Behind Blue Eyes

"Here," the girl said impatiently, handing over a heart-shaped hand mirror, the glass cracked, held in place by Hello Kitty washi tape, "check out your cut."

Robby turned the mirror over in his hands, eying its garishly sparkly pink exterior with some apprehension, before checking his fractured reflection. One of the first things he'd done after deciding to stay in Shit Creek for the time being was to sort out what the girl had deemed his 'Prince Valiant' hair. Now was the moment to assess the damage. A hollow-eyed face stared back at him, his tanned skin tinged with grey, making him look like death heated up. He then ran a hand over his newly shorn head, relieved despite everything that Margaret hadn't messed up his hair. Margaret was the woman in the deckchair, Robby learning the girl lived alongside her, the two of them sharing the space beneath the tree, finding safety in numbers. The girl had made out Margaret looked out for her, but Robby suspected it was the other way around.

Margaret was in her late thirties, good-looking with rich dark skin and gold threaded dreadlocks piled up atop her head, her stately figure swathed in a rich purple wrap dress that had seen better days. She didn't speak beyond muttering to herself, but somehow the girl managed to communicate with her through some code of their own, the girl telling Robby that Margaret had once worked in a high-end hair salon and she bartered cuts and dye-jobs in exchange for small sundries. Robby had nothing to trade but Margaret had taken a shine to the woven leather bracelet around his wrist, so he offered it up in exchange, Margaret accepting with a mumble.

"Looks great," Robby said with a forced smile, handing the mirror back to her. He gave Margaret now back in her deckchair a thumbs-up, but she just looked blankly at him, before resuming muttering to herself.

"I think something really bad happened to her," the girl said quietly, making Robby glance sharply at her. "I don't know what – I don't want to know – but I just sense it was something awful."

Robby didn't say anything, his green eyes becoming distant. He himself had done something awful, accident or otherwise, wrecking another life along with his. But the faultline of his folly went further than Miguel, spreading to their families and friends, ruining their lives as well. Yet as quickly the thought came, he ruthlessly repressed it. Not yet. But no matter how far he ran, what he had done would always be with him.

The girl studied him again, that same strange expression of sympathy and suspicion, before going and sitting under the old sprawling tree, pressing her back against the trunk, seemingly unconcerned about staining her white dress further. Robby glanced around him, before flipping his hood up and joining her, stretching his legs out in front of him. The clothes van didn't come around that week after all, but somehow the girl had sourced him a black hoodie and a long sleeved grey marl top, as well as some boxers and socks. Everything was used but clean. She had also scored the three of them sandwiches and a bottle of water apiece from one of the church groups that dropped by every day. The girl had done a lot for him in a short time, understanding without words he didn't want to wander around, showing his face. But her kindness was edged with contempt, as if she was just waiting for him to turn on her.

"You know, I don't even know your name," Robby said suddenly, making the girl's head snap up, face shuttering, Robby quickly learning this was her default expression.

"What's it to you?" the girl said coolly, but something flickered behind her blue eyes, betraying her bravado.

Robby didn't answer her, instead staring straight ahead at the Dodge parked on the slope below, jaw working. Behind the bravura, he felt her fear, sharing in it, sensing she too was running from something. She had admitted to being eighteen, but Robby thought this was a lie, still believing her to be about fifteen or sixteen. Despite the streetwise airs she liked to put on, she struck him as being vulnerable, and dangerously so. She had a kind heart despite caution curbing it on occasion, and she tried to talk tough, her slang sitting at odds with her rich girl burr.

"I'm Taylor," the girl suddenly blurted out, startling him, "like Taylor Swift."

Robby glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, sensing this too was a lie, but he let it go. "I'm Johnny," he said, the name leaving his lips before he realised it. Why he'd assumed his dad's name, he didn't know and didn't want to know, not in the mood for introspection. But it was too late now to take it back, not that it mattered in the long run. Soon he would pitch up in a new place, and would take on a new name, a whole other identity, setting the pattern of his future existence.

"Whatever," Taylor said carelessly, tossing her hair back.

Robby resisted the urge to roll his eyes, becoming annoyed against his will. Why he should be annoyed was another thing he didn't want to face. Let this so called Taylor do her dumb little dance of taking one step forwards and two steps back. He wasn't here to make friends, even as he wanted to avoid making enemies. At this thought, his gaze slid sideways to the two men from earlier, who were now talking to Delilah outside her makeshift shack. They hadn't given him another glance, but he still felt the weight of their stares every time his back was turned.

"Hey, Picnic at Hanging Rock," Delilah shouted over to Taylor, putting her hands on her hips. "You want the last burger or not?"

"No, thanks!" Taylor called back, smoothing her skirts down.

"What about Maggie May?"

"We had sandwiches," Taylor replied, effectively ending the offer before it reached Robby.

Delilah looked at her through narrowed eyes, but let it go, resuming her conversation with the two men. Robby watched the trio, trying to work out the status quo, sensing a power struggle was going down. Taylor had told him Delilah was the queen of their small part of the trail, effectively maintaining order when she wasn't indulging in meth. The men had shown up a week ago, and there had already been ructions between them and the other inhabitants, the older man then playing peacemaker only for the younger man to stir up trouble again. The latter had once come sniffing around Taylor and Margaret's camp, but Delilah had given him short shrift.

Robby stood up, brushing down the back of his jeans with his palms, still watching the men. "I'm heading out," he said to Taylor, having reluctantly realised he needed to get in touch with his old contacts to set up some scams. Thin air wasn't going to pay for his petrol and anything else he couldn't cadge.

"Fine," Taylor said abruptly, but as Robby walked away, he could feel her blue gaze burning into his back.

But my dreams they aren't this empty

As my conscience seems to be…