chapter 2.
another one bites
the dust.

୨୧

Its raining by the time the teens return to the maybank property. josephine follows slowly, deliberately taking up the rear as she counts steps. she needs to be ready to bolt at any given moment. fight or flight, and jo was already in fight. she had been angry since leaving her mothers womb. she wonders if her mother ever thinks about her. probably not. josephine will wonder and wish and hope for the rest of her anger-fueled life.

kiara nudges her arm like they're old pals and josie wants to strangle her. "diggin' the pink, jo."

josephine protectively draws both arms across her chest, unsure of what to say back. the colored strands are false, stolen in years long past. a mild kleptomaniac, she doesn't even remember where from. "they're fake." jo scowls, eyes facing forward and lips turned down. one. two. three. four. five. six. sev —

"welcome home, jo!" josephine hates when her counting is interrupted. it throws her off and she must start over. one. two. three. four. fi— "jo!" she looks up, nearly falling over at the immense change the maybank property had undergone. what was once a shitty old shack had been upgraded to a home, doubling as a business.

kiara asks jo why she wears the pink clip-in hair strands. josephine says it's to look tough. people are afraid of little girls with dyed hair. jj thinks the angry eyes would be enough, but he doesn't say this. he gives her a tour instead and jo must pretend she's not the least bit impressed.

"now, i know you're probably wondering how in the hell we managed to pull this off..." jo wasn't, not really. "long story short we found a lost city of gold, bought the house back from the bank in an auction, and talked the court into givin' you back. what'd you think?" jj throws his arms up, proudly spinning in a circle on their self-made dock. a normal tuesday.

"what'd you expect, a medal?" it had taken him four years. what had he being doing all this time, hunting treasure?

exactly that. jj deflates, "uh, maybe a thank you?"

"yeah, okay. thanks for doing the bare minimum." josephine sasses, heading back down the dock. had she changed the band-aid yet? "congrats. only took four fuckin' years." no, she hadn't. how long had it been?

jo returns to the made-over maybank household, now a communal living quarters for six teens and herself. she could feel her heart pounding and the infection forming on her left index finger. where the hell was her bag?

josephine must have done at least half a dozen laps around the confusing lay-out before finding where she had left her duffle. she lunges forward, ripping it open and tearing apart a fresh box of band-aids.

"hey jo, you okay?" pope heyward enters the room with who josephine had learnt was his girlfriend, cleo. pope was always kind, if not a little odd. (his father used to pay jo fifty cents for every plastic bag she filled with kook grocery delivery orders.)

she nods, closing her fist around an individually wrapped band-aid and rising to her feet. "where's the bathroom?" this new layout is nothing like the original maybank household. the only part still recognizable was it's tin roof, and even then that was tainted.

"oh, yeah." pope points down the hall, "it's just down there, on your right."

jo nods curtly, following his directions with haste. she fumbles with the doorknob, barreling into the cramped half-bath and tearing open the band-aid package with ease. she rips off the old plaster, tossing it into the small trashcan beside the counter.

jo snatches a bottle of hand soap resting on the sink, pumps seven squirts onto the open wound originally created at just nine years old, anxiously digging fingernails into flesh. after so many years of pressing her thumbnail into the pad of her index finger, it's easy for jo to re-open a crack in the calloused skin whenever she presses it. as a precaution to prevent infection, she covers it with bandages; sometimes, she worries there's already an infection, so she must drain it — and the only way to do so is by reopening the wound and pressing out any blood that will come. so each time it begins to heal jo reopens this wound, unable to let go of the familiar comforting habit. but with comfort comes danger; if left untreated, open wounds can contract a multitude of deadly infections and viruses.

jo hisses as the soap stings but she must stop the bacteria. she must stop the infection she's sure is forming. the burning sensation only reminds jo she can take care of this wound all she wants, but her fate is not up to her; it's not even really hers. this body wasn't hers; just a vessel for bacteria and it's all she can do to change the bandaid every hour. it's all the control she has.

josephine's worst nightmare is coming alive on her very skin. by a count of cells, humans are approximately fifty percent microbial. this means that the other half of the cells making up one's body isn't really theirs at all. it's everything they've ever touched, or that's ever touched them. et cetera et cetera, all the way down. the cycle-the spiral-never ends.

the bandage gets stuck on itself and josephine curses. she needs to re-cover the wound. the air feels thick and she can feel the million microbes living and breathing on her particular biome, living and breeding and dying on-top of and inside and —

the band-aid unsticks and jo audibly exhales with relief, folding it over the wound on the pad of her finger. her heart slows its pounding and her brain quiets. the microbes calm and she can feel them a little less now.

"jo?"

josephine exhales, flicking her gaze forward. she's forced to notice her reflection in the mirror. it's not a comforting scene; her frizzy blonde hair had thickened even more in the heat, expanding double its usual volume. she hadn't seen her mother in thirteen years, but this hair certainly hadn't come from her father.

a knock sounds from outside the bathroom and her name is repeated. jo shakes the ever present thoughts from her mind and unlocks the door, stepping into the hall. she's face to face with jj's girlfriend, who's unsurprisingly making more of an effort than her brother himself.

