Ember; Cass

On Friday’s the shopkeeper reminded her of her father, drowning himself in a bottle of whiskey as he slurred his words pleading to be heard by anyone who walked past. After a half-hour of no response his tone turned violent, a puff of alcohol wretched abuse that was turned upon passersbys. It was probably why his shop was slowly going out of business, by the end of the night people dashed into the nearest alley, trying their best to avoid his shop front. There was no point in doing that by then, the man was so full of alcohol he could hardly hold himself upright.

Within five minutes of his last sip he would place himself on the chair that sat out front, where he would remain for the rest of the night. From there it wasn’t hard to tiptoe her way to his snoring figure and dig through his left front pocket to find his keys. This close, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke on his breath and entangled into his beard made her feel sick. She couldn’t have smelt much better, littered with the touch of the streets, marked by the years she had spent in the cold wilderness with no home. But then, even before all of this she hadn’t been able to call that house a home.

The streets remained empty, people avoided the screaming drunk, it usually remained that way for the rest of the night. The first time when he moved as she pulled the keys from his pocket she had stopped, scattering like a mouse caught in the open. Her breath had caught in her throat, her chest had ached with the pounding of her rapid heart. It had taken half the night for it to settle, for her to believe that he wasn’t going to come after her.

Now it was a well-practiced routine, knowing that he wouldn’t walk up from his slumber as she worked. She had dismantled the bell after the second trip, and the old keeper had been too lazy to replace it. She hated to think of herself as a thief. Honestly, if it hadn't been for the kids she had run into on her third night on the streets she probably would have starved to death a long time ago. Their evident hunger and her desire to help them had been an unstoppable force that hadn’t cowed even her meek heart.

She grabbed four loaves of bread, picking the stalest ones that she hoped wouldn’t be missed. Never more, never less, a promise to herself that she would only take what she needed. As much as her stomach grumbled, or her desires begged her to reach for the few sweet treats she resisted. This was that man's old drunk’s livelihood, and if he chose to run it into the ground she could live with that, but she could not live with knowing she had destroyed it.

Moving quickly she tucked the bread into her bag, grabbing several carrots and a few bits of dried meat. She left the shop, not before returning the key to his pocket. She made quick work of the bread, handing it out to the kids that awaited her on a corner that was not too far from the shop. The carrot sticks disappeared first, with the few strips of meat gone before she could even blink. The kids hugged her, thanking her with hungry eyes and grinning faces. Within a few minutes there was nothing left, and Celeana stared at her empty bag, stomach grumbling in protest.

It had been three days since she’d last eaten, preferring that the kids ate.

“Ey, you doin’ alright there?” The voice startled her, and she jumped, heart thrumming in her chest, for a moment thinking someone had seen her stealing. When she turned around she was shocked to find herself facing a young woman with shining red hair. “Don’ look like you got any left for you. I got some extra bread n’ butter if you want it.”

Celeana stared at her with a blank expression, for a moment wondering if that was a serious invitation. She resisted the urge to look down at her grimy appearance, knowing fully well you could hardly gleam an inch of her porcelain skin. She doubted she even had blonde hair at this point.

”I-I, um, I’m Celeana,” she responded, she’d offer a hand to shake, but well, she didn’t want to get Blaze dirty. Celeana ran a hand through her hair, feeling the matted strands, she cringed, dropping it back to her side. “No, not new. Been, I guess you could say living, on these streets for the past few years.” Her stomach rumbled loudly and she grimaced, “you know what, I’d love some bread.”

The apartment was a lot closer than Celeana had been expecting, and she watched as Blaze took all of one step before tying up her bike against a lamppost. She followed Blaze as they move into the apartment complex, up towards the third floor. The stairs leave her legs aching and her muscles scream in protest with each step upwards. She wasn’t unfit by any means, her body just had nothing left to fuel itself as they went higher and higher.

