you're not my homeland anymore. mickey & max.

[✨ zozo.]

MAXINE     PRYCE.

you're not my homeland anymore
so what am i defending now?
you were my town
now i'm in exile seeing you out

"Maxine," always woken up to my damn name. "Get up. Your brother's here to see you."

A frustrated squint at the clock and a sigh, Marley. Surely. Seven a.m. and I finished work five hours ago, he's the only person who wouldn't consider working the late shift. Idiot kid.

It's a good thing I love him.

I sigh and murmur something incomprehensible through a yawn, then realise my housemate has already left the lounge where I've been sleeping the past two weeks. I get paid by the month, a bit of a bitch but I'll be paying for a room soon enough. For now I've got just enough for another two weeks on the couch, which I'd love to just fall right back asleep on-

Shit, "Coming Marley!" 

Swallowing back another yawn to call out into the air, stumbling around the living room for a t-shirt long enough to pull off as a dress. Four hours sleep thumps behind my eyes and I want to tell my headache that I'd rather be sleeping too, but something fuzzes at my memory. A promise of breakfast with the kid brother, advice on how to talk to a girl, I don't know. I'm the worst person to ask for girl advice, but of course he doesn't know that.

Nobody does.

Another yawn, yesterday's denim shorts and it'll do for now. My tongue begs for coffee, my tired eyes demand it - soon, I tell my cravings. I like working, my coworkers are cool. They don't give a fuck about who I am or who my brother is, as long as I can get people buying drinks I'm useful to them. Being independent has all the perks I've been craving, but all the normalities of living where I did have vanished and I'm learning all over again what it's like to be poor.

Fuck, no wonder I don't know who I am. My brother became someone, and I became no-one, and we forgot who were once were.

Capsules aren't delivered to my door anymore. I've got to roll up my sleeves and put some boots on and walk to the shop, pay for a bag myself, haul it home, grind it myself, strain it with paper, there's a whole method of work to be done if I've got any hope of aquiring caffeine on this part of town.

But that's my life now, I keep telling myself, even as I open the front door.  I'll show Marley, I think, bet he's never seen a strainer in his life. Working for something, it'll be good for him. It's good for me. It's what's best for me.

What's standing on the doorstep is not what's best for me, and most certainly not Marley.

I scowl, because of course he's carrying two cups from the Square, still steaming from the cardboard lid. It'll be my favourite, double-shot with orange rind and a splash of caramel. I don't want to be mad at him, because he's just being Mickey. He's looking after me when I don't deserve it. Paying attention - even if it's too little, too late - because he cares. Making life easier for me when I make his difficult.

But I'm trying, and there he is, stopping me in my tracks.

"Marley can't keep his god damn mouth shut for five minutes, huh?"

I slouch against the side of the door, arms folded across my chest with a frown. No hello, no good morning, no it's nice to see you.

No I miss you. No I've been missing you for nine years now.

No I know. No I'm sorry.

Not out loud, anyway. 

"Or was it Elena? Those two are something else."

i'm not your problem anymore
you didn't even hear me out
you never gave a warning sign
(i gave so many signs)