[Revised] 

She rolled onto one side, then another, unable to sleep. There was something unfamiliar about the bed; the mattress was a little on the hard side, the pillow was too pudgy, and it had given her a weird neck pain. Zara rubbed it and, grimacing, sat up and crossed her legs. 

When her eyes had adjusted to the twilight of the room, she looked around, the familiarity of her surroundings sinking in. She was in his room, his place, and Zara didn't even remember making it into the bed on her own.

The day before had been wild. As she stared blindly into the darkness, she replayed it over and over in her head, analysing the events because it vexed her how sloppy the break-in was. They usually had no problem with adjusting to unfamiliar situations, but this time, it was like everyone was too 'on-edge' to think straight. The gang had been so rough with their manners like they detested one another and only sat in the same car together because of their task.

Zara dragged her hands down her face, aggravated with herself and the paranoia-ridden thoughts. It was all in her head; maybe she had just misinterpreted what was said, maybe she had been too picky with the way the heist was organised, maybe her hot-headed nature was the root of the problem—

Her stomach grumbled, making her snap out of her trance with a wince.

Her body was trying to warn her—she would go nuts revisiting the event as obsessively as she did, especially first thing in the morning, when exhaustion and hunger clung to her like moss to a damp wall. She needed to sit down and think rationally about what had happened, but that could only be achieved after she grabbed a bite to eat.

In addition to that, Zara had to formulate an apology for Orion and Aurora. Today the group had to make the trip to the pawn shop, so if everyone was in a sour mood, it would make an already enervating trip thrice as unbearable. Igor, the owner, was a force to be reckoned with: being the sly bastard he was, he'd do anything to trick the group into selling off their objects for less than what they were worth, even if he'd known them for over a year now.

Zara jumped out of bed and as she made her way to the door, brought a chunk of her sweater to her nose.

"P.U," she muttered, wrinkling her nose and stopping with her hand on the doorknob. It smelled like sweat and cigarette smoke. Wearing the same clothing for more than three days in a row was out of the question.

As she padded to the bathroom, hands entangled in her hair, she considered asking the twins for one of their mother's spare t-shirts. 

Saffron had two younger siblings, eight-year-old twin sisters. She had encountered them on occasion, during her many visits to Saffron's place, but they were very timid and didn't enjoy interacting with any of their brother's friends. Maybe they were scared of her or something, although she couldn't blame them; her appearance scared herself sometimes.

They were probably still sleeping, though, and besides, how the heck would she broach the subject? The last thing she needed was to also come across as a creep, then she could tick all the boxes. 

Saffron said he would lend me a shirt!

One thought led to the other, and the next minute she was rolling her eyes over their near car accident from the night before. Zara turned on her heel and tip-toed towards the living room, where Saffron probably slept. He came into view as she rounded the corner: he lay sprawled on the leather sofa, his right arm draped over his eyes while his left rested on his stomach. He even had one leg swung over the backrest, entangled in a good portion of the quilt.

She would have felt guilty about the obviously uncomfortable position he was sleeping in if he wasn't snoring so loudly. Zara watched him fondly, reminiscing about the days when they stayed up all night eating popcorn and watching Horror movies. They were all a distant memory now, but Zara wished she could relive them again. Between school and crime, she barely had any time to be carefree nowadays. 

Feeling mischievous, Zara dropped down to her knees and stalked towards him, like a lion creeping up to its prey. He was going to have to wake up, and knowing him, whispering it wouldn't make it happen. Zara sat up when she reached his side and struck: she poked his nose.

After no response, she poked it again. This time, he sniffed then scratched it.

He's like a grizzly bear. She barely contained a giggle. 

At the third time, Saffron waved his hand in front of his face, his eyes still closed. Only after Zara jabbed one of his nipples did he Saffron sit up, his hair sticking up in haphazard tufts around his head. He jerked his head from side to side, searching for the source of his discomfort. 

His eyes landed on Zara, who fluttered her eyelashes.

"You!" He pointed at her dramatically, finger right in between her eyes. He flicked her nose and detangled himself from the blanket.

In two seconds, he had her down on the floor and in a fit of giggles.

"Now you're just asking for trouble," he said as he tickled her neck and sides, grinning from ear to ear.

"Saff—Stop! Stop!" Zara shrieked, laughing hysterically. She tried to deflect his hands, but Saffron was slick. He went to tickle her stomach again, but when she reached down to stop him, he grabbed both of her hands with one of his own and pinned them above her head.

He didn't stop, despite her further complaints. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her body wouldn't stop shaking with laughter. Zara didn't see it as harmless and playful any longer but as a direct attack. Before Saffron could even react, she flipped him over and delivered a full-blown slap across his face. 

The look he gave her was one of utter betrayal. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Every one of her fingers was visible in the red imprint on his cheek.

They remained in silence. Neither of them knew what to say.

