Flesh and Blood by Sian Rosé (100 books to read .txt) 📕

How had it come to this?

One moment just a pair of carefree, love-struck teenagers with the entire world at their feet.

The next, a half-arsed edition of Bonnie and Clyde.

The two stood in the dingy box bedroom of Scribbles’ tower block flat. It was a dismal place that reeked of dog shit and urine, stale cigarette smoke, and unwashed feet. The bedroom itself was literally just a bare bedroom with a single filthy mattress and sheet in the centre; a few squashed beer cans scattered around the edges.

Scribbles was a drug dealer, or so he claimed to be. In Minnie’s opinion, Scribbles was the product of a horrendous upbringing and a string of incapable foster homes. The guy didn’t even own the flat; he’d simply stopped to have a cigarette outside the block, seen the last tenants moving their things out, and then proceeded to break in once they were gone. The front door was never properly closed; however, Scribbles had a huge Rottweiler called Tyson who barked like a bloodthirsty hound that would rip the shit out of intruders. In reality, Tyson was pretty much the only nice thing about the awful place; a total softy.

It was less than ideal accommodation, but Scribbles was an acquaintance of Ronnie (how, Minnie didn’t like to ask) and was always too stoned to care about who stayed in his flat, so it had just had to do.

“They came round to mine today,” Minnie said grimly, chewing her lower lip. “Asking if I’d seen you. Apparently, they don’t want to arrest you. Just want to talk.”

Ronnie sighed and rubbed his aching temples, “well then, maybe I should just…”

“No,” Minnie interrupted sharply. “No, you will not just waltz on down to the police station. Clearly, it’s all a charade to try and trick us.” She realised that her legs were aching slightly from standing and briefly considered sitting down on the mattress. The questionable brown stain in its centre made her remain standing.

“Just… look,” she breathed, trying not to sound angry. “I called up some bed and breakfasts down in London on a payphone earlier. Most of them will take cash…” she delved into her pocket and produced a scrap of crumpled paper. “Here are all the good ones. And by good, I mean shady. They won’t ask too many questions and won’t care too much about your age. Get on a train, and check yourself in today…”

“How will you know where I am?”

Minnie sighed, “you can’t ring my house phone. My parents will be breathing down my neck… you have to get all the fake ID stuff sorted first. Does Scribbles still know that guy?”

“Allegedly. But, that will take ages, Min,” Ronnie said.

“I know,” groaned Minnie. She took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head into his chest. “I know… but, otherwise they’ll just find you, and all of this would have been for nothing. They’ll arrest you, and that will be that.”

Ronnie bit back a hot tear that simmered in his eye, desperate not to cry.

It wasn’t cool for boys to cry.

“Once you’re all set up, and you’ve moved away somewhere, I can come down on the train to visit. Then, once I go to university, we can go even further away,” Minnie murmured, closing her eyes to allow the pleasant fantasy to comfort her.

A fierce bark suddenly gate-crashed their moment of intimacy.

“Ouch! Fuck!” Scribbles howled.

Both Minnie and Ronnie hurried out of the room, down the dark hallway, and into the open-plan kitchen and living area. Scribbles was sitting slumped on the couch, a thick joint balanced between his fingers, and Tyson’s paws pressed to his chest as the dog appeared to try and mount him.

“Bloody dog, wants a toke on the zoot!” grumbled Scribbles, stretching out his arm, “Ron, get one of the steaks, will ya?”

Obediently, Ronnie stepped over a mound of crumbling dog faeces and opened up the fridge. Immediately, a faint aroma of mouldy cheese billowed into the atmosphere. Minnie felt her stomach twinge, and a hot finger of bile tickle the back of her throat.

“Where’s his bowl?”

“He ain’t got a bowl, just chuck it!” yelped Scribbles.

Minnie stared in horror as Ronnie held up a bloody, raw steak which had presumably just been draped over one of the refrigerator shelves and, with an uncertain expression frozen onto his face, tossed the hunk of meat into the middle of the dishevelled room.

The sight of the steak, grisly fluid congealing on flesh, tainted by the grime and muck from the floor tiles, was like a punch to the gut. The surface of it glistened unappetisingly until Tyson promptly pounced on it and began to tear it to shreds, slimy lengths of drool drizzling down from his snapping jaws.

And that was it.

Before she could even register the hot eruption of sick hurtling upwards through her oesophagus, Minnie was hunched over. Retching uncontrollably, vomit violently exploded from her lips and splattered all over the floor, landing in grotesque, chunky pools on the filthy tiles.

“Oh shit, Min?” Ronnie rushed to her side.

“Oh God,” she gasped, lifting her head, “oh god…” she frantically wiped her lips with the back of her sleeve, her cheeks burning bright red with embarrassment. “I… I don’t…” she trailed off, shaking her head, her stomach still churning. “I’m not usually a sicky person…”

Ronnie rubbed her back, “oh, Min, maybe you’ve picked up a bug?”

“I’m so sorry, Scribbles,” she said sheepishly, “I’ll clean this up…” she added, although the idea of getting down on her hands and knees in their unscrupulous surroundings only made her feel nauseous all over again.

But Scribbles didn’t bat an eyelid. He didn’t even blink on account of the cannabis-infused daze he found himself locked inside. “Ah, it’s alright, Min,” he smiled, waving the problem away with his free hand. “I was gonna have a party tonight anyway; someone always chucks up at some point.”

Minnie didn’t doubt it.

“It was seeing the meat,” she said slowly, “but I don’t know why it