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Every morning, at exactly seven, Scapegrace was woken up and dragged downstairs, where he begrudgingly drank coffee out of a misshapen mug and listened to Clarabelle ramble about her perplexing night terrors. Every morning he laid down on the sofa and caught up on lost sleep while his friends scraped together breakfast. He had come to rely on Thrasher to wake him up at a reasonable hour, and on Clarabelle to make sure nobody starved.
All this made it quite jarring for Scapegrace to wake up alone, not knowing exactly what time it was but sure it had to be late. He sat up, intending to call for someone, but his tongue felt thick. Everything was warm. Warm and bright. Scapegrace's room was never bright, because he always kept the blinds down. He turned. His window was gone. His bed was gone. He didn't remember getting up.
All at once Thrasher was there, but his face was wrong. Scapegrace took his hand and they were walking. Thrasher was leading. Thrasher wasn't supposed to lead. Scapegrace screamed at him. He didn't even turn around.
The sun was out, and it burned Scapegrace's eyes. He told Thrasher, "Dw i eisiau mynd i adre," but Thrasher didn't get it. Scapegrace kicked him and his skin came open and his blood got all over both of them. It didn't feel good and Scapegrace wished he hadn't done it.
He looked to Clarabelle for help. She frowned at him. She was angry. He said he was sorry and she said he was disgusting and he said I'm sorry again and they kissed. Her mouth felt like sand. He was outside again, lying on the ground.
He got up and saw his house. Their house. The sun still hurt. He crawled up the steps and tried to open the door and it was locked. He punched it. He kicked it. Clarabelle and Thrasher were inside, he could hear them. Neither of them came to the door. He was crying. He knew the heat would kill him, and nobody wanted to help him. Someone called for him, right into his ear.
"Scapey," said someone. "Scapey, wake up."
Scapegrace opened his eyes and nearly jumped out of his skin. Clarabelle hovered over him, her hand on his shoulder. She exhaled once she realized he was awake.
"Oh my God, there you are. You were making a lot of scary noises. Are you okay?"
Scapegrace swallowed. He was sweating. He wanted to say no, to wrap his arms around her and hold on tight and never be separate again. "Yes." He lied hoarsely. "Thank you."
She smiled. "Oh, good. I'll tell Gerald. He's making tea." She brushed her hair out of the way and gave Scapegrace a kiss on the head.
He tried his best to smile back.