Chapter 5: Beige

AXEL:
Jasper is a statue. His gaze stays locked on the wall, like if he looks away, something worse will be there waiting for him.
Mavis has finally settled down, sprawled across the bed and staring at the ceiling like it might explain why we’re still alive.
But Mika’s still in the bathroom.
He’s been in there for like ten minutes.
My pockets sag with the weight of the random trinkets from the room. Tiny, hard objects press against my legs like anchor points.
I keep watching the bathroom door, waiting for it to move.
My stomach burns with that familiar anxious twist.
Every sound from tonight keeps replaying in my head: glass shattering, gunfire, Creed’s voice—over and over.
I step toward the bathroom, raising my hand to knock—
Mika walks out. Fast.
His eyes look vacant for half a second, and his jaw is clenched like he’s biting something back.
He doesn’t register me.
He just brushes past without a word, already scanning the room like it’s habit, not choice. I watch him slump onto the bed across from me.
Mavis immediately takes the opening.
She grabs her clothes and jogs into the bathroom.
Once she leaves, there’s silence again. Uncomfortable, like the room stopped moving.
I don’t want to be the one who breaks it.
So I drift into the tiny kitchen corner instead and sit down at the old wooden chair beside the stained counter.
The lamp beside me hums faintly.
The sink drips every few seconds.
I fidget with the stolen charms in my pockets and stare blankly at the yellow light.
If this feeling had a color, it would be beige.
Not grey.
We aren’t outside in the rain anymore. But definitely not purple or yellow either.
Just beige.
The color of surviving instead of living.
Not good. Just dry. But not awful. Which is still better than before, I guess.
Eventually, the bathroom door clicks open.
Mavis walks back out wearing the stolen blue shirt and immediately collapses onto the bed beside Jasper.
I wait a moment, like someone else might need it first. Before I leave the kitchen, I switch the lamp off to save power.
The room drops darker instantly, except for the faint glow from the bedroom.
I gather the remaining clothes and glance once toward Jasper in case he still wants the long-sleeved shirt.
He doesn’t move.
I exhale through my nose and slip into the bathroom.
The clothes drop onto the edge of the tub, and some fall in.
I trace the crack running through the mirror with my finger. It looks like a spiderweb.
I remove my finