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SWEET CHILD O' MINE ; CHAPTER ONE
[ season one, episode one ]

The apartment smelled like burnt toast and eggs. If there was one thing Josie Lawrence had learnt over the years, it was that every scent had its own meaning. This one in particular was a rarity, but somewhat pleasant in its occasional reappearances. If she wasn't mistaken, it meant an apology was imminent.

Good. Josie deserved one.

She walked into the sitting room, arms folded over her chest. Poison by Bell Biv DeVoe was playing through her headphones, which were so horrendously knotted that she swore it hindered the music's ability from running through the wires properly. It sounded muffled, as if she'd plunged her head underwater. Music was like her lifeline, so she definitely needed to buy a new pair as soon as possible. Unfortunately, that meant money ── something she certainly didn't possess.

Money in the Lawrence household was always scarce, but more so than usual at present.

Her father had an inadequate job in maintenance, where he spent most of his time fitting things in the mansions of pretentious snobs over in Encino Hills. He hated it. Loathed it. But rather than doing something productive about it, he chose to drink his weight in beer, specifically Coors Banquet, in an unhealthy attempt to drown away the abundance of miseries plaguing him. Josie attempted to help him quit once, to go cold turkey and give up alcohol, but it proved too difficult. After one client gave him a hard time, Johnny Lawrence didn't hesitate in turning back to his old friend ── the beer bottle.

The kitchen was cluttered by them. Empty bottles and Cheetos and slices of stale pizza, scattered across the breakfast bench and the small circular dining table. He said he'd clean, but it was obvious that had been an empty promise.

Josie shook her head in disapproval and removed her earphones, building up the courage to talk to him after their volatile argument last night.

But it was her dad's fault they got into it. Again.

Truth be told, Johnny was a disappointment to society. A deadbeat excuse of a father. A drunk. A slob. Lazy. But Josie couldn't help but love him despite it. That was exactly what made it so hard to stand back and watch him flush his life down the gutter. She tried to tell him that last night, tried to convince him it could be better than this and it was never too late to change, but in his drunken state, he strongly disagreed. Apparently, he was just fine. He didn't need help.

Josie had much evidence to the contrary. The state of the fridge, for example.

She watched him rifle through the contents of it for some bacon that presumably wasn't out of date. He wasn't very good at the whole housework thing. She feared he'd poison himself, or get salmonella, if it wasn't for her.

On a monthly basis, to further prolong his chances at survival, she removed a plethora of mouldy condiments and outdated food from the fridge. Then, every Sunday, she did a deep clean of the entire apartment to try and remove the beer stains from the carpet and the constant overhanging scent of stale food. Johnny didn't even know how to use a hoover. Sometimes she wondered what possessed her mother to willingly hand over custody. It'd been nearly thirteen years since the day, and her dad was yet to prove himself capable of taking care of a kid.

Although . . . he'd managed for this long. Not that she had any idea how.

With a sigh, she pushed away from the doorframe and walked into the main room, headphones dangling around her neck. She took a seat at the small dining table and glanced over at her dad, "I've seen everything now."

He wasn't even surprised she was up so early. Without turning to see her, he drove out a scoff from the back of his throat, "I can cook toast."

"You sure? It looks cremated."

That was when he looked. He raised an eyebrow at her, and then gazed dubiously back down at the slices of black toast on the bench.

"Dammit," he hissed, "Who am I kidding?"

Josie snorted, "Not me."

Her opinion meant squat to him. Food was food, as he always said.

Bearing that in mind, he smeared butter over the charred remains of the bread, and then sunk into the only other chair at the dining table. There was an unopened bottle of Coors Banquet in his hand ── his tasteless choice of a morning refreshment ── which Josie promptly removed and slipped under her chair. Johnny scoffed and rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue; a smart choice. Instead, he slid the other plate of scrambled egg and burnt toast across the table to her, his cerulean eyes brimming with the remaining guilt from last night.

This was his personal way of apologising. Breakfast and submission.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," Josie said, sliding the plate back over to him.

That was her personal way of stating that all was not forgiven. Refusal.

Johnny sighed through his nose and gave a displeased shrug, "Suit yourself."

