She pauses, glancing at me, looking a bit puzzled. Yeah, I'm not usually that assertive, especially when it comes to her.

Sorry, but I'm not changing anything else about myself, aside from what was already discussed. I agreed to get rid of my vices, not the sole thing I like about my appearance. Well, that and my cat tattoo. I always liked cats, maybe that's why I'm coping with the raccoon siege so well. They're just cats but worse.

Then, the rest of what she said catches up with me. Hang on a second. "What do you mean traditional?"

She blinks. "He's catholic."

I pause, eyes going unfocused briefly as my mind takes that information and fucking runs with it.

What the hell? Why is she saying that like it should be obvious? Sure, I've seen random religious imagery around the house and he does have that cross chain that I tend to think too much about, since every time I've seen it he's been shirtless, but I never considered there could be something to it. Then again, I tend not to notice much beyond his physical appearance and his voice. And his accent. And his clothes. And his hands. And—

"Seriously?" I cut off my annoyingly fixated thoughts, because Winter has never seemed particularly religious. I've also never even considered that, so distracted by everything else that makes him off limits. Great, as if he wasn't already beyond attainable. Not even in the fucking conversation to begin with—no, that's not enough. Now he also probably wants gay people to burn in hell. Fantastic.

For my own sanity, I refuse to believe it. I can handle everything else, but that would ruin me. Being despised by him for anything I can't change about myself would... oh, I've never considered that. Why have I never considered that?

Maybe he's one of the good ones. I don't know. It's hard to tell with people in this part of the city.

Still, "no way."

Winter appears confused as to why I'm so averse to that idea, so disbelieving of some basic information that shouldn't even affect anything. Let alone my emotional state at all. It's not even weird. A lot of people are catholic. I don't know, at least twenty. Probably way more.

"Yes." Winter stresses the word, looking borderline irritated at this point. I guess it is a dumb thing to argue with her about, at least on the surface level. I can't help it, though. That recontextualizes everything. Not only does he hate me, but now he... how did this never cross my mind? What if he wants me to burn? What if my 0.01% chance this whole time was really just zero?

"My grandpa was a preacher. I don't know, maybe he still is. They don't talk to us." She informs me like it's normal information to drop on me on a random Tuesday morning. Or Thursday. I get them confused.

Wait, no, it's Saturday.

A preacher? As in, Vaughn's dad was a preacher? A catholic preacher?

What the fuck? I'd have never guessed that. Even beyond all my denial, he obviously had Winter young. Vaughn appears in his early to mid thirties. Winter is eighteen in a couple days. At the very least, it was a teen pregnancy. From the son of a fucking preacher?

I have so many questions. I know they'll never be answered, at least not without raising suspicion, but I can't help but wonder. Either way, holy shit. I'm having a difficult time not giving her an exaggerated reaction.

God, it's so hopeless. I already knew it was hopeless. I even knew it's because of a somewhat moral reason. Stemming from Vaughn's core values, though? His compass? I need to give it up. I needed to give up a long time ago.

Please fucking give up.

"That's crazy." Is the only response I can muster. I guess that does give me a decent starting point. Knowing that information in itself reveals a lot about Vaughn, it just also gives me a good idea as to how deep Vaughn's hatred for me truly runs.

Winter glances at me curiously, before giving me her last idea. One she must've thought of while I was spiraling internally.

"There's also me, but I don't know what you'd talk about. That's all I can think of, though. You guys don't have much in common."

Gee, you think?

"It's fine." I decide to just give in, to escape this topic of conversation if anything. "Whatever, you can talk to him."

Winter's expression brightens. My mood improves microscopically. I need to lie down.

"Really?!" She cheers, like she's genuinely surprised I agreed to that. Whatever; desperate times. Also, Vaughn is absolutely not going to say yes. He doesn't even want me breathing the same air as his daughter, let alone working in his shop. I don't have anything to worry about.

Well, aside from the obvious. Jane Doe flashes through my mind. Belladonna won't be an easy escape, but it's doable. Jane Doe is the real problem. My clientele is the real problem. When people rely on you to feed their addiction... it's not exactly something to drop easily. Which reminds me, I have to meet with someone tonight. A return customer, thankfully, but that's the last thing I want to do right now. Especially after promising to leave it all.

Also, of course, Jane Doe herself. She'd torture them. She'd kill them, obviously, but she'd make it hurt. She'd make a statement, remove any obstacles in the way of my loyalty. She'd probably burn down the house for good measure. Put me on a fucking leash, I don't know, but she wants to.

Jane is already impossible for anyone to escape. I'm not just any other dealer to her, though. I'm one of her favorites. I make her money.

Maybe I should just... stop making her money? Be bad at my job? Then she'd fire me, though, which would include an execution. I guess that way Winter and Vaughn are spared. I'll take what I can get.

"Awesome. I'm making you go shopping, now, and don't complain about money because I know you have some hidden in your apartment."

Right. My apartment. If it can even be called that anymore. I'm being evicted soon anyway, and I'm also outnumbered by raccoons.

"Fine," I respond, sighing. I guess it was bound to happen at some point. Whatever.

However, I don't even have time to shift my position before Winter's face is lighting up with a realization. No, she's remembered something. "Oh, right! I know I don't usually have birthday parties, but I am this year since I'm gonna be eighteen. I'll probably invite some people from church and school, but I was wondering..."

Friends? What the hell? Since when does she have friends who aren't me? Well, I guess she is a senior now. I've been out of that school for two and a half years at this point, I guess it never occurred to me that things likely got much better for her. At least after my original class left.

"Huh? Des?"

I blink, glancing back down at her. I find her looking at me in expectation, and I realize she was still talking to me. She seems to also notice my lack of listening, and after a small, unserious huff she repeats herself.

"I was asking if you could sing. Or, if your band could play. It'll be here, though, but don't worry. My dad's not invited."

I blink at her. She wants me to play at her party? Oh god, that's pressure. Also, what does she mean her dad isn't invited? He lives here. He owns the house. She's having a monumental birthday—she's becoming a legal adult. Does she really think he won't be there, in some aspect?

Does she really think it's a good idea to have me front and center at her nice catholic birthday party to begin with? Or my punk rock band? What would we even play?

Whatever, that's not my business. I couldn't say no to this girl with a knife to my throat. "Sure."

She's happy.

The conversation went well. I came here, I talked to her, and I made her feel better. She's excited, she's yammering about random stuff our entire way to my car, after she eventually decides we're leaving for the store trip. Not before forcing me to eat something, though.

I did what I came to do. I made her feel better. That was all I wanted, since the moment I woke up this morning. I needed her to stop crying, more than anything.

But any time she's not looking at me, any time she gets distracted and runs off to another shirt rack or sock display, the emptiness sets in.

How on earth am I gonna make this work?