Just a Talk

Overall, Bee was having a shitty time right now.

         They were on a routine patrol, and now they were ducking into a store to avoid cops. They took off their cloth mask and shoved it in their pocket, ducking into an aisle and pretending to browse the shelves. It was an antique shop, so there were a lot of interesting things to look at.

         Bee heard someone coming over and looked out of the corner of their eye, groaning internally at who it was.

         “Hello there! Anything you’re looking for?” God, why was she here?

         “No. I’m just looking.” Just be polite, Bee. Don’t give her a reason to have you kicked out.

         “Well, if you need anything, I come here a lot, so I could help you.” Why wasn’t she leaving? Just don’t face her. That always makes people like her ask questions.

         “I’ll keep that in mind.” She didn’t leave. And the whole time, Bee was just trying to look as busy as possible.

         “I haven’t seen a lot of young people here a lot anymore. What brought you in?” Did she have nobody else to talk to or something?

         “Just thought it was interesting.”

         “Oh! So you like antiques?” Okay, like was a stretch, but that was kind of true.

         “They’re interesting.”

         “Well, my husband and I are archeologists, and we…” She started blabbing on and on about their “expeditions”. Ugh. “Say, do you have any family? A partner, maybe?” Oh god.

         “Uh…it’s complicated.” How do you explain that your bio family is all dead and now you live with your friends in an abandoned warehouse?

         “Well, it can’t be that bad. I’m all ears.”

         Oh god. Well, maybe if they’re vague she’ll leave them alone. “My parents and stuff are dead, but I’m with a new family that I’m pretty happy with right now.”

         “Oh, that’s wonderful for you! You know, my neighbor is a foster father, and he just has the most random people in his house. I always wondered how people did that. I mean, they could be criminals for all you know!” Oh great. She’s out of touch, too.

         Bee took a breath and continued staring at the shelves. “Well, I find that you usually have to worry about the parents. Not the kid.” If they had to explain that a lot of foster families are assholes, and that no matter how nice the family is, the change is always traumatic, they’d have a fit.

         “Oh, there’s always some bad eggs. At least they aren’t the majority. Besides, you probably didn’t have to deal with the worst of it. Really, you probably just had to deal with a bit of ‘loneliness’ and-” she stopped and stared as soon as Bee turned to her, looking her dead in the eyes with their scars on full display. Not the ones on their arms, though. Never those.

         “You want to repeat that?”

         “W-Well, those could have come on accident-” Alright, that was the last straw.

         They pulled up their sleeves, expression stone cold as they stared at the woman who put them in the position to get these.

         “You think these were given on accident? Someone ‘accidentally’ put out a cigarette on my arms? Multiple times?”

         Janet stared at their arms, speechless. Bee wondered what was going through her head. Was she confused? Scared? Guilty?

         “(Deadname)?” Oh shit.

         Bee froze, arms exposed and in shock. How’d she figure it out that fast?

         Bee shoved past Janet and walked quickly out of the antique store, into the night. They heard someone coming out behind them, but they just turned down an alley and did what they always did. They hid.