He piled the contents of her plate onto his own. She grimaced ── it looked like something that would put Gordon Ramsey into an early grave. A mound of gloopy scrambled eggs that were more shell than egg, and blackened toast smothered in fatty, non-nutritional butter.

Josie made a mental note to go down to the mini-mart later and grab some granola bars. And maybe a few cooking books. How to cook breakfast for dummies.

In the silence that ensued in the wake of her refusal, Josie refused to meet her dad's eyes, knowing a conversation would be inevitable. She gazed around the sitting room instead, eyes catching on the mess swathing the benches and the stubborn stains marring the carpet; the trash can overflowing with rubbish. She needed to clean. Desperately.

Reluctantly, Josie looked back at her dad. He was chewing like a toddler, shovelling the food into his mouth as if he hadn't been fed for months.

She huffed, "When was the last time you took the trash out?"

"No idea. Try adding seven more days to the week before last week, and that's probably close."

"Come on, seriously? You're meant to take it out on a a daily basis, Dad," Josie scolded, splaying her hands wide to gesticulate the sheer importance of her point, "Do you want rats?"

Johnny's nose wrinkled, "We already have 'em."

"What?" Josie blurted, "Where?"

"Everywhere."

"What do you mean? You're being vague."

"I'm not being vague, I'm just saying what I know. And I know the whole rat problem has nothing to do with me." Johnny informed through a mouthful of decimated egg. He waved a hand, "Enough questions, anyways. It's too early. My brain is still switching on."

Josie crossed her arms and muttered to herself, "It's been switching on for the last fifty-two years."

"I heard that."

She shot him a saccharine smile, "You were meant to."

"Whatever." He shovelled more egg into his mouth. "I'll take the trash out later."

"How about we do it now so you don't forget?" Josie rebutted rhetorically. She gestured to the sky-high pile of splitting bin liners and the trash that had pushed through the gashes, strewing out onto the kitchen floor, "There's so much that it's gonna take the two of us to get it out. Plus, it stinks. Sooner it's gone the better."

"It doesn't smell that bad."

Josie stared at him incredulously, "See, now it's obvious you're the culprit ── you've gone nose blind. It smells like something's died in here."

"Yeah, my sanity."

She blew out an exasperated breath and pushed herself up from the table. A brief glance at her phone revealed that time was getting on. Her father needed at least some nutrition before work. Funnily enough, she cared for his health.

She opened the fridge ── which smelt almost as bad as the trash, if not worse ── and grabbed the carton of fresh orange juice from between the packets of outdated ham.

On the front of the fridge, she glimpsed the photo of her ( aged seven ) with much lighter blonde hair. She was sitting on the ground with a halo of paper sheets surrounding her, her hands covered in acrylic paint and clutched around a paintbrush that was almost the same length as her arm as she grinned wolfishly up at the camera.

Next to that picture was one of her half-brother, Robby Keene ( aged seven, too ) clad in a soccer strip with a ball tucked under his arm and a pair of glasses balancing on the end of his nose. He didn't wear glasses anymore. He was too cool for them now.

As a result of her father's estrangement from him, Josie didn't tend to speak to Robby much. They called each other on their birthdays, on Christmas and Thanksgiving, but always with reluctance and just a brief flurry of conversation. It was the whole having different mothers thing that made it awkward, what gave them further valid reason not to speak. They weren't the same, not remotely ── other than the fact they shared some similar genetics and the same smile. Josie wanted to get to know him more than she already did. He was her brother. Half-brother, but not that it mattered; blood relations meant family. She wanted to be there for him like family was meant to, but the chances were always severed by the consequences of their parents' actions.

She closed the fridge and peeled her eyes away from the pictures. They pretty much served as little reminders to her father, for him to remember what he didn't and did have.

Josie sighed; he'd always have her. And as long as he had her, he didn't need Robby. One kid on his side was better than none.

After finding the cleanest glass she could in the cabinet, Josie poured some of the orange juice into it and wordlessly handed the drink to her father. He clasped it in his hands, gazing into the orange liquid with undiluted disgust painted across his wrinkled face.

"Vitamin C," she reminded him, screwing the lid back onto the juice carton, "A much better alternative to ethanol, right?"

Johnny bit back his stubbornness and took a swig, immediately grimacing at the taste, "No."

"Yes," Josie pressed. She tilted the end of the glass up so her father had no choice but to swallow the juice, "Liver failure is no joke."

He pushed her hand away and used the back of his wrist to wipe the wetness from his mouth. Fortunately, the glass was now empty. Progress was progress. No more Coors Banquet for breakfast ── only healthy choices. His recent trip to the doctor highlighted the necessity for him to make smarter choices. She knew he wouldn't do it himself, so she had no choice but to step in.

She took the glass from his hands and rinsed it out in the sink. From the corner of her eye, she noticed her father was watching her, and she saw that the guilt from earlier had swiftly returned, shining in his eyes. She hated when he did that; looked at her until she kicked off the conversation. He wouldn't if she didn't.

"What is it?" Josie huffed.

"You know I didn't mean what I said last night, right?" he inquired, intertwining his fingers awkwardly, "I say dumb shit all the time."

"Yeah, 'course I know that," she retorted.

She was used to it now. It didn't really faze her as much as it did when she was younger, when he'd take his alcohol-induced bad moods out on her if she bugged him too much. Nothing physical, of course ── he'd never raise a fist to her. Not even a finger. He wasn't like that.

Sometimes, he just said things that stung; a cruel remark here and there. A lecture that did more harm than good. Sometimes he would call her a burden, or annoying, or the occasional you're acting just like your Mom. Back then, when she was a little younger, Josie thought he meant it. Now she knew he only said those things to get a rise out of her; to put someone other than himself in a bad mood. If Johnny had to be irritated, then somebody else had to be too. That was just him.

"You don't need to apologise, or explain yourself. Doesn't matter now. I was being a brat," Josie reassured.

"You weren't. And I am sorry," her dad mumbled shamefully, looking up from his interlocked fingers, "It was pretty damn stupid of me to say I don't need you around. Have you seen this shithole? It's like a pig sty."

Vocal apologies were rare. Very rare. Josie raised her head, wanting to digest all of this, the remorseful expression on his face and the contrite words to go with it. She needed to scorch it into her memories. She needed to make sure it lived on forevermore, only because it was highly implausible that it would ever happen again.

"I'm an asshole. Please don't move out."

She chortled at that, pressing her mouth into a tight-lipped smile, "I'm not gonna move out, Dad. Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"All right. Well, to make it up to you, I'll take the trash out," he added courteously.

"No it's fine, I'll help," Josie said, rolling up the sleeves of her jet-black Guns N Roses hoodie, which she 'borrowed' from her dad. "I don't want you falling down the stairs and breaking a hip. It happens to old people all the time."

Johnny's remorse melted away almost comically, fast replaced by indignation, "Old?"

Before he could jump into his long winded argument about being middle-aged and only slightly wrinkled thanks to an abundance of stress over the years, Josie rushed to collect some of the trash bags and sprinted out of the front door.

Their flat was situated on the bottom floor of the dilapidated apartment block, so she didn't really have anywhere to run other than the half-empty pool in the centre of the building, or the main road behind the gates. And unless she had a death wish, it probably wasn't the best idea to sprint out into the middle of the road. She'd be squashed like a grape.

Her father stormed out of the door, carrying the other trash bags, his brow cinched furiously.

"Old?" he muttered, pinning her with a glare, "Old? I'm middle-aged. A young adult──"

"Hey," an unfamiliar voice interrupted, "I'm Miguel. My family and I just moved into 109."

Josie turned to discern the owner of the new voice. There was a tan boy standing awkwardly by the mailboxes, possibly around her age, with dark eyes and lithe limbs. He had a pleasant face, heart-shaped and soft; he looked sweet. Kind. That was good. They desperately needed some nicer people in the apartment block. Just last week, the crazy old man from 102 threw a wet sponge at Josie for no reason at all, other than the fact 'her face was irritating him.'

When she had told her dad, he laughed hysterically.

