“Dirty Souls, Dirty Hands”

JJ Maybank never believed in salvation. Not in God, not in people. And certainly not in anyone being the savior of his fucked up life. An alcoholic father, a house that looked like a prison, problems swept under the rug with such skill that it was like he was the fucking world champion.

And then Haillie rides in. Out of nowhere. Literally. She was driven in by some aunt no one had ever heard of, and thrown into the same school as the Pogues. Rumors flew faster than JJ could smoke a blunt: “She was in a mental institution.” “She cut herself.” “She killed the neighbor’s cat.”

All JJ could think was, “Oh, someone more fucked up than me.”

--.Haillie wasn't like the other girls from OBX. She didn't laugh at every little shit, she didn't make cute faces and she didn't get excited about JJ like the rest of the girls who lost their breath whenever he took his shirt off.

No. She looked at him like she saw more than he wanted to show. And it pissed him off. Or maybe it did? He didn't know.

They met by chance one evening on the pier. JJ had a few beers, she had headphones on and was sitting with her feet in the water.

"You're the one from the psychiatric ward, aren't you?" he said with a half-bastard, half-idiot smile.

"And you're the one whose father beats him up and who smokes weed so he wouldn't feel sick." she replied without batting an eyelid.

He fell silent. For the first time in a long time, someone had hit him in the guts with one sentence.