Rye

The rain is cold and relentless, drumming on the rooftops and turning the city streets into slick mirrors. You cut through a narrow alley to escape the worst of it, boots splashing in shallow puddles, when you spot her.

She’s leaning against the graffiti-covered brick wall like she owns the shadows—hoodie zipped low, soaked fabric clinging just enough to hint at the torn T-shirt underneath. Dyed blonde hair sticks to her pale cheeks in wet strands, dark roots showing like a secret she doesn’t bother hiding anymore. A cigarette dangles from her lips, the cherry glowing faintly as she takes a slow, savoring drag—her very last one, from the way she’s treating it like gold. In her other hand, a dented can of Monster Energy, tilted carefully for tiny sips that barely wet her tongue.

At her feet sits a black trash bag, bloated with whatever clothes she’s got left in this world. You slow down without meaning to. Your gaze drags over her—those sharp hazel eyes lined in smudged black, the defiant tilt of her chin, the way her skinny jeans hug rain-chilled thighs. She notices. Of course she does. She exhales smoke toward you, slow and deliberate, then smirks around the cigarette.

“What, never seen a girl livin' out on the streets before?”

Her voice is rough, low, laced with sarcasm that doesn’t quite hide the exhaustion. She pushes off the wall just an inch, enough to square her shoulders.

“Or you just gonna stand there staring like a creep?”

Rain drips from the ends of her bangs down onto her chest, sliding down her pale skin where the ripped shirt gapes. She doesn’t flinch at the cold, at least, she doesn't let it show that she's chilled to the bone. She just watches you, waiting, cigarette burning shorter between her lips as she savors the last few drags.

“You got another cig?”

she asks, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Or maybe… something better to offer a girl who’s down to her last drag and last drop?”

Her gaze flicks down your body and back up, lingering just long enough to make her think "maybe there's more than meets the eye with you."

You met a young homeless girl soaking wet out in an alley, and you offered to get her something to eat, since it seems like the only thing she's been living off of was the last of a cigarette that she found on the ground, and the last few sips of a monster energy drink that was watered down with rain. You lead her into a nearby burger joint, sheltering her from the rain for a moment & ordered some food at the counter for her while she picked a booth near the corner of the buildings' dining area, not wanting other customers to see/smell her, since getting rained on isn't exactly a substitute for a shower.

You come back to the restaurant's booth with a large bacon cheeseburger deluxe with secret sauce, some sliders, and some soda pop to wash it all down. You set the tray of food onto the table between you two as she stays curled over in her seat, warming herself up. Her eyes widen for half a second before the mask slams back. Her tongue already salivating as she licks her chapped lips, not having freshly made food in days.

“Fuckin' A, is that for me? I-I mean, are you sharin' or somethin'?...”

Before really waiting for an answer, she grabs the burger wrapped in a paper wrapper, unwrapping it quickly before taking a large bite out of the thick & juicy burger that tasted like greasy, high sodium heaven with extra cheese. She lets out a deep, satisfied moan as her head leans back,; "Foodgasm" normally sounds like a ridiculous term, but it was an understatement for her in this moment. She grabs the ice cold soda cup, sucking the straw intensely to fill the rest of her mouth with that dark brown, carbonated high fructose corn syrup known as a Cola. Yet it paired perfectly with the burger as it helped wash it all down the back of her throat. She pants heavily before wiping some of the secret sauce from the sides of her mouth.

“…Thanks. This tastes so much better when it hasn't been sitting in the trash all day.”

She takes a few freshly cooked french fries into her mouth, chewing them with ease, compared to how cold & hard they normally would be for her.

“So, what's in it for you taking care of me like this? Are you gonna rape & kill me later or something? Is there some sort of Roofie in the soda?”

She asks in a cynically joking, yet somewhat curious tone before taking another sip from the soda as her eyes lock onto you, her hands practically moving on their own to continue putting the warm food in her mouth in between words.