She was tired, so very tired, she clung to the rail as they moved, worried that she might not make it up if she didn’t at least partly pull herself forwards. “Don’ worry, I ain’t gonna murder you or nothing.” Blaze threw her a toothy grin, and all Celeana could think of was that she was positive the stairs would kill her before Blaze could do anything. After a few excruciating minutes they reach the floor.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, Celeana watched as Blaze opened the door to her apartment. When she stepped forwards there’s a shake in her leg. “Shit,” she cursed, taking a few more uneven steps towards the door. By the time she reached the apartment the ache had eased off, realising that there were no more stairs for her to climb.

The apartment is cozy, Celeana’s eyes roamed over the punching bag in the corner, she wondered if Blaze was a career. She’d heard all about them, trying to get themselves into the arena to bring home some glory, but more often than not coming home in a bag. Blaze didn’t seem like that kind of person, though. From their limited interaction, and the almost quiet comfort of the room she seemed like a reserved woman. She wondered if this was the type of life she might lead if she had had the chance.

Blaze motions for Celeana to take a seat, and she moved forward, pulling out the chair and sighing in comfort as the ache in her legs dimmed. “Someone has to, they didn’t choose this life,” she looked down at the table where she had placed her hand. Dirt caked the skin, cuts and bruises littered her arms, she pulled it down, keeping her hands on her lap. Her eyes widened as Blaze mentioned the shop keeper by name, there was a moment where her body froze, heartbeat racing in her chest as she wondered if she was about to get in trouble. But when Blaze chuckled and the tense set of her shoulders eased, and she realised that she should have known that Doug would have more of a reputation. The man was a prick.

“I don’t take much, nothing that’ll take him out of business, just the old pieces of bread, and a few small things here and there,” she said in response.

“Well, Cele, can ah call you Cele? What’s yer story? If ya gonna be sticking around the block, I figure someone should know. We take care of our own ‘round here.”

Cele, she chuckled at the nickname, it was a far cry from vermin, or ‘get the fuck out of here’. In all honesty, she hadn’t really heard her name be spoken out loud in a long time. The kids called her ‘Sis’, the younger ones preferring ‘Ma’, they’d never asked for her name and she’d never felt the need to correct them. “Yeah, I don’t mind,” she reached a tentative hand forwards, grabbing a small piece of the bread that Blaze had brought out.

“Thank you, Blaze. There’s not much to say. Being home wasn’t safe, being on the streets isn’t safe either, but those kids need someone to look after them. I think I have a better chance of staying alive on the streets than at home.” She nibbled on the bread, her stomach rumbling in protest, demanding she had more, eat quicker. She was all too familiar with the mistake of eating too much too quickly after a time without food. It was not a plan of hers to ruin Blaze’s floor tonight

She nodded her head as Blaze spoke. Lots of the kids spoke with a similar accent, and she had grown used to it, almost comforted by the lyrical lilt and twist of the words. It was second nature to her, understanding what each word meant, but the few times she had tried to replicate the words had left the kids laughing at her. She’d stopped trying, and stuck with her normal voice after the third time.

It takes only a moment for Blaze’s grin to widen once she had noticed Celeana’s gaze on her punching bag. The way her eyes lit up made something warm in her chest, there were not many people in the world who had such a passion and had the chance to follow it. The way she swung her fists had Celeana chuckling as she nibbled on her bread, and she covered her mouth with a dirty hand. There was a desire within her to have a love like that, and she found herself nodding eagerly to Blaze’s suggestion of teaching her a few moves.

”I would love that, I figured my best bet would be to just scream and try running if I ran into trouble. I’m not really strong enough to fight anyone, and I don’t know how to.” Her aching bones agreed with her statement. The stairs had almost taken it out of her, and deep down she knew that if it came to it she wouldn’t have any choice but to comply with whatever happened to her. It was the only way she could think of getting out of it alive.

