<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Daydream darling, drifting between the register, the machines, the bar, and back again, head spinning and clock ticking, movements fluid, just autopilot. A whir. Faces smudged and voices white noise and own breaths a droning hum. Reno, a ballerina trapped in a coffee shop jewelry box, feet on a predetermined track, spins on a loop. Until the shift is over. And suddenly the repetition and structure isn't so bad in comparison to sinking sludge in her stomach, a pit- fear of what's outside. Be free, baby bird, into the dark, into the cold, into the unforgiving.<br/>
<br/>
Reno left the cafe with reluctance. At least the old building and cinnamon-slathered froth was familiar- homey. She found solace in the slow, quiet afternoons spent doodling on napkins at the bar. She was eased by the heat of steamed milk and the constant taste of vanilla on her lips. She was calmed by the older woman she worked with, a molasses-sweet, pacifying woman who was more experienced and far less neurotic than little strung-out Reno. Baby bird sought comfort in wiping down the tile mosaic tables, in scrubbing clean the pastel colored mugs and the floral frilled pastry plates, in sweeping the splintered hardwood floors that were worn down from use. If you saw Reno at work, buzzing about and shining the dishes and the chrome, you'd never know her own home was disintegrating into dust.<br/>
<br/>
Evening met Reno at the door. The sun offered its last gold rays to the highest branches of the pines, flits of amber trickling down the needles and kissing the earth. Mingling of moss greens, lulled browns and muddy oranges, fall tones withering into the gay that night brought with it. The warm reds in Reno faded, too- maroons giving way to coals, streetlamps highlighting the glacial glow in her cerulean eyes. Nestling her hands into the folds of her pockets, Reno started onward.<br/>
<br/>
Black leather maryjanes kicking into dirt, step after step more exhausted than the last. The walk was rhythmic, her feet finding each stride as though they had been there a hundred times before. And they had- for the years before Reno inherited the pickup, this street was the path directing her stomping grounds. Main drag, the only way to and from and around. She walked this same dirt 'sidewalk' to school, to the grocery store, to the cafe, to the bookstore. It felt sickeningly sentimental tredding over the yellow-turned leaves and tumbleweeds. In memories that had escaped her until now, she saw a much younger, much cheerier Reno trampling aside the street, racing to the corner store where Volk had promised to buy her gummy worms, or truffles, or soda, whatever it was she wouldn't shut up about that day. She saw a Reno all clad in fur, or feathers, or wings, whatever silly costume she had dreamed up for mother to make, dashing down to the nicer neighborhood where her peers claimed to have received <i>full size candy bars </i>on Halloween. She saw a Reno not so dissimilar to herself now- teary-eyed and moping, kicking the rocks with disdain, evening seeping in around her as she left a slumber party early after the other girls had picked on her. <br/>
<br/>
This path had become obsolete after she got her license and the keys to the truck. Her most recent on-foot venture through here was after a night of heavy drinking at a boy's house. He had invited her to stay the night, but his own rum-stained words were warped and malicious. So, much to his disliking, she made the trek home, throat lit with liquor fire and steps wildly unsure. The boy had told her that it was supposed to give her courage- but as she meandered through the shadows far after her bedtime, all she could distinguish in her fucked-up skull was fear.<br/>
<br/>
It was that same boy that approached her now- Collin. <br/>
<br/>
Reno heard the roar of the Blazer's engine long before she saw it. It was a distinct bellow, a rusted-out motor cranking at the will of an overpressed accelerator. He had always driven it like that, ever since he bought it for pocket change years ago. Dumbass probably spent his weight on gasoline the way he revved it constantly, as if it was supposed to be impressive. The thing reeked of booze, or cigarettes, usually a combination of the two. But now all Reno could smell was burning oil as the giant hunk of peeled-red metal came hurtling towards her from behind. That too-familiar fright sent shivers through her core and she stopped in her tracks knowing no matter how fast or where she ran that fucking Blazer could catch up. <br/>
<br/>
Collin was a long string of Reno's unfortunate decisions. He was a big fat mistake that she couldn't shake off. The guy was built like a brick house and had a temper like a bull. Her involvement with him began on a night starkly similar to this one- the pickup had sputtered out earlier that morning and she was on-foot in a blistering snowstorm. Collin, in his ridiculously massive Blazer with the jacked body kit and monster-truck tires had rolled up beside her. His face had emerged from the window, and though she knew him through Volk years earlier, she had never exactly acquainted with him in adulthood. He was older than her, a high-school dropout who, despite always seeming to have beer money, never moved out of his parent's house. Little naive Reno had taken to his kindness, however. And it was all downhill from there.<br/>
<br/>
Reno knew the benchseat of the Blazer like the back of her hand and it made her sick. All the times she had insisted she wasn't interested all resulted in the same fucking thing- Collin and his tight grip around her wrist, wrangling her back into his ongoing disaster. She hadn't seen him since father's death- perhaps he was giving her space, or more likely, she just hadn't been around enough for him to harass her. It had been even longer since she last found herself half-naked and half-sobbing in the back of his prized car, neck embellished with a circle of red, raw marks where his thumbs had been. But she could still taste his salt and the blood from her scabs. She could still feel the bruises he had gifted her, indigo halos, still tender to the touch.<br/>
<br/>
The brakes squealed and the tires scraped, rubber on asphalt, as the steel heap screamed to a halt. <br/>
<br/>
His voice was just as warbled as it had been that night when he <i>nearly </i>convinced her that liquor makes the heart grow fonder. The only thing she had learned was that liquor is just shit justification for a half-drunk mountain of a man to take advantage of a totally trashed baby bird. <br/>
<br/>
Inside her pockets, her fingers tightened into fists. Her heartbeat raced, fear and adrenaline kicking like a drug through her veins. Fight or flight- fight or flight- <i>fight or flight- </i><br/>
<br/>
Reno had never been good at either. Sweet, pacifistic thing, too timid to stand up for herself. <br/>
<br/>
"I- I'm-" demure gaze falling on his face, his jowls, his teeth made for shredding poor girls, his knuckles made for coaxing little things into just <i>one more time</i>, "Collin- I'm fine- really,"<br/>
<br/>
Bull had his whole herd with him, the Blazer was packed with guys that shared that same demeaning glare, that same stench of poison.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't bother with me- really- or with him-" she scrambled, "you know, since dad died, it's been hard- we're not- we're not feeling up for... guests.." She knew it wasn't what he meant.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Please don't make me get in. Please don't go see Volk.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I'll just... rain check? I'll text you later?" It seemed like a better alternative to having a horde of drunk half-boy half-men storming Castle Gray. But if Reno knew anything about Collin, it was that he wouldn't bend. Was it even worth her trying? <br/>
<br/>
If she was lucky, he'd just yell at her to get the fuck in- but she wouldn't be surprised if he got out and did it himself. </span>