Silence hangs over the streets like a curse, darkness binding the deed. Late November nights bring with them the torrid sultriness that belongs to the sweltering days of December. The heat betrays the air, allowing it not a single moment to breathe. The streetlights loiter by the lifeless roadside, flanking the pavement whilst eyeing the night like a pernicious predator. The quarter moon casts its dreary brilliance upon the rooftops of the houses lining the street as it funnels towards the asymptotic horizon.

My fingers coil stiffly over the ridge of the splintering wooden fence that borders Finnley Finch's property. Four in the morning is the one perfect moment within the duration of the twenty four hour stretch that constitutes time as we know it. Those who succumb to the beckoning blackness of the night are finally dwindling into a sombre slumber. Meanwhile, those who revel in the first prying tinges of daylight peeking above the horizon are peacefully encapsulated in their last hour or so of sleep, their bodies awaiting the raucous blaring of their alarms soon to rouse them. For just one hour, the state is taciturn.

It's been over thirty minutes since the last croak of noise was uttered from the house crawling with drug-addled individuals. Finding my footing on the flat ledge, I extend my arms laterally in an attempt to secure my balance. The plastic gutter edging the chipped roof tiles hangs approximately a metre above the fence on which I stand. Puckered leaves meet my fingertips as I hook them onto the rain canal, hauling my body up onto the base of the roof.

From my days spent participating in Finn's illicit proceedings, every corner of his house is embossed into the back of my mind. I didn't once allow myself to slip into unconsciousness in the presence of his group, and in effect, I'd had hours on end to myself reserved for rifling through all that they own.

Two arched windows embellish the upper exterior of the house, gazing down upon the grass-less front yard. My feet patter along the concrete grey tiles as I move towards the furthest archway, abraded dust collecting on my fingertips as I allow them to graze the grimy white bricks travelling past me. The window staring into Arlo's room is merely a wooden frame with multiple residual fragments of glass jutting inwards. I vaguely remember coming to blows with Arlo one drunken night, concluded by me effectually falling through the window. 

Arlo isn't in his room. I allow myself to drop to the carpeted floor with a soft thud, my eyes skimming over the murky contents of the bedroom. Stained red sheets still lounge upon the archaic mattress, the corresponding pillow cases, tattered and torn, clothing time-worn pillows. The painted black desk maintains its position pressed into the space between the permanently open closet door and the outmoded mahogany wood chest of drawers that Arlo and Finn had once brought in from the roadside. Exhibited amongst the desk is an array of rolling papers, aluminium foil, pipes, and additional squalid drug paraphernalia, contoured by expiring Polaroids that each depict a unique rare moment of joviality shared between the two of us throughout our relationship. The corners of my lips are tugged downwards by confusion as my eyes dance across each memory illustrated before me. Arlo had detested my transient infatuation with taking Polaroid photos, and had slain the stolen entity with a cricket bat. Nonetheless, he'd salvaged the images produced, displaying them in plain sight almost a year after the termination of our time together.

My frown morphs into a tautly drawn grimace as my mind plays over what else he might have kept. The floorboards beneath the carpet creak unobtrusively in protest as I wander towards the carelessly cast open cupboard. The built-in square alcoves brim with clothes, sleeves and pant legs spilling out from every corner. How one person can own so many clothes is beyond me. My eyes gravitate to the one hollow cube in the bottom left corner of the closet that had once been designated to my belongings. I lower myself into a crouch, capturing my bottom lip between my teeth. Unswayed, the two neatly folded piles of my clothes still stand, dust amassing along the edges of the bracket.

"Tilley?"

A sheet of ice glazes over each and every muscle inside me as my heart ascends the ladder of trepidation unravelling down my throat.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Jesse?" I question, twisting my head towards the voice. My eyes narrow to a squint as the dusky figure is suddenly obliterated by a fierce glow of light transmitting in my direction.

"Yeah," he grunts, making no effort to remove the glaring shine.

"Turn that off, will you?" I demand, blinking hard as I turn back to Arlo's closet.

The light dissipates, allowing the darkness to engulf the two of us once again. I bring myself back to my full height, my eyes sweeping the shelves.

"Tilley, why are you here?" Jesse questions again, his footsteps drifting closer to where I stand.

"Shut up or rack off," i state dryly.

Instead of throwing at me one of many valid contradictions to my attitude, Jesse doesn't proceed down that line of interrogation. "What are you looking for?" he says instead, moving to stand by my side.

"A bag, or something," I murmur as my gaze slips back to my untouched assets.

"Here," Jesse says, extracting a plain black duffel bag from underneath one of the various mountains of clothes.

I take the bag from Jesse, letting it fall to the floor beneath me. "You just gonna watch me or you gonna help?" I challenge the boy beside me, relocating everything inhabiting my designated shelf into my new bag.

"Help you do what, loot Arlo's room?"

