darker_london | The Turning Point (Backstory Part Three)-(Quinn, Flynn and Marilyn)

In the end, it was Mal who had been right about the wisdom of eating the crisps right then and there. The blizzard hadn't let up for days, and even when it finally did it was far too cold outside to be walking around. Mal and Ardal had spent the entire few days, huddled up in their sleeping roll, keeping as close together as possible. Mal couldn't stand the fact that Ardal was shivering up against him, sounding quite like he was in terrific anguish. Nothing made Mal ache more than Ardal's pain.

When the weather finally let up, neither boy was in good shape. And it was still too cold for Mal to play his guitar. When he left the little graffiti-covered house, he didn't even bring his guitar with him. This was going to be a search for something quick and desperate...or whatever he could purchase for 4 pounds 30. He left Ardal there, looking miserable and sick, and he made his way out into the cold, heading towards town without really knowing which way he should be going.

His feet automatically took him towards the cafe, which...when he realised the direction he was heading in, he stopped and turned around, nearly running straight into Marilyn Reeves. "Whoa!" He yelled, completely unintelligently. "I'm sorry!" He added, so he didn't get kicked or something.

"That's alright!" She laughed, straightening her hat which had come unbalanced. "No harm done." And then her eyes narrowed slightly in recognition. "Do I know you?"

"Er..." Mal shifted his feet and he turned an incredible shade of crimson that did much to highlight the gaunt lines of his face. It was not necessarily an attractive change, but at least he didn't look stark white and blend into the snow. "Your friend bought me pancakes." Mal said, a tiny spark of hope playing across his features. Marilyn wasn't Caitlin, but she'd been there and maybe she'd take pity on him and he'd have food to bring back to Ardal.

"Oh, right! The young man with the eyes." Marilyn grinned at him then. "Wild weather, hmm? What was your name again?"

"Malachy." He muttered, crossing his arms across his stomach in a bid to stop it from aching, which didn't help in the least. "And yeah...the...the weather's a bitch." He didn't like Marilyn. He didn't want to make small talk. He wished she'd either give some clue as to weather generosity was soon to follow, or whether he was wasting his time so he could move on before he fucking fainted.

"Oh, how charming!" Marilyn laughed again, though Mal was far too innocent and young to realise that her fake laughter and flirty demeanor was a clue to whether or not there was charity in his future. It was over his head. Mostly, women all were. "Where have you been in this weather, Malachy?"

"Places." Mal said glumly. So. Chit chat it was then. Fuck this. He was starving, and chatting about the weather wasn't something he was remotely interested in at the moment. Or...ever. "It was nice to see you. I should-"

"Wait." Marilyn reached out for his arm and she held it gently. "Malachy...am I wrong in inferring that you could use some money?"

Mal swallowed roughly, but then he shook his head, a sharp and shameful movement, but one he was going to give anyway. "No." He added and then, "you're not wrong" for good measure, in cause she thought 'no' meant he didn't want money.

"How would you feel about earning some?" Marilyn asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"What...what would I have to do?" Mal asked, feeling deflated now, because if he earned it he'd feel less guilty, sure. But it was going to take more time and he felt like was turning inside out as it was.

Marilyn took a step closer to Mal and she leaned in conspiratorially. She didn't do things like this, but she had two kids and a husband that bored her, and Malachy wasn't ever going to tell anyone. She wanted to lose herself in those eyes, even if he was dressed in rags. The weirder this was, the better it sounded to her, which is why she whispered, "I want you to take me."

Mal, being sixteen and slightly addled at the moment, looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "Take you where?"

Marilyn laughed and then she took hold of his arm again. "Come with me. I'll give you 50 quid if you just come with me."

Mal nearly fell over himself to follow her then. Fifty quid. Holy crap. And he still had no idea what he was getting himself in for, but he found he didn't care anymore, or he didn't until he realised she was leading him towards a shitty inn and that was when something clicked and he pulled his arm out of her hand. "Oh...oh hell no."

Marilyn turned to face him and she raised her blond eyebrows. "No? You don't want the money?"

Mal's expression was crushed as he looked back up at her. She wanted to sleep with him. She wanted him to cheat on Ardal and she was offering him something she knew he couldn't refuse and it wasn't fucking fair. "I do, but I-"

"No one is going to know, Malachy. I'm sure as hell never going to tell anyone. It'll be over before you know it and you just might have fun at that." She smiled at him and deep inside, Malachy loathed her. But he'd given up on anger, so he just nodded blankly.

Over the next two hours, Mal did everything Marilyn told him to do. He did it without too much thought, because if he thought about it, it made him feel ill and he couldn't break down, not now. When it was over, he was exhausted and every cell in his body wanted to curl up and die, but he had to keep going. He had had sex with someone who wasn't his Ardal. Someone he didn't give a shite about. But then he had fifty quid, and that seemed to give him a second wind.

The house Ardal and Mal were occupying had a fireplace, though they had nothing to burn. Mal solved this problem, however, by purchasing firestarter logs as well as food. It was hard to carry back, but every step was a step closer to Ardal, so he forced his body to endure it. And when he walked into the house, he was blindsided by a frantic Ardal who made him drop the bags on the floor. "Where have you been?!" Ardal cried frantically into Mal's shoulder. "Fucking hell, I thought you were dead!!"

Mal wrapped his arms around Quinn too, though he was nearly consumed with guilt. "I'm sorry." He whispered. Ardal was shaking and Mal didn't know if it was from fear or cold. "I brought stuff to make a fire."

Ardal finally pulled away, and he looked down at the bags that Mal had dropped on the floor. "Oh my god...Mal, how did you get all that." Ardal knew Mal didn't steal. Or...he knew he didn't used to...

Mal swallowed roughly. "Someone gave me money." He moved to retrieve the bags from the floor and he fished a bag of doughnuts out of one of them. "Here. Eat."

Ardal accepted the bag of pastries with something like reverence and he looked up at Mal again. "Someone gave you money...for nothing? How much money?"

Avoiding the first almost-question, Mal moved towards the fireplace and he started unwrapping the firestarter logs and tossing them in. "Fifty quid."

"Jesus!" Ardal opened the bag of doughnuts quickly and he pulled one out, nearly devouring the entire thing with the first bite. Oh god eating felt good. "Fifty quid!"

"Yeah. I found Marilyn." Mal pulled his lighter out of his pocket and he lit the logs quickly, before blowing on his hands to keep them warm until the fire heated the room. "Come sit over here, you'll freeze to death."

Ardal obeyed, dragging the bags of food and their blanket with him. "Marilyn from the cafe? She didn't make you give her your eyes, did she?" Ardal joked, feeling much cheerier now that his Mal was alive and he was on his second doughnut.

"Heh..." Mal looked away, but he covered it by reaching for some food himself. Soon enough the two boys were pleasantly warm and their bellies were so full, they both felt like lying down and sleeping for weeks. They knew it would be a struggle again, soon enough, but at the moment things were nice. And there was still money left over to keep them going a few more days.

"Do you think maybe I was wrong about going to the cafe after all?" Ardal asked thoughtfully, staring up at the grungy ceiling as shadows danced across it. He was lying on the blanket, his head on Mal's stomach and their hands intertwined. "Maybe Marilyn will help again?"

"No. I don't think we should go back there." Mal whispered, turning his face away from Ardal. He never wanted to see Marilyn Reeves again. "Tomorrow we can find somewhere new." He didn't explain, and Ardal didn't ask.