Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

EmoGirl- Wanna talk about it? No pressure.

LadyStoneheart23- I lost my brother a few weeks ago.

EmoGirl- That’s tough. So you’re still in those early stages? Must feel pretty raw, huh?

LadyStoneheart23- Yep. He was my twin.

EmoGirl- Ouch.

LadyStoneheart23- What about you?

That was as much sharing as I was ready for at that moment.

EmoGirl- I lost my half-brother about a year ago. I never really knew him, but it still hurts. I missed out on a lot and it sucks that I’ll never get a chance to get that back.

LadyStoneheart23- I’m sorry to hear that.

EmoGirl- I’m working through it. Coming on here helps. If ever you need to offload let us know. Joe is really cool. Hit us up if you ever need to chat. Might wanna stay out of the private chat with Alan though. First time I came on here he private messaged me to ask me how I liked having Rod Hull’s hand shoved up my ass every day. Emo… Emu. Guy was referring to the bloody puppet. Ruined my childhood in one message.

LadyStoneheart23- OMG. I’ll be on my guard then. Thanks.

EmoGirl- Yeah. His chat can get a bit much. You have to know when to beat him back down, like a whack-a-mole.

LadyStoneheart23- I’ll keep my hammer handy!

I minimised the chat and saw another one waiting to be opened from Fucking_Alan. Guy was persistent, obviously. Stupidly, my curiosity got the better of me and I opened it.

Fucking_Alan- Hey, lady. Nice to meet you. I’m sure if you give me a chance I can turn that stone heart to fire.

LadyStoneheart23- Fire, once you crash and burn. Thanks, but no thanks.

If I wanted a dating app I’d have gone on one.

Fucking_Alan- That’s harsh, lady. I’m guessing Joe or Emo got to you first then? As Flavor Flav would say, don’t believe the hype.

LadyStoneheart23- Public Enemy?

Fucking_Alan- Don’t I know it. They’re always hating on the good looking dudes in this chatroom.

LadyStoneheart23- No, I meant the group. SMH. I make my own judgement. One look at your username and I knew right away what you were in here for.

Fucking_Alan- Lmao. Okay. It’s the name my parents use. The first one and the last. I lost my little sister to cancer six months ago, but it didn’t stop them from hating on me. No worries though. We’re all here to help. It might look like Joe, Emo, and I don’t get on, but they’ve been my lifeline these past few months. You ever need anything, just holler.

LadyStoneheart23- I appreciate that. Thanks Alan. And for the record, I think you should change your username. Although CaroleBasketcase might not be the best choice.

Fucking_Alan- Anything that gets Joe going is a good choice in my books. Trust me.

I clicked the window closed and left him hanging. As I did, I noticed the group had started to get serious. Joe was talking about his older brother committing suicide and I read on for a little while but logged off when he started to go deeper. I couldn’t handle his misery too. But as I shut the site down, I realised that I’d actually done something I hadn’t done in a very long time.

I’d smiled.

I knew exactly where he’d be. Hiding under the underpass where he went most days to work on his secret masterpiece. This was graffiti he’d never show anyone else, least of all her, because he was too chicken shit to put himself out there

.

I picked over the broken bottles and discarded beer cans, a few little silver gas canisters and all the other shit down there. The whole area stank of piss, stale beer, and weed. There was even a filth infested sleeping bag rolled up and dumped behind a bush. I wasn’t judging. I was homeless myself. But even I had standards on which shithole I put my head down in each night. This was a drug dealers’ paradise, a druggies’ haven, and Finn Knowles’s studio of choice.

I stood back silently, leaning against the damp moss-covered wall of the subway and watched as he went to work adding fucking highlights to her hair. Last time I’d been here, he’d only done the outline then threw his stuff down and left, storming off and muttering something about it being a waste of time. Now, he was touching it up like it was his version of the Sistine Chapel. A ten-foot spray-painted image of the girl he loved, but he’d never tell her. I couldn’t blame him. Women fucked you over and left you dead on the ground. He was wasting his time. She’d never look twice at a guy like him.