She was thankful that in her three years on the streets she had been lucky enough to only be mugged once. That had cost her greatly, the food she’d stolen gone in the blink of an eye. She was grateful that the man hadn’t gone further, leering at her but turning away in disgust after seeing her dirty appearance in the street light. There was some protection in being filthy.

Celeana’s eyes widen in surprise as Blaze offers her the couch, and a blanket and-

A shower.

The puddles that littered the streets after a rainfall had been her only source of water to clean herself in for a long time. She had to be careful to find one that she could prioritise drinking out of before cleaning herself. It had been a long time since she had stepped inside a shower and felt warm water run over her skin. For a moment she stared down at her hand, wondering what it would look like without the dirt, without the grime and bloody cuts. What did she look like? How had she changed in the three years she’d been on the streets? Would she recognise herself in the mirror?

It took only a few moments before the tears fell from her eyes. Messy wipes buried the tears before they could get too far, and she hoped Blaze hadn’t seen them. She was desperate to have a shower, to sleep on a couch, and cuddle into a blanket -oh a real blanket, she hadn’t even allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to be warm for a night. But-

She couldn’t. In her excitement, she had forgotten for a moment about the kids downstairs, about the kids who longed for those same comforts. There was no way she could possibly shower and sleep here when those kids did not. One of them would be better off with a shower, one of them deserved to feel safe at night, to be warm.

“I-I… I can’t. Blaze, what about those kids? They deserve those things, not me. I have to go,” she stood up -too fast for her exhausted body. As she took a step forward her leg buckled from underneath her. Blackness danced at the edges of her vision, and as she fell it swooped in dragging her under before she hit the floor.

She’s in a bed, the blankets pulled up to her head. It’s warm, the soft light of the setting sun seeps past the blinds, filling the room with an orange hue. It’s her favourite colour and she finds herself smiling, pulling the blankets just a little bit higher. The room feels safe, her tummy doesn’t ache and her peeking hands are pale and clean. For a moment she stares, the skin looks unnatural, there are no bruises covering the knuckles, no scratches littering her fingers. She can’t see any dirt beneath her fingernails, there’s no chipping, no blood peeking out of the corner where the skin had torn.

There’s a moment of panic, it causes her to tear off the blanket and she stares at the beautiful silk pajamas she’s wearing. A pink that complements the gentle blue undertones of her skin. She pulls up her leg, fingers running down her shin. The scar she had received two weeks into living on the streets was nowhere to be seen, it had been a bulging ugly scar that had run ragged to her ankle.

Had it been a dream? Had all of it been a dream?

She hadn't jumped into a dumpster where a shattered window had been left, she hadn’t begged and pleaded for food, she hadn’t drank water from puddles on the side of the road. That’s right, she leans backward, resting against the headboard. A bad dream, she decides, she had a home, she had a bed. She was safe.

On shaky legs she scoots off the bed, a door was to her right, she assumes it’s the bathroom. Some water would clear her head, a shower would be nice. Making her way into the bathroom she pulls the shower door open, turning the tap on. The bathroom is white, flowers sit on the bench, and a candle burns on the edge. Steam begins to fill the room, and it coats the large mirror with a sheen that makes her face blur. She can hardly recognise herself. No longer is she a ghost with hollowed cheeks, but rather she sees a round face, a rosy tinge to each cheek. Lips that aren’t cracked and peeling, eyes that are bright and filled with life.

She reaches up, touching a finger to her skin, it’s soft. The patter of the shower swallows her, and as if almost in a dream she steps inside, feeling the gentle, warm embrace of the water as it hugs her body. It fills her, and she closes her eyes, feeling her breathe even out. Her face is under the water, and when she pulls away she opens her eyes-

She screams.

Darkness enveloped her, and when she looks at her hands there’s blood everywhere, dirt drips down her legs, and cuts cover her skin. She can see her ribs poking out, a bulging scar covers her leg, and the water that falls from her is black. Her heart catches in her throat, and she stumbles, leg slipping from under her and she’s falling, crashing to the ground with a pain-filled cry. The water rises, bubbling with a wretched smell that makes her eyes water, she pushes against the shower door, but it doesn’t open. She pushes harder, fingers cracking and bleeding, her ribs tearing through her chest.