"Heck yeah," I grin, migrating back towards the desk, duffel bag in hand. "Bedside table, third draw, there's a stack of cash. Grab it," I inform Jesse of the whereabouts of Arlo's share of illegitimately attained money. Irrespective to reason, aside from Jesse, not one occupant of the house keeps their earnings under lock and key. Nor do they make any attempt to obscure their unsanctioned dealings from the rest of the world. All that would be required to impound any one of them would be a single cop simply commuting through the neighbourhood.

Gray's room succeeds Arlo's, the money aggregating to triple what we'd procured from my ex-boyfriend's cache. Finn's room is the last to be impoverished. Kneeling on the polluted carpet, I fasten the zip of the third bag Jesse and I have managed to fill.

"Where are you taking all this?" my accomplice queries as I chuck him the final bag.

I raise one shoulder before allowing it to apathetically fall back to its usual position. "Fuck if I know."

"I'm comin' with you," Jesse tells me emphatically.

I sling one of the duffel bags across my shoulders. "Okay."

Jesse's silence radiates astonishment into the domineering darkness. Presumably, he's acclimated to my oppositional disposition all too well, and accordingly drills himself for another altercation each time he opens his mouth. But if there's anything better than instigating an argument at every second turn, it's discrediting what people believe they know about me.

"Okay," Jesse reaffirms. I glance up as the shadows consume his figure and he disappears back into the hallway.

Stifled silence satiates my surrounds as I slip out of Finn's room. Nighttime possesses infinite possibilities. Sleep should be the last thing dawdling amongst placating minds. The hours claimed by the moon are like the minuscule fraction of our brains that we don't use. All that potential lying dormant, waiting for us to unearth the right key. Fear of the dark stems from the fear of the unknown because uncharted waters can seem daunting. But isn't that the thrill of it all?

I amble down the whining stairs, the key ring attached to Finn's car keys hooked around my middle finger. Grating snores whistle through my eardrums as I reach the lower level of the house, assuring me that those who dwell inside the next room remain comatose.

Glimmers seeping from the lamp posts outside flush the miniature kitchen with a nebulous lambency. I sift through the numerous cupboards, collecting whichever items I deem edible. The world on Finn's doorstep resides in a trance, rapt in the guarantee that they will wake to a clean slate. Deep down they know that sleep offers only empty promises, though. It's never a new day. The past always catches up to us. Maybe the joy of sleep is that it offers a break from reality, for many.

My head snaps up as Jesse's footsteps seize my hearing. "Ready?" I say, clutching the bag strap straining across my chest.

Jesse shoots me a terse nod. I find my way past the open front door, pushing my thumb into the unlock button on Finn's car keys. The hazard lights on the tray of the shiny new Ford Ranger flicker eagerly. Finn had been jabbering about buying the Ute from the moment I'd met him. Hours of my life have been wasted on hearing him prattle about how he'd been saving since he was thirteen for this car. And now, with not a cent spent, it's mine.

"He's going to come after you, Tills," Jesse warns as I fling open one of the back doors. I remove the bag from my shoulders, dumping it on the nylon seat.

"Fucking hope so," I mutter as Jesse also deposits his cargo into the back of the car.

I swing open the door to the driver's seat, stepping up into the borderline truck. The unrelenting smell of inadequately deodorised chemicals apprehends my nasal passages as my eyes dart across the immaculate car interior.

Jesse assumes the passenger seat, casting a dubious stare on me as I fit the keys into the ignition. "Do you have a license?" he questions as the dashboard sparks to life.

"Nope," I say, fixing my seatbelt in place. "Buckle up."

Jesse hastily struggles to secure himself into the seat. "Can you even drive, let alone drive manual?"

I press my left foot to the clutch, setting the car into first gear. "Yep."

Releasing the handbrake, I let the clutch out gradually, applying the slightest amount of pressure against the accelerator with my other foot.

Jesse's eyes drill into the side of my face as the car dips over the gutter. "You never cease to amaze me, you know that?"

I send a grin flying back at him. "I know."

Jesse merely allows a low chuckle to escape his lips as he shakes his head slowly from side to side. I'd almost longed for him to catch me cleaning the cash out of Finn's house. Every scenario that could have unfolded tonight had played through my head while I sat on the fence, waiting for the world around me to utter its last whisper of the night. I hadn't brought myself to object to the proclamation that Jesse would be joining me due to one simple reason; solitude doesn't suit me. I can tear myself to pieces in seconds. Jesse is an insulator to the chaos whirring through my head.

Illuminated windows dot along the landscape as the road unfolds ahead of us. Spirits high, those waking will be readying themselves for the day ahead, willing it to be less severe than the last. But that's the problem with this world. So often we adopt the backseat, and allow our existence to unfurl around us. We lurk in the shadows, hurtling blame towards anyone that blocks our paths. Complaints swirl in our wake, never to relent. Hope is nothing without application, however.

But all of those people have something left to fight for. Someone worth allowing the universe shoot them down for.

I shift the gear stick into sixth as the speedometer needle surpasses eighty kilometres per hour. Unlike those whose hearts beat with a purpose, I have nothing. And for that the world will pay.