Marianne realising he was the reason her godfather had skipped town after Big John's disappearance at sea. But now she was in an ever bigger mess since her godfather had now gone out of state to build houses in Mississippi. John B had offered to try and contact him on her behalf but something in his voice had made her sense this was a dead end. The state of the house itself was enough to tell her John B had just been left to fend for himself and not very well at that.
"So, um, welcome to the Chateau, then," John B said nervously, spreading his hands wide, Marianne's unimpressed face only serving to heighten the tension. "It's a bit of a mess but if you don't mind that, you're more than welcome to crash here for the time being until my uncle gets back." If he comes back, John B silently added, but he deduced Marianne had already figured that part out.
Marianne's head snapped up, suddenly looking very small again, having expected John B to turn her back out now the hurricane was over. "Wait, I can stay here?" she said in disbelief, voice cracking.
John B took a deep breath, wondering what he was letting himself in for, knowing he really had no other choice. Even if she hadn't been his uncle's goddaughter, he still wouldn't have sent her back, not to that kind of situation, even as it would put him in an awkward position. ""Yeah, you can stay here," he said gruffly, knowing there was now going to be a lot of girl stuff going down, with tampons in the bathroom and God forbid, cleaning and tidying. "Obviously we have to sort out the logistics and stuff. And… you should probably know that the DCS are on my back. If they come around here, you should keep a low profile."
"But your uncle is still your guardian, right?" Marianne frowned, seeing her sanctuary slip through her fingers. "As long as they think he's here, they can't touch you."
"That's the problem, they're starting to get suspicious," John B said, leaning forwards, thinking of the appointment that he'd had to cancel thanks to the hurricane. "They're dropping the foster word bomb into every other conversation. I think it's only a matter of time before my cover gets blown."
"Then what?"
John B flung his hands up into the air. "I don't know," he admitted. "But they're going to have to drag my cold dead carcass to the mainland before I go with them willingly."
Marianne nodded, not knowing what else to do. It wasn't his fault, anymore than her own situation was hers.
"That's why I'm giving you a heads-up," John B then said seriously, studying her. "If something happens to me, you can still hide out here. I'll get the guys to keep an eye on you. But it's only going to work if the DCS don't get wind of it. Otherwise they'll either send you back or you'll be taking a trip to Foster Town too."
"No, I get it," Marianne said abruptly, shifting uncomfortably in the armchair, its springs fucked. "You said we have to talk logistics? I get that too. But you should know something as well. I've only got fifty bucks to throw onto the table. Other than that, I've nothing."
She didn't see the point of telling him that she was an heiress to a construction fortune since it was likely she was going to lose it unless she returned home and braved her stepmother. But that would mean going to the authorities and speaking with the lawyers representing her father's estate. She'd fucked up her reputation royally in relation to school and her social life, having been in trouble one too many times. That would go against her when trying to present her case, along with the fact she was an unemancipated minor. So she knew her stepmother would cook up a story and make out Marianne was a liar who was only trying to rob her family of their rightful inheritance out of sheer spite.
John B exhaled sharply, knowing this was going to be a problem, since he could barely provide for himself. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he then said. "Keep the fifty bucks though. Don't touch it. You might need it later."
Marianne looked at him for a long moment, suddenly suspicious. "Why are you helping me?" she then said, pushing the hair out of her face. "You don't even know me." As it was, she had nowhere else to go, forcing her to stay here. Her fair-weather friends would have outed her for sure, especially if they benefited from betraying her. But in staying here, she had to suspend her judgment, having to trust a boy who might be just as bad as her stepbrother.
"I'm not like your stepbrother, Marianne," John B said coolly, reading her face like a book, "and neither is JJ or Pope. There's no agenda at play here. I'll only help you if you let me. You're free to leave at any time otherwise. The only thing I'm asking is that if you want to walk, you don't bring the DSC down on my head afterwards."
"I won't," Marianne said abruptly. "I owe you for last night at least. I had no idea a hurricane was going to hit. I was just like a bat out of hell, man."
"I don't blame you for being so."
Marianne laughed bitterly, startling John B. "I think you're the only one who believes me," she then sneered. "I know nobody else will. My stepmother definitely doesn't."
"Or maybe she does but she's just lying to cover for her scumbag son," John B said astutely, making Marianne glance sharply at him.
"True," Marianne then conceded, mouth curling downwards at the corners.
"There are a couple of bedrooms going spare," John B then said, thinking it wise to change the subject. "Um, I would definitely recommend changing the sheets and stuff. I can't even remember the last time they were changed actually." He didn't add that all and sundry had slept in those rooms, or that the other Pogues had entertained the opposite sex there either. "Yeah, definitely change the sheets and wash them," he repeated, making Marianne look at him as if he were mad.
"OK, I'll change the sheets," she agreed, eying him oddly. "I would have done that anyways."
"Good, good," John B said quickly, too quickly. "Also, we need to think up a cover story for you if you're going to be around for a while. The other Pogues will need to know what's up but nobody else has to."
"Pogue what, sorry?"
John B looked askance at her before remembering she was from the mainland. He gave her a quick run-down on Pogues, Kooks and Tourons, but he could tell she still thought he was batshit insane. "So, you're obviously a Kook," he said, gesturing at her, making Marianne tense. "Sorry, there's no point beating about the bush, man. You might not be high maintenance but you sure look like it."
"Thanks, I guess?"
"So, we'll make out you're a rich Touron on a gap-year who vaguely knows Kie," John B then said, glancing up as JJ finally emerged from the kitchen, balancing three bowls in his hands and under his armpit.
"Behold the feast of ages!" JJ declaimed, handing John B a bowl and then Marianne the one he'd clamped under his armpit.
"I don't want that," Marianne snapped, shoving it back at him. "Especially since it's been stuffed under your stinky sweaty armpit."
"What, you wanna check to make sure, sweetheart?" JJ threatened, lifting his arm up in the air.
"JJ!" John B yelled, making JJ roll his eyes. "Just give her your goddamn bowl for chrissake."
JJ handed it over with bad grace. "Enjoy your dry Cheerios, Marianne," he said darkly, sniffing the armpit bowl for good measure to wind Marianne up even further.
Marianne flicked the middle finger at him. "Don't you have milk?" she asked John B, looking revolted at the prospect of dry cereal.
"Sometimes," John B shrugged, before shoving a handful of Cheerios into his mouth like it was popcorn.