Celeana screams, but it’s lost as the liquid pours from her lips, she’s choking. Her fingers scramble against her throat, tearing into her flesh setting her body on fire. The waters going higher and higher and-

Gasping for air she claws at her body, fingers pulling at the clothes she’d been wearing. Blaze is there, cup in hand, telling her to wake up. The pain that tore through her was no longer there, and she panted, wild eyes looking into Blaze’s.

”What happened? Th-there was water, and it was rising and I-” she reached forwards grabbing Blaze’s hand, clutching it like a rope thrown to hear in a raging sea. It was her lifeline, she couldn’t let go. “I was drowning, I was dying, Blaze, I was-” she choked, a sobbing tore through her throat before she could catch it. It took over her, the tears streamed down her face, falling into the shower with the water.

”Help me, please help me,” she begged.

It takes only moments before the shock evaporates and Blaze is holding her. She feels the arms wrap around her thin, exhausted, soaking wet body and she leans into the embrace. Her heart flutters inside her chest, the beating a booming call against her ribs, but it slowly begins to calm down. The feeling of drowning lingered in the back of her mind, and she did her best to shove the remnants of terror from her body, allowing the blood to flow and loosen her up again.

The way she speaks is soft and welcoming, like a mother’s hug on an early morning. It eases her even more, and Celaena complies as she’s pulled to her feet and between the two of them they’re taking her clothes off. Her body is bruised and battered, and she stares, for a moment surprised at what her life had come to. Blaze continues with the soothing words, and Celaena finds herself closing her eyes, absorbing the way they sound, as the tears finally dry on her cheeks.

Blaze points to a bathrobe that’s hanging against the side of a bathtub, and instructs her to clean herself properly and come on out once she’s ready. Celana stares at her, unable to fathom the amount of kindness she is being shown. No one in her life had treated her like this, she had always been the one giving out little pieces of herself until there was nothing left. But here she was, a person she had met on the side of the street picking up what had been lost and sticking it all back together. What was more, she was doing it out of nothing for self gain.

With a pat on the shoulder Blaze exits the room and Celaena moves into the shower, unlike her nightmare there’s no perfection, she can see the grim in the corner, the calcium build up on the shower head. The shampoo bottle is half empty and the soap is well worn. This was reality, where her fingers sting as she scrubs them with a cloth, where her hands shake as they move over her ribs, the feel of each bone under her fingers a daunting moment. The water is peaceful in the hum of a household, and she can vaguely hear the sounds of Blaze moving around in the kitchen.

When she’s done she dries herself off, pulling on the bathrobe that Blaze had left behind. It’s the softest thing she had worn in a long time. The robe is much too big, but she loves it, pulling each of the sides tightly around her as she ties it off. Her skin is clean once more, and the bruises and scars are even more evident now that there is no dirt to hide them.

By the time she’s left the bathroom and moving back into the kitchen, Blaze is sitting at the table with two steaming bowls of soup. Celaena pauses, taking it all in, and she can’t help herself but smile at the sight, because maybe she is dreaming. This scene before her is much better then the empty house she found herself in, a house isn’t a home when you’re by yourself.

"I am,” she says, before moving over to the free chair. The soup looked delicious and the smell that wafted to her made her mouth water, and the bread she had been nibbling on was now covered in a layer of butter. It looked amazing. She sat down, looking over to Blaze, “you’re a good person, Blaze.”

"Thank you for helping me, I mean it,” she looks away, fingers grabbing hold of the spoon. She takes a spoonful, blowing on it to make sure she doesn’t burn her tongue. It tastes like heaven and she lets out an audible sound of delight. "It's amazing, did you make this?”