Selenelion and Sauvageons

Winter came quicker than usual that year.

Dark clouds showered the city in a permanent state of mourning. It was impossible to tell if Charlotte's cheeks were tear-stained, or if she just kept forgetting her umbrella.

She never forgot her umbrella. She didn't take it out on purpose.

It was early January by the time that Will decided they needed to leave. Four months on since the Gala gang war that had decimated their lives, sticking around in the city was doing neither of them any favours. They had an escape route, which Alex had drawn out for them all those months ago, and it was foolish of them not to take it.

Charlotte hadn't left her room in what felt like months, and didn't feel like arguing, so she just shrugged and agreed. Maybe it was time to leave.

She had recently taken to flipping her zippo lighter and watching the flame burn until the metal was red hot.

At first, she would flinch, and pull her finger away. Over time, she got used to it, so she kept her finger held down for longer and longer and longer, until burning her skin became her new favourite hobby.

Realistically, if she were being honest with herself, she knew that it was actually her second favourite hobby. Her favourite hobby was one that she didn't much like admitting to, so she pushed it to the back of her mind and pretended like it simply didn’t exist.

Her getaway bag had been progressively packed since the night of the Gala that had torn their world apart. New items were added every few days; an extra jumper here, or a relic from Alex's room there. It had all piled up inside her leather barrel, which was practically bursting at the seams as a result of her kleptomaniac tendencies.

Charlotte didn't say much to Will when he told her to get her shit together - in fact, she didn’t really say anything at all.

Instead, she simply let the lighter drop and slowly latch onto the fibres of her duvet.

Getting to her feet as flames started to engulf her former sanctuary, Charlotte sauntered to meet Will at her doorway. There was no sense of urgency. So what if it killed them? Who cared? Alex was gone. No one would miss them.

"I guess I'll get the hard drive, then," Will mumbled, following Charlotte down the stairs.

At least she's not crying, he thought to himself. She had cried enough tears in recent times to put a million fires out.

The drive was silent. They were silent a lot, lately. Not even the hum of the car radio could mask the deafening sound of silence.

"He always did have style," Will said with a placid smile, as they rolled into the harbour, spotting the Selenelion ebbing on the horizon.

It was an old fishing trawler that had seen better days, but had also weathered more storms than either of them dared to guess. It was trusted; trusty. White paint was chipping from the exterior, while the dark blue outline of a name had flecked off to the point where Charlotte could barely make out any of the letters, other than a capital 'S'.

Hardly surprising, Charlotte thought of the boat's condition, as she had never known Alex to visit the coast. Yet here she and Will were, following Alex’s escape plan from gang life, a mere four months since it had taken his.

As she rummaged through an old metal tin that had been stored inside the bridge of the vessel, she began to realise that she didn't really know Alex as well as she’d thought she had.

Her hands flicked through the old notebook that he had mentioned, covered in tiny doodles, outlining every last step of his self-made rescue mission.

Beneath it was stacks of polaroids. Easily nearly ten years old, Alex was just a teenager in them. There were photographs of sunsets, silhouettes fishing together, and smiles that were bigger than what she deemed humanly possible. They felt sacred, as if Charlotte were encroaching in on a world that she had no right to be a part of.

Alex's face was just as Charlotte remembered it, only with fewer frown lines engraved into his forehead. He had been laughing at whoever had been holding the polaroid camera, his milky white teeth and pink gums out for the world to see. If she closed her eyes for long enough, she could almost hear his laughter echoing around her.

Will was encased in the bridge of the boat, commanding where they went, as Charlotte moved to sit on the deck.

The pair of them were both thankful for the separation. Neither of them knew what to say to one another. Nothing they could do would make the situation any better. Their found family was broken, the gang that they had grown up in, The Jackals, seemed like a fragment of their imaginations, and Alex was gone.

Seawater sprayed against Charlotte's exposed skin as they hurtled towards their destination: Wingate Island.

Gasoline spluttered from the motor, leaving a small iridescent trail behind them. Charlotte could smell the putrid fumes, her stomach turning involuntarily. Nostrils burning feverishly, the scent always took her back to the night of the Gala when everything had gone wrong.

Ash and soot had contaminated every single one of her respiratory passage that night, as she had fought against Will while he dragged her from the Gala building. She had screamed, and she had cried, begging to be left - but Will wouldn't do it.

The Jackals had deserted them, Alex's body had barely become lukewarm, and Charlotte was the only person that he had left. He couldn’t lose her as well.

There was no funeral. Alex was just one of 43 unidentified bodies who were put into evidence chambers down at the local precinct. The whole thing had been covered up, and it drove Charlotte insane.

How could people just pretend that Alex had never existed? Her Elysian friend, her confidant, her brother.

Her entire being stung just thinking about him. Like a swarm of wasps had taken vengeance on her heart, it swelled with pride, beating painfully against her ribs.

It was a pain that would never subdue; she would just have to learn how to live with it; without him.

They were approaching the island as a notification pinged through to Charlotte's phone - an update from their local tabloid website. News of a fire in their district had made the headlines, and Charlotte smirked slightly, knowing it was her fault. She felt vindicated, in a way. The house was a shithole anyway, she had rationalised. She had done them all a favour.

"We made the papers," Charlotte called back through to Will, holding the screen up for him to see.

"Watch out, Bonnie and Clyde," he grinned.

Charlotte laughed along with him, and, for the first time in a long time, it felt nice.

Docking in the small island’s harbour, they worked together clumsily trying to tether the ship. They had no real clue how to do the whole ‘boating’ thing, and Will was shocked that they’d even managed to arrive in one piece.

The skies on the island were different from the mainland. They were clearer; cleaner.

Despite it being winter, Charlotte felt almost warm, and so did Will. With hardship came hope, and no one had known such hardships quite like the young friends.

Having emptied their bank accounts, and a few that didn't technically belong to them, their wallets were full, finally promising better days ahead.

Truth be told, there was no 'technically' about it, but old habits died a hard death amongst career criminals. Charlotte and Will didn't yet know what they were going to do with the money that they had stolen from The Jackals - they just knew that they couldn't let it fund the war that was still raging on in the inner city.

Alex, as always, had been right: The Sauvageons had both started and ended the Gala brawl. Scampering away into a maze of skyscrapers, they were weak. Had it not been for the fire they had started, there would have been nothing left of the old money mob by the end of the Gala.

As she collected her bags from the boat, Charlotte looked out towards the vast open sea and shook the thoughts of The Sauvageons from her head.

Soon, it would all be a distant memory.

She was sure of it.

Pretending as if she could forget The Sauvangeons was what had really become her new favourite hobby.

More specifically, pretending as if she could forget next-in-line to their throne, the man who had simultaneously given and stolen everything to and from her: Conall Nugent.

He was 212 miles away from her now. He was distant, yes. But a memory? God, how she wished he could be.