"just checking on you." kiara smiles softly and jo hates how everyone walks on eggshells around her. she is not delicate, not in the slightest. "jj said you walked off."

"did he? surprised he even remembered i was here."

kiara's smile falls. "jo, he's trying. give him that at least, all right? he's been through a lot."

"he's been through a lot?" josephine's face hardens. any more and she'll turn to stone. this is not a conversation she wants to be having, especially not with kiara. "yeah, okay. can you just show me where i'm sleeping?" after years in the system, jo had learned it's better not to argue. focus on the important: food, water, sleep. survival and fear'll do that to you. let's not make any enemies. you'll be gone in just two weeks, anyways.

"uh yeah, sure." the sympathy smile returns and kie leads jo down the hall and up a flight of red-painted stairs. the second story branches off into two hallways and kiara pushes open the third door on the left. "this is your room. we weren't really sure what you'd like now, so we left it up to you. jj said your favorite color's purple though, so..."

josephine's eyes flicker to the violet bedspread tucked carefully onto a full-sized bed pressed against the back wall of the otherwise minimal room. "it's blue now." that's not the truth; it's still purple. jo doesn't even know why she lied. bad habit picked up as a form of defense, she supposes. she backtracks. "but i still love purple. thanks."

kiara senses the internal battle in the child's mind; she flips from cruel and defensive to sweet and polite like a switch. "j and i are right next door, and john b and sarah on the other side, so just let either of us know if you need anything. popes right down the hall if you need him too, we just thought this'd be best since you don't know cleo that well yet." this is true, although jo was not entirely sure she trusted sarah yet, either; but at least she wasn't a total stranger. josephine nods and kie slowly backs toward the door. she gestures to the small duffle bag slung around the blondes shoulder. "i'll let you unpack."

with that she's gone, and josephine is yet again left alone in a strange and unfamiliar bedroom in a just as strange and unfamiliar home.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

Jj maybank wouldn't usually consider himself a very comforting presence. he tended to make everything worse.

well-aware of this fault as he awoke late that night to a sudden scream coming from the bedroom next door, he originally tried convincing kiara to deal with it.

"she's your sister, j." kie groans, turning over to face the boy. "you need to have a conversation. you can't just avoi—" another shrill scream pierces through the night, sounding even more terrified than the first. this time, jj shoots from bed and darts into the hallway.

jo is still asleep, when he reaches her bedroom, violently tossing and turning. he cautiously sits at the edge of her bed. "jo. jo, it's okay." this does nothing. she can't hear him over her thoughts. he reaches over hesitantly, gently shaking her awake. "josie. wake up!"

josephine jolts upright, panting heavily. her hair is wild and its pink strands cling to her face by sweat. dark streaks of mascara stain her cheeks. jj didn't know she wore makeup. she never used to care about things like that. then again, she was nine. times have changed, and so had josephine.

"hey, you're okay." he tries, feeling entirely out of place. he hasn't been a brother in four years; he's quite out of practice, particularly in the emotions category. "just breathe, jo." her eyes dart around the large bedroom, taking in her surroundings and gathering her bearings. she tried taking this advice, but her lungs refused to let in any oxygen. her panicked eyes spoke for themselves and jj moves closer, setting a careful hand around shaky shoulders. "c'mon, jo. work with me here."

josephine needed him to leave. she needed to rip off her bandage and dig her thumbnail into the pad of her index finger. she had to change the bandaid. these thoughts only increase her panic and tears are now racing down already damp cheeks. "hey, hey." jj tries again, unsure how to help. "what's goin' on? what happened?"

she couldn't tell him about the flashbacks plaguing each sleep, nightmares that had come true. he'd only feel guilty for letting her go and leaving her gone. his fingernails are dirty and he's sweaty and he's only making things worse. breathe in for seven. hold. out for seven. repeat, repeat, repeat. exhale. jo tunes him out, shutting her eyes and focusing her attention on counting by sevens. seven. fourteen. twenty one. twenty eight. thirty five. forty two. forty nine.

noticing her lips moving jj leans forward, confused. "what're you doing?"

jo opens her eyes, shuffling away from her brother and leaning against the headboard as she finally welcomes oxygen. she tries hiding her obvious embarrassment but is sure it's shown on her cheeks. "nothing."

jj disagrees but uncharacteristically chooses not to push. he scratches the back of his neck nervously. "uh, d'you want me to stay 'till you fall asleep?" he isn't sure what comes next. what do you do after someone you no longer know has a panic attack?

"j, get the hell out." recovered, jo rolls her eyes. "and don't call me josie!" despite bouncing back seemingly fast, she can't suppress the exhausted but teasing smile on her lips. she's got an elastic heart until she doesn't. it can only stretch so far.

"aye aye." jj salutes, heading to the door. he pauses when she calls out his name. "jj, wait."

"yeah?"

josephine hesitates slightly as though unsure if she should say anything at all. she inhales quick. "thanks."

jj nods once, biting on the inside of his lip to keep from grinning too hard. he had to admit—he had been quite intimidated by the younger girl earlier. he sees now she is not a monster, just a kid who's been dealt a shitty hand.

and he knew she blamed him for that in part, but so did he.