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That the dusky rose jacket was actually hanging in her wardrobe said plenty about how often she’d worn it. Not since before she’d moved in, since her college interviews in fact. And her room felt vaguely wrong, which would be the flat sandals. She was used to being at least five foot four damnit.
Mal had ended up telling her dad she’d go to the police station and make a report for the insurance claim in return for his promise not to call her mother. It was just easier than the alternative, and she really did not feel up to that. So not up to so much space you couldn’t help but hear yourself think, and questions, linen table clothes for lunch and being Amy for an indefinite period.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Without makeup the bruises and scabbed scrapes were even more livid, and her pulled back hair did nothing to hide the damage. Black pants, and a white shirt that it had taken her the best part of twenty minutes to take all the snaky pins off. . She’d even remembered to take off the nibbled remains of her silver nail polish. There wasn’t anything much she could do to minimize her hair, but she’d tied the blue and silver braids back as neatly as she could manage.
She looked like shit.
She was steeling herself to make a run for a cab, praying that no one she knew would see her when the apartment buzzer rang. Her dad had already criticized her for driving Wintermute away from the scene, and at the moment she was half glad of the excuse not to have to face the cracked window and torn out electronics.
She almost didn’t answer, and was definitely relieved when she pressed the speaker to hear ‘Delivery for an Amy South.’ A peek out of the dusty window confirmed that there was indeed a courier standing outside the door, and not one she recognized, so she went down, curiosity overcoming caution.
She signed for the stiff card envelope, and hardly got the door shut behind her before she was tearing it open.
Inside was typed note, on headed notepaper - the Eden branch of her dad’s company - with a secretary’s PP’d signature scrawled in blue ink across one corner.
She unfolded the note, and a credit card slid out into her hand. The signature strip was blank.
‘Forget the insurance - get what you need love. I’m only paying the bill this first month though. Be safe.’
Mal was smiling as she headed back up the stairs to get changed into something more suitable.
Mal had ended up telling her dad she’d go to the police station and make a report for the insurance claim in return for his promise not to call her mother. It was just easier than the alternative, and she really did not feel up to that. So not up to so much space you couldn’t help but hear yourself think, and questions, linen table clothes for lunch and being Amy for an indefinite period.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Without makeup the bruises and scabbed scrapes were even more livid, and her pulled back hair did nothing to hide the damage. Black pants, and a white shirt that it had taken her the best part of twenty minutes to take all the snaky pins off. . She’d even remembered to take off the nibbled remains of her silver nail polish. There wasn’t anything much she could do to minimize her hair, but she’d tied the blue and silver braids back as neatly as she could manage.
She looked like shit.
She was steeling herself to make a run for a cab, praying that no one she knew would see her when the apartment buzzer rang. Her dad had already criticized her for driving Wintermute away from the scene, and at the moment she was half glad of the excuse not to have to face the cracked window and torn out electronics.
She almost didn’t answer, and was definitely relieved when she pressed the speaker to hear ‘Delivery for an Amy South.’ A peek out of the dusty window confirmed that there was indeed a courier standing outside the door, and not one she recognized, so she went down, curiosity overcoming caution.
She signed for the stiff card envelope, and hardly got the door shut behind her before she was tearing it open.
Inside was typed note, on headed notepaper - the Eden branch of her dad’s company - with a secretary’s PP’d signature scrawled in blue ink across one corner.
She unfolded the note, and a credit card slid out into her hand. The signature strip was blank.
‘Forget the insurance - get what you need love. I’m only paying the bill this first month though. Be safe.’
Mal was smiling as she headed back up the stairs to get changed into something more suitable.