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TWELVE

TWELVE

"LENNON! DISHES!"

Lennon groaned, her mother's terrible shriek from downstairs audible from even her room. Rolling off of her bedspread reluctantly, she stumbled onto dead feet and slowly made her way down to the kitchen, a space that her mother seemed to constantly inhabit.

"What now?" Lennon huffed, adopting a tone of sickly, sour exasperation.

"I told you. Dishes. Get a move on," her mother grunted from beside her, where she sat at the table flicking through a magazine, a cigarette dangling from her pale lips.

"Again? I swear I washed them this morning, too!" Lennon protested, although she had already grabbed a rag to carry out the tedious task at hand.

"That's the funny thing about dishes, Lennon. We do them more than once a day," she drawled sarcastically, smoke billowing upwards from her lips like a steam train.

"And you can't ask Laura?" Lennon asked hopefully, although she knew the answer already - her sister wasn't the one being punished.

"Laura's not the one who got arrested. Dishes."

Lennon begrudgingly made her way across the kitchen, stopping before the sink to observe the copious stack of dishes that had grown since that morning. She delved in, gripping a plate from the top of the pile tautly between her fingers. She flicked the tap on, watching the water gush for only a moment before holding the plate beneath it, letting a vast spray of water splash off of its surface and across the room.

"Bloody hell!" Mrs Lowe scraped her chair back across the floor, dropping her sopping wet magazine onto the table. She dashed across the room, shutting the tap off furiously.

"You asked me to do the bloody dishes! Are you changing your mind?" Lennon asked, her arms folded across her chest defiantly as she stared her mother down.

A smirk tugged at her lips, but not for long. The sharp impact of a hand across her skin startled her, and it took her seconds before she realised what had happened. Clutching her cheek, she let out a shocked hiss of pain at the realisation her own mother had slapped her. She staggered backwards, clutching onto the kitchen countertop as she gaped weakly ahead. 

"Get out of my sight." 

Mrs Lowe was avoiding her gaze at all costs, perhaps a sign of regret, but Lennon did not stick around to analyse it. Without a second warning, she had raced towards the door, cheek still stinging from the punishment. She pulled her jacket from its hook and burst out into the street, feeling the icy sting of autumn's cold breeze against the heat of her skin. 

Instinct told her to take a left and wander down the street to the house that felt like home - Lily's. Mind told her that was a horrific idea - she was probably out screwing the boyfriend that brought on the betrayal she was never expecting. Instead, she continued on, straight down the road that lead her past Horace's cafe - she considered entering there too, but a closed sign hung limply behind the cracked glass of the door, and so she ambled past lamely.

She found herself trailing down dingy streets, their streetlights flickering and drunkards littering their pavements. Catcalls escaped their dizzied lips before they could even think to stop themselves, and Lennon felt a chill of concern creep up her spine. Her hands fumbled in her pockets, fidgeting as she searched desperately for a way to keep calm and level-headed. Although she was sure her mother would let her back in by the next day, the idea of being stranded on the grim city streets was terrifying.

Her feet didn't stop moving until she reached somewhere vaguely familiar. By this point, rain had began to shudder down in heavy sheets, soaking the thick fabric of her coat and sticking uncomfortably to her skin. Her hair clung to her cheeks, as if she'd plunged her head underwater, and yet she couldn't help feeling relieved, knowing no-one could make out the tears that had began to fall. 

Sniffling, she pushed open the creaking door of a nearby building. Ahead, a climbing set of rough cement stairs invited her inside, coarse graffiti scattering the walls beside it. Lennon averted her eyes from the crude writing, feeling too overwhelmed to admire it as she normally would. Her legs ached as she clambered upwards, eyes peering along the hallway that lay about before her.

She searched for the number that had become etched into her brain from the number of times she had repeated it - 12. Wiping furiously at her eyes with the soggy sleeve of her jacket, she rapped weakly on the door panels, hoping it was enough to alert the attention of the occupants inside.

An audible kerfuffle broke out inside the apartment, and a jangle of keys signified the opening of the door. Standing back, she was greeted with a familiar face whose expression went from overjoyed to concerned within milliseconds.

"Sirius! It's Lennon!" Remus called, ushering the younger girl inside with his hand on the small of her back.

Sirius hurried out from the lounge and into the hallway, clad in his usual dark jeans and an under-vest. She observed as his face fell and his feet carried him towards the door where she stood listlessly, engulfing her in a comforting hug.

"Jesus, Len, what happened? Get this jacket off, you must be freezing!" He tugged on the soaked material of her jacket, helping her peel it off before hanging it over a radiator at the side of the door.

"She kicked me out. She slapped me and she kicked me out. Not forever. Just..." Lennon trailed off before she burst into tears, bottom lip trembling as she collapsed against Sirius' chest. Vocalising it made it all seem real, and suddenly she realised she didn't know a thing about the outcome of her future.

Remus slid past them, mumbling something about preparing tea as Sirius stroked her back gently, a futile attempt to sooth her. He brushed through her tangled, wet hair with long fingers, trying to calm her as he lead her inside the flat, where the rooms were much warmer.

"Should we talk about it?" he asked, uncertainty etched in his features. "She shouldn't have hit you, Len. Are you okay?"

Sirius frowned as he sat her down on the couch, his thumb coasting across her the slight red imprint that still blemished the pale porcelain of her cheek. Lennon shook her head, rejecting his offer to discuss it at that very moment - she wasn't sure she was ready to relive the trauma of it all again so soon.

Remus returned shortly with three mugs of tea balanced precariously between his two hands, and a pair of pyjamas laid over his shoulders. Placing the steaming mugs on the polished wood of the coffee table, he set the pyjamas down in her lap, providing her the option of warmer clothes instead of the sodden ones she was currently wearing. 

"You can change through there, Len," Remus offered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She hated they way they looked at her so sympathetically, as if she was a child incapable of sorting herself out. Then again, maybe she was - she'd turned up on their doorstep helplessly after all.

She lifted herself from the couch and carried herself to the bedroom. She slowly stripped her wet clothes away from her limbs, replacing them with the plaid pyjama bottoms and jumper that dwarfed her slim figure. 

Upon return to the living room, she sidled into the open spot on the couch between the two men, brunette hair still damp and dripping as it lay out across her back. Remus handed her the awaiting cup of tea, and she gripped it tightly between both hands until her knuckles turned white from the pressure. The boiling liquid heated the ceramic of the mug until it burned to touch, but Lennon found the pain almost therapeutic, a nice distraction from the sudden sting that played in her mind like a broken record.

"You need to rest, Len," Sirius suggested suddenly, snapping her from her daydream. She had learnt that evening that defiance wasn't always the answer, and so she placed the tea aside and rested her head inside his open arms, leaning against his chest in search of comfort.

"You're always welcome here, you know that right, love?" Remus added, squeezing her hand softly. In the company of her closest friends, she felt secure for the first time that day.

Nodding, she felt her eyes droop sleepily, a sudden wave of fatigue climbing over her like twisting vines. As her eyes fluttered shut, Remus and Sirius shared a worried glance. Perhaps, Lily Evans was not the biggest problem in the mysterious life of Lennon Lowe.

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