"Oh, so you're the new people?" Josie asked. She had noticed boxes and moving vans a few days ago, but had never spotted the new faces ── until now. "Nice to meet you. I'm Josie."

Miguel nodded, sticking out his hand for a handshake. Josie hesitantly returned it. She hadn't been expecting such a formal courtesy. They were in Reseda, not the Country Club over in Encino Hills. But still, she appreciated his politeness. Maybe he was just timid.

She noticed him looking nervously at Johnny, who was gazing at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Josie broke the ice, "That's my Dad. Johnny. He's a little rough around the edges, but once you get to know him, he can be alright I suppose."

Johnny scoffed and turned away.

He shoved the trash bags into the bins, muttering something about immigrants under his breath which Josie visibly winced at. She couldn't control the words that came out of her father's mouth, but she desperately wished she was blessed with that ability. Maybe he'd have more friends, fewer stains on his criminal record.

Miguel cleared his throat, pretending not to hear him, "Um, I was just wondering if you were having any trouble with your water pressure? Our sink is being weird right now, and ── wait don't the bottles go in the blue bins?"

Her dad threw their rubbish, most of which were empty Coors bottles, into the bin with the black paint and nonchalantly slammed the lid closed. Josie pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed impatiently. There were often times where she felt more like the parent that Johnny was supposed to be. This was one of those occasions.

"Dad, you'll get a fine," she warned, throwing her own trash bags into the correct bins.

"Yeah, you will," Miguel added.

"Listen, Menudo," Johnny addressed the newcomer, his brow pinched in annoyance, "I've lived in this shit hole for over ten years. The pipes don't work, the fountain's full of piss. The only good thing about being here is I don't have to talk to anybody, other than my kid. So, nice knowing you."

"Dad──"

"I'm going to work," he interrupted, and pressed the button on his keys. His car chirped, headlights briefly flashing amber. "See you later, Jose."

Josie smiled softly at the nickname, "Okay. Bye."

Once the car pulled away ── the one good thing Johnny owned, a red Pontiac Firebird ── Josie returned her attention to Miguel. He looked stunned, though for good measure. It was difficult having a conversation with Johnny Lawrence without any common ground. He didn't have a filter. He hated everyone and the world, which he tended to make abundantly clear no matter who was on the receiving end of his outdated attitude.

"Ignore him. He's had a stick up his ass since he lost a karate tournament in 1984," Josie informed, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Miguel shook his head, bewildered and a little terror-stricken, "A karate tournament? He knows karate?"

"Mhm. Doubt he can do it anymore, though. He's old. He's got frail bones."

Miguel didn't seem to find that reassuring.

"Don't look so scared," Josie said, chuckling a little, "He won't use it on you. I'm pretty sure just thinking about karate brings back too many memories of the guy who crane-kicked his life down the drain."

"Oh, that's good." Miguel heaved a sigh of relief. Then, he whipped his head around, his relief immediately warping to apprehension, "N─not that his life going down the drain is good. I just meant ── I mean it's good he won't use it on me. You know? The karate, that is."

Josie snorted and reached over to pat his shoulder reassuringly, "Hey, it's fine. He's a little dramatic about it all, anyways. Personally, if I still held a vendetta against someone thirty-three years later and blamed them for everything going wrong in my life, I'd check myself into a ward."

"Wow. That's a pretty long time."

"Yeah, like I say: my dad is old. Is yours? I know some parents have kids young. Mine certainly didn't."

Miguel's expression changed. He looked down at his shoes and didn't speak again for a few seconds, and when he did, his voice sounded strained, "I actually don't know my dad. When I was a baby, we moved to the US from Ecuador. Never, uh ── never met him."

Josie felt heat rush to her face, "Shit, I'm sorry. I never should've asked that."

"It's okay. You couldn't have known."

"Yeah," Josie mumbled, trying to hide the redness in her complexion. How embarrassing. She'd just met the guy. Amidst her embarrassment, she blurted, "I can kinda relate. I don't really see my Mom much. She lives in New York."

"New York? Really? That's, like, super far," Miguel said.

