Leave Love Bleeding In My Hands (Kneedles)

Little girl from a pig farm going nowhere, starving while her daddy sinks them all. A district ten slut, smoking outside of bars with boys in cut off shorts, a bottle of moonshine in her hand while people shake their heads saying she won’t never amount to nothing. Clean cut pretty thing, Miss District Ten, with a man who made good money and knew how to get things done. Fifteen years old and you’d marvel at how high Tallow Tansy’s risen- like one the all time social climbers- without realising that she’s sinking like a stone.She’s one of the lucky ones, aint she? Decked out in pearls, hanging off her man’s arm- the scent of patchouli perfume smothering the scent of the shit. It only masks it though, can’t block it out entirely.

How is it possible that she’d been happiest when she’d been scrambling about in the dirt? It’s done now though and she’s never going back. Tallow oscillates wildly between hating the arrogant way Elias hooks his thumbs into his braces while talking, sometimes being repulsed by the meaty baulk of his body and each bead of sweat on his forehead. Other times though, she finds herself drawn to him like a moth is to the flame. She can watch him working out figures, cigarette hanging from his lips as an arm reaches out to pull her in tight and think that no man ever looked so beautiful as he does in that moment. Either way no one can ever deny the fire between them, and whatever happens there is a certainty for Tallow- that one day she’s going to marry him. It’s a reward; she deserved the finer things in life and she was working hard to get them. It’s a punishment; for her past sins she has to condemn herself to a life of his violence, she has to be the painted doll or the shadow, twisting where he tells her, bending to his will and doing all that she can not to break.

She won’t be happy. But she won’t be poor. And that’s better, isn’t it? It’s easy to drown your sorrows when you have the money to buy the means to do so.

It’s colder than it was in the summertime- but not so bad that the breath rises from her throat like cigarette smoke. Tallow can do better than the dive bars in town now, coat bundled up around her to keep off the autumn air on her way to Elias’ ranch to see if he wants a nipper of whiskey because she sure does. It makes everything warmer, like a fur coat or something. In the dim glow of flickering street lamps Tallow can see a figure staggering on the paving stones, everything in the light of the fire a dull rust sort of colour like an old photograph of the scene. Swals.

The little girl thought they were like sisters- she always had done. But Tallow had never quite bought into it as much as Swallow Anne- the younger, darker girl was an open book with her secrets, her emotions and affections while Tallow couldn’t ever be anything but closed off and cold. One thing that tied them together now though was their sorrow. Sisters in sadness. Chewing on her lip, Tallow got closer, feeling a twirl of guilt. She’d wrecked everything with Nakota and Swallow Anne before Scutcher had left, and now she felt that aching emptiness- Tallow thinks that she wouldn’t have done it. She’d underestimated how much Swallow liked him, maybe. Assuming that she was enough for Swallow Anne and only her. That obviously wasn’t the case. Tallow hadn’t been enough for Scutcher who she loved more than anyone so why would she be enough for Swallow Anne.

Ya know, I ain't carin' too much, do what you want. Ain't gonna tell no one anyway. Her friend mutters, making Tallow’s chest churn. They were never exactly picky in their dalliances, but back when they’d been district ten sluts in cut off denim outside of bars there had been a gleam of mischief in the way they slurred their propositions, not this hopeless solicitation that wouldn’t give anyone much joy.

What happened to us, Swals? Tallow wants to ask her friend helplessly. To those girls that we used to be? We werent the prettiest, the richest or the smartest back then…but at least we were happy in our own fashion.

But she doesn’t, slips a hand to her hip and stares at the fourteen year old girl. “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” says Tallow dryly. Before adding in her oddly maternal way, “You look fucking awful. You need someone to take you home.”