"I told you to stop..." Zara finally whispered, her voice trembling. Her mind was a black canvas, the memories red splotches against it. She lifted her hand to her mouth and climbed off him, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "I told you to stop, but you kept going away," she added almost wordlessly, more as a reassurance that her actions had been justified, rather than her recapitulation of what he did wrong.

One of her old foster parents had started his reign of terror this way, with 'harmless' tickling.

Zara took a couple of steps back, her gaze on the red hand-print, then swivelled to run towards the bathroom.

You knew you had to stop, I told him to stop, right? It's not my fault...

"I'm sorry!" She heard him yell after her, but Zara slammed the door behind her before she could hear anything else.

She splashed cold water on her face, ignoring Saffron's apologies from the other side.

Zara kept splashing until her cheeks were numb, until she could no longer feel the tears running down her cheeks, until she calmed down. Water trickled down her neck and dampened the collar of her sweater.

She closed the tap and looked up in the small bathroom mirror before her, searching her face to see if there was anything that had changed about her. Same brown skin, same curly brown hair, same abnormally blue eyes—the ones which everyone found both mesmerising and fake, no matter how many times she insisted on the contrary.

Same boring old Zara.

So why did she feel like something was different? She stared unblinkingly at her reflection, hoping that any interior changes would reflect on her exterior. Zara's sharpened gaze detected the darker shadows under her eyes, the overgrown eyebrows, and the acne that had extended to the sides of her face. Something did change after all; she was more exhausted with life than she had ever been before. 

"I'll leave you alone," Saffron muttered. His steps faded away as he undoubtedly directed himself back to the living-room.

Zara closed her eyes and started to undress.

She stepped into the bathtub and crouched down to put the plug in the drain, turning both taps on at the same time. As the tub slowly started to fill itself with lukewarm water, she wondered whether there really was something wrong with her.

Repressing memories had become second-nature. Over the years, the bad ones became smothered by the good ones. Although they were in the back of her mind, she never had to deal with them. They were like a shadow—you know it's there, it follows you around, but there's nothing you can do to eliminate it. So now, after all this time, if they decided to resurface...she wouldn't be able to cope.

Zara picked up a bubble bath tube and squeezed out a hefty amount of the liquid. Her lips curled into a small smile as she watched the water fizz and turn blue. When satisfied with the size of the bubbles, she leaned back and slowly slid downwards until she was completely under. The water enveloped her and smoothened her jagged nerves.

An hour later, someone knocked on the door.

Zara's head snapped up. She had fallen asleep without even realising it. Lifting her hands above water, she grimaced. They had become white and wrinkly, like mouldy raisins.

"Hey, Zara? I know you're mad and don't want to talk to me..." Saffron's voice trailed off, probably waiting for a response from her. She remained silent and purposefully sloshed the water around so that it appeared like she was ignoring him.

"But you've been in there for some time and—I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Zara grabbed the first shampoo bottle she found and lathered her hair. 

"I found something that you could wear. A-are you done? Do you think—do you think that I could come in?"

She heard him face palming himself behind the door.

"Give me a second," she said in her most annoyed-sounding voice. She stood up and repositioned the shower head so that it was right above her. At the speed of light, she turned the taps on again, washed out the soap, rinsed her nether regions, and turned it off. She snatched the first towel in sight and wrapped it around herself. "Come in."

Saffron slowly opened the door, a hand covering his eyes. He blindly thrust the hand with the garments forwards, and Zara took them from him, muttering a quick thank-you. He took a step back so he could leave, but she grabbed his wrist, pulling him into the bathroom and shutting the door.

He looked like he was having a seizure for how much he was shaking.

"It's okay I have a towel around me," Zara said, stepping around and in front of him so she could pull his hand from his face.

"I'm sorry for what I did," Saffron muttered, looking everywhere but at Zara. She took his chin with a hand and gently pushed it down so that he could look her in the eye.

"I'm sorry too," she confessed, maintaining eye contact with him. Saffron hadn't  done anything out of the norm. It wasn't his fault that she was damaged beyond repair. "Also, you need to shave," she added, smoothening the bristles on his chin. Saffron chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. 

"I should get a tattoo on my forehead that says: 'tickles trigger me'," she said, words muffled by his chest. What else could she say? It's better to laugh than to cry.  The towel was loosening around her, so she pulled away from him and adjusted it.

A glimpse at the clothes he had given her and her mouth fell open. "No way."

She held up a pair of pink panties. Saffron grinned and then blushed as he raked a hand through his hair.


"Did you go through your sisters' drawer? You pervert!" She playfully slapped his arm.

"No, I didn't! Jesus, I would never do that!"

"Your mother's then? I don't know what's worse!" It was hard to keep a straight face when he looked like a tomato.

"I—I actually went and bought a—pack of eight...God, I sound like a maniac," He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well that takes the cake," Zara muttered, "Now get out so that I can get dressed and give you the verdict on these panties." She opened the door, pushing him outside.

"Okay okay," he held both hands up in defeat, "I'm cooking breakfast, by the way," His voice trailed off as he walked back down the corridor. 

-:-