"Tell me about it. She's a lawyer, and apparently the gigs are real good over there, so she moved when I was four," she explained, tugging on a loose thread hanging from the hem of her jumper, "I only see her twice a year. That practically amounts to nothing."

Miguel nodded as if he completely understood, which he probably did considering his parental background.

He thrust out his hand again, but not for a greeting handshake. With a smile he said, "Well, in that case, welcome to the absent parent club."

Grinning, Josie clasped her fingers around his clammy palm and shook it.

Admittedly, she never expected to trauma-dump so early in the morning on some random, unwilling boy who'd just moved in to the apartment opposite their own. But, the world had very peculiar ways of bringing people together ── her parents, take as an example. They unexpectedly reunited in a bar nineteen years after graduating high school, hooked up, and along came an unplanned Josie just nine months later. She was born three months after Robby; not a particularly good situation. With the maths added up, it was clear Johnny had cheated on Robby's mom during her pregnancy. It made things even more awkward to navigate.

But it didn't matter now. The past was the past. Nothing there was worth unearthing.

"Well, it was real nice to meet you, Miguel," Josie stated, folding her hands behind her back and rocking on her heels, "Oh, and to answer your question earlier, the water pressure sucks. Our taps like to spray over the sink, rather than in it."

"Oh, right. I'll tell my Mom."

"Tell her not to swim in the pool either. I saw the weird guy who lives up on the second floor cleaning his pet rats in it once."

Miguel's nose crinkled in disgust, "Okay. Noted."

"Anyways, I'll see you around," Josie said, swinging her arms inattentively, "I go to West Valley High School. I might see you there?"

His eyes widened in excitement, "Yeah, I just enrolled there!"

"Awesome. I'll try and find you on the first day, show you around, tell you who not to talk to and what not," she murmured, taking a few steps backward. When it became apparent their small talk had dwindled to silence, she lifted her hand in a feeble wave, "Bye Miguel from 109."

"See you later, Josie with the karate-dad."

Simultaneously, they waved goodbye and disappeared into their respective apartments.

Inside, as she sunk into her father's sofa-chair, Josie found herself feeling elated. She was positively amazed at how easy it had been to make a friend. It wasn't always so simple. She would consider herself a bit of an outcast ── the type of person who people wouldn't deliberately go out of their way to talk to. The shadows were her dwelling place. Light made her twitch.

Although, she wasn't entirely friendless. She wasn't that sad.

Josie had Lainey Tenn, a girl she'd walked through middle school with hand-in-hand. At one point, they had been inseparable ── connected like limbs, as Lainey's mother often jested. They wouldn't go anywhere without the other, as if they had separation anxiety. But over the years, they learned how to cope alone. The limbs that connected them were amputated.

It came with a difference in opinion. Josie and Lainey's perceptions were vastly different, alongside their respective interests and individuality. Josie liked leather jackets and Guns N' Roses and those bad action movies from the 80s, and she carried a similar volatile temperament to her father. Lainey liked Ariana Grande and the colour pink, she loved cheesy romantic TV shows, and her temperament was about as sharp-edged as a circle. It was Yin and Yang, two sides of a coin. Black and white.

People grew apart; it was one part of life that couldn't be altered.

They didn't exactly grow apart. Things just changed for them. Josie would still consider Lainey her closest friend. She wouldn't spend her free periods and lunch breaks with anyone else in the world. And she doubted Lainey would, either.

And Miguel . . . maybe he could be an added member to their duo. Make it a trio. Fate had made them neighbours, had them run into each other over faulty water pressure, so maybe fate wanted them to acknowledge one another's existence for some undisclosed reason. It couldn't all be consequential, could it? Everything had a reason.

Whatever the future held, it had a tendency to present itself in explosions of unprecedented incidents.

Josie suited herself up to face the shrapnel.

━━━━━━━━━━

AUTHORS NOTE !

okay im making it clear here that
josie and miguel are not love
interests. that would be a little weird
and difficult down the line when
miguel's mom and josie's dad have a
baby together in season 5. they're
low-key family then so they will be
that way throughout. besides who
doesn't love a platonic relationship
between a boy and girl?

anyways, an oc with mommy issues and
lowkey daddy issues?? count me in.