<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Hours passed by in between incessant heartbeats and sobs softened by pillows. Semblance of sleep came like a harsh winter wind at the tail end of fall, abrupt and with ill intent. Nightmares sunk Reno in and out of consciousness, her exhausted body rousing and trembling with each malicious emotion playing on the backs of her eyelids. Her window offered traces of moonlight in icy rays across the floorboards, and before long, they were replaced by tired streaks of dull brass. Sunlight edging at the panes and reminding Reno that everything moves onward, regardless of the knots in her chest and the streaks of pain rolling off her cheekbones and puddling in her bedsheets. She puddled there too, eventually- having soaked the quilts with her ache she became nothing better than the blood in the crease of her tongue. Dehumanized and picked apart, all that remained of Reno when the light came poking at the foot of her bed were her bones and her worry.<br/>
<br/>
Morning greeted her with a chill that danced across her skin in waves of gooseflesh. Red appeared in the whites of her eyes and sorrow cupped the sockets in half-circles of bruise blue. Part of her wanted to be thankful for her breaths and her being, but such things were for those with families and happier existences. Reno had long loathed her own wakening and today was just another, sorer reiteration of the dread. As she stirred from her restless slumber she momentarily pondered the worth of her getting up- perhaps it would be better for everyone if she melted into the mattress and disappeared with the stars. It was a tempting thought. But her spine ached from laying down and anyway, it would be a pathetic end, so with still wobbly knees she convinced her rattling skeleton from the comfort of familiar blankets. <br/>
<br/>
Encouraging herself upright was a quest and a half but recollecting herself was perhaps even harder. She pulled each shard that had gotten stuck in the threads of her shams and pieced herself back together with shaking hands. At her vanity she glued the fractures into a half-assed recreation of what she was trying to be. With make-up and perfume in hand, little Reno put her face on. Baby pink lipgloss and dusty rose cheeks, black paint on her eyelashes and rhinestone posts in her ears. Masks and disguises until she could no longer recognize the reflection in the mirror. Miserable beauty- so alluring in all her make-pretend, but so deceiving. Her pouted petal lips suggested maturity but the opalescent shimmers, tears in the corners of sad eyes, were agonizingly reminiscent of a child who had lost a game.  <br/>
<br/>
Corduroy jacket and plaid skirt, Reno was no longer the graveyard girl. Though her skin still paled, sallow almost, the colors in her attire had brightened to match the usual mood of Burning Bear- a permanent taste for autumn. Barista apron and purse in hand, Reno flipped the lock on the bedroom door and slunk out.<br/>
<br/>
Her boss had insisted that she take the day off- to recuperate. But Reno was better at coping if her mind was occupied. Had she been allowed to stay home today, she would have cried herself into an ugly stupor. Working, keeping on her feet, and forcing a smile was, in her thoughts, the best way to fight off agony. Fake it till you make it. It was even better now- having a scheduled shift, some obligation, Reno had the optimal excuse to keep her out of the house that Volk now inhabited.<br/>
<br/>
It was strange, waking and finding him there- half of her expected him to disappear, return to the fog. Half of her expected him to have been a fever dream, nonexistent in the first place. But towering wolf, violent jaw and all, lay still. In all the times before, Volk had left promptly after his evening indulgence. And, perhaps on one stray night or two, when father was out of town, he would slip away out the back door before sunrise, just in time to escape Reno's waking. It felt odd, Volk sleeping in the ribcage of this old house- not fleeing, not skulking in the shadows, out of father and Reno's sight. Here he lay, like he belonged. And perhaps he did.<br/>
<br/>
Reno had battled with it in her restlessness. Volk- the man and his right to be here. Faults aside, this house belonged just as much to him as it did to her. And though he had been left out of father's will, Reno knew that it was only so because of a couple of technicalities. Despite the rage that still fueled father and his drinking, somewhere inside that weary soul of his, he still adored the boy- man, now- and should he have been alive for his return there would have been no angry words. Only tears and a forgiveness that comes with tire and age. Father hadn't anything left in him to be upset, with mother or with Volk. He had accepted the betrayal, the pain, the fights, and with the help of his whiskey he was able to forget. But Reno remembered. And though she recognized some closure in Volk's coming back, she couldn't disperse the flame of hate and blame that still burned in her.<br/>
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She gazed at him, solemnly, wondering if he was really asleep. He was tattered and filthy, and she immediately knew why. The dust that had colonized the hardwood floors were now taking up residence in the fibers of his jeans, in the palms of his hands. It bothered her, that he was up cleaning and she was wasting away between bedsheets. <br/>
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In the kitchen, Reno scribbled a note and left it on the counter. <br/>
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<i>At work. I'll be back later. </i><br/>
<br/>
It was a silly gesture from a silly girl. Reno, too stubborn to wake him and ask for a ride to the cafe across town, but not stubborn enough to leave without at least telling him where she'd be. She was an adult and really didn't need to- but it had been a long time since anyone bothered to know where she was going, why she was out. She missed the parental notions that had disappeared long before she was old enough to not need them. The <i>where are you going</i>s<i>, </i>the <i>who will you be with</i>s, the <i>be home before dark</i>s. Volk was under no obligation to parent her, not that she particularly wanted him to, but in youth he had always been sure to check in on her whereabouts should anything go wrong. Perhaps he still felt the same way.<br/>
<br/>
Before leaving, Reno momentarily took in the newfound cleanliness. It was simple work, mopping and dusting and wiping down the glass- but it made a noticeable difference. The house, while still cryptic and echoing, was a bit less morose. Volk hadn't come just to antagonize her, after all. She added to her note-<br/>
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<i>P.S. Thank you for cleaning. </i><br/>
<br/>
And with a low breath, she began her venture through the sleepy Burning Bear morning to the cafe.</span>