My father would disappear for days at a time. I remember my mother's confused looks and her frantic calls to relatives whenever it would happen.

What she didn't know was that my father always entrusted me with a secret - where he'd go and when he'd be back.

"I'm heading out of town for the weekend," he'd say and give me a little wink, "I'll bring something back for you. Something special."

I'd make mountains of dreams out of his molehills of promises. I'd make sure to count the days. He'd come back, and I'd let him in with open arms. My mother, however, spared no effort in letting him know how selfish he was or how he was ruining her life.

"Why don't we just divorce?" My mother yelled at him one evening when I was thirteen years old.

I always kept my bedroom door slightly open, so I could see their arguments. My mother never noticed me doing so, but of course, my Dad did. 

I often wondered what he'd do or say if he knew I wasn't looking.

One day, when the argument came to a close, my father entered my room.

"Elizabeth," he folded his arms and leaned against the wooden door.

"I'm asleep," I sighed, with my arm hanging off the bed.

He laughed lowly - a sound that would forever replay in my mind.

"I saw you..." his voice grew nearer to me, and I peeled my eyes open.

I looked at the fine wrinkles forming in his cheeks, his old blue jeans, and those odd, pointed boots he liked to wear.

"Did you buy me anything?" I shrugged.

My father shook his head, "Don't be demanding, missy."

He dug into his back pocket for a bit and then pulled out something I didn't recognise at first. I had been expecting some money or even a keychain, but no.

"What?" I picked it up and turned it in my hands, awkwardly.

"For when you're older, maybe," he grinned a bit, "Just like mine."

When my father took out his, then I realised what my gift was. 

A lighter.

***

"Brooke always has the worst ideas," Odin yawned, "You'll figure that out in no time."

I laughed shortly, recalling the mortified look on Brooke's face as her bra latched onto the fence.

"She reminds me of myself..." I quickly added, "- To an extent."

All of our weekend shenanigans were over. It was now Monday morning, and Odin and I were in the kitchen having breakfast. At first, it had started off as a coincidence until we finally made it our own tradition.

"Really?" He turned back to me as he reached over for the milk, "What stupid idea did you have recently?"

He ate a spoonful of oatmeal and then stared at me with his light eyes. They were deep-set - almost cunning and snake-like.

"Well, for one, I ran away from my half-sister less than a week ago, and now I'm stuck."

Odin hummed, "Why'd you run?"

"Cuz...she's getting married, she has a job, and I don't have anything."

"You're jealous?" He brushed back his hair with his hand.

I dropped my eyes to my bowl of oatmeal. 

"No...the point is that I'm here now."

At that moment, the door clicked open. I spun around excitedly, hoping to see Anders. When I noticed Jacques, I sulked and turned back around. 

"Not very happy to see me?" He came up to the counter, dressed in a brown leather jacket and jeans.

"Nope," I croaked.

Odin's face lit up mischievously, "How was last night, Jacques?"

"If you'd stop blasting your awful music, I'd sleep better." Jacques pushed aside the curtain to the bedroom, looking for Brooke.

Odin's balance wavered as he turned back to me. The stool shook, but he gripped onto the edges of the counter at the very last second. 

He rested his bowl back down, "As I was saying -"

Ding!

Odin shot up to grab the slices of toast. He placed them onto a plate next to a spoon of butter and brought them to me.

I grabbed a piece from the plate and bit around the edges first. Odin's forehead creased, but he said nothing about it.

"So Elizabeth," he smiled, "Other than hating your sister, what'd you used to do?"

I swallowed, "I don't hate Catherine -"

"Kidding." He flashed a smile.

I looked at him suspiciously.

"...I used to have gigs and all that, but it wasn't really going well..."

"Gigs? Like music?" He raised his voice slightly, and his small eyes widened.

"You bet."

"Live music?"

I propped my head up onto my elbows and grinned, "The tavern used to smell like alcohol and dust."

"Gosh. I love music," Odin admitted shyly, "You probably already guessed from all the noise last night..."

He went on to explain his obsession which quickly turned into a ramble.

"...But that's crazy, it makes no sense since Nina Simone's been gone forever..."

I looked on as his face beamed with admirable passion.

"No one cares about your chords, Odin!" Jacques called on his way out of the living room.

I glanced at the front door as it slammed shut.

"I do," I reassured Odin, and his lips curled into a tight smile.

"Well." He breathed, "Thank you."

"Yeah..." I replied, "But I have to ask. You're miserable, aren't you?"

"What?" He put his elbows on the table, like mine, "Why'd you think that?"

I paused for a bit.

"You love music..." I trod lightly, "...But there's no place for that...here."

Odin's eyebrows shot up, "Says who? There are lots you still don't know." He said, not in a condescending manner but with a slither of excitement.

"You have something you wanna show me?" I smoothed my hands through my hair.

"Maybe..." he stared absently at the wall across the room, "...Soon."

"Hm." I smiled.

Then, I finished the final toast on my plate and got up from the counter.

***

Last night, amid shots and fries with sweet sauce, Brooke had said that she worked as a waitress during the week. That had piqued my interest, and hence a new venture began.

During the day, the apartment complex looked a lot different than at night. The small yard in the front was covered in dust, and several burnt cigarettes littered the patches of grass near the gate.

"C'mon..." Brooke grabbed my hand, pulling me back to reality.

We walked together to the other side of the gate, where Pancho waited for us.

"Ready now?" Pancho propped himself up against an old convertible. He wore a tank top and some ripped jeans.

I nodded, then plopped into the front passenger seat.

Pancho fixed his hands on the steering wheel, and after a few moments, we were on our way.

He sped through the empty neighborhood, and I whipped my head around, trying to see both sides of the street.

"A court..." I called out loud, "The community centre..."

"Is Anders gonna be at the workshop?" Brooke kneeled on her seat and clutched onto the back of mine.

"Yeah."

"What workshop?" I asked.

"For the bikes. Why you think I'm using this old hoot?" Pancho glanced at me shortly, "Why'd you wanna know?"

"No reason." I shrugged.

I envisioned another path that I could take - getting my hands dirty, fixing up old bikes with Anders. I took a look at my pretty nails - freshly painted by Erika - and changed my mind.

A couple turns later, and there was nothing ahead of us except the open road. It seemed to go on for millions of miles, the uneven road framed by the distant mountain range and greenery on both sides. We passed street signs and traffic lights until Pancho made a sharp turn at a junction, and the long stretch of nothingness came to an end.

I had wanted our drive to continue forever. Heck, Brooke nearly made a poet out of me when she asked me how I felt. 

"Just so you got your bearings," Pancho turned to me, "Tattoo and piercing parlour's at the end, the salon's beside it, and everywhere else is fast-food."

"...Okay." I nodded eagerly, peering at all the buildings ahead of us on either side of the narrow road.

We had stopped in front of the first building, which had dozens of motorbikes parked at the stand and a couple of cars just metres off. A man stood near one of the outdoor tables smoking a large cigar. Another was dressed from head to toe in black, despite the sweltering heat.

"Good luck." Pancho smiled, his reddish locks shifting in the breeze.

I gave him a look before stepping out of the car. After Brooke shut the car door, Pancho didn't wait another second before speeding off.

"It's just you and me!" Brooke pulled me into a tight side-hug, "Conquering the world!"

I laughed excitedly, hugging her back.

"Welcome to Bo's diner!" She gestured at the large sign perched at the front of the building. It had a large 'B' printed in a colourful, wonky font.

I sucked in a breath, "I can't wait."

***

I stared at the full-length mirror, and it back at me. I tugged awkwardly at the short, collared dress hugging my body. It had red and white stripes, cuffed sleeves, and a white, rhombic apron cinched at the waist. 

"Don't forget the hat," Brooke said as she re-entered the bathroom.

As I turned to face her, her eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Lizzie, you're a doll. Here," she came over and fixed the small, white hat onto my head.

As I shifted a bit, I caught a glance of the cursive 'B' sewn onto the side of it.

Then I used some of Brooke's red lipstick to complete my look. Or so I thought because the look on her face let me know something was still missing.

"Here," she approached me again and undid my first three buttons. She wiggled her eyebrows, "For tips."

I laughed lightly, "God, Brooke..."

"You can fix it back if you want. But don't complain when I've made more money than you." She stood by the door, then slipped outside.

I huffed, picked up Brooke's small purse and then exited the bathroom.

***

"Sir, we're all out of sundaes if that's what you're really asking." Brooke snapped.

I stood beside her, holding my notepad up to my mouth to hide my giggling.

Since it was only my first day, I had to learn from Brooke. I quickly realised that being with Brooke for her first three customers of the day taught me exactly what not to do.

"How about some vodka?" The middle-aged man smiled with a missing front tooth.

"Oh, what the -"

"Sir, this isn't a bar," I interjected before Brooke, "If you -"

He rolled his neck, "How about a tall glass of blondie."

The man rubbed the lizard tattoo on his shoulder and sized up Brooke.

"I like brunettes, too," he added.

"Ugh," Brooke turned on her heel, and I followed behind her.

The diner was very retro. The floors and counter were made of checkered, black and white tiles. Long, yellow lamps hung from the ceiling over the counter, meant to keep the food warm. The leathered seating was turquoise and rimmed with silver chrome. There were clear shelves stacked with ice cream glasses and a pink ice cream machine planted right beside them. I felt as if I had time-travelled.

Brooke and I stood behind the counter.

"Order seventy!" a petite waitress with dark hair walked past us, holding a long tray. 

Above the front door, there was a drawing of a woman with curly hair and brown skin, balancing a tray of glasses.

"This place is gorgeous," I said for the millionth time.

"Back to work, ladies!" 

The same middle-aged man from earlier plopped into a seat near the counter. I noticed how most of the patrons were men but not enough of them served any good looks.

I turned to Brooke, "The waitresses are the only eye-candy here."

She giggled, then sighed, "It's a cruel world."

***

Later that evening, Brooke and I returned to the apartment. I collapsed onto the sofa before I could even greet anyone there.

"You guys had a rough day?" Nadia asked.

"Yes." Brooke said as she placed her hand on my head, "How was the salon?"

"Good. I got Erika's highlights done over," Nadia said, "Though she seemed really out of it today."

"Really?" I raised my head a bit.

"Yup."

Nadia and Brooke exchanged nervous looks, and I pretended not to notice.

"Well, I'm going to bed," I announced lazily and disappeared into the bedroom.

After a shower, I laid on the bottom bunk bed and began to think of my father. It amazed me how often and how suddenly he slipped into my mind. Then I thought of Odin and everything I had uncovered about him at breakfast.

"Everything you've done...has led up...to here..." I murmured to myself as I texted Catherine.

Then I turned onto my side.

"Crazy..." I laughed.

In just a matter of days, I'd managed to turn my life upside down. I wondered now how far I was willing to take it.

I would have continued to daydream, but my wishfulness was cut short by a series of yells. At first, I ignored it, then I couldn't any longer.

Someone burst into the apartment.

"Where is she?" They roared.

"Anders, what the hell?" Nadia sounded frantic.

I sprung up and ran over to the curtain. I opened it just wide enough for me to spy.

Anders looked maniacal and disheveled. He darted around the room restlessly.

"Where is she?" he shouted again, the veins in his neck bulging.

My heart rate picked up. Who was Anders talking about?

He ran out of the apartment and yelled to the top of his lungs:

"Carmen! Carmen! Carmen!"

I caught a glimpse of the commotion occurring outside. Several persons gathered, either to scold or to console Anders. Then he screamed, so guttural and prolonged that it almost didn't sound human anymore.

"I knew this would happen!" He yelled, and I heard a loud crash.

"What's going on?" Odin startled me as he came from his room, "What happened?"

Brooke pushed the curtains aside, and I yelled out.

"Carmen!" She screamed, "She's gone!"

"Damn," Odin remarked.

I wrapped my arms around myself. Then I ran back over to the bed and hid under the covers. There was nothing else that I could have done - the arguing outside, my scattered breaths, and my racing heart - they were all out of my control. I tried hard to mute the rest of the world.

I wanted to sleep, but the rabid look on Anders' face and the blood-curling sound that left his mouth haunted me.

Nothing scared me, though, quite as much as what he had said:

"I knew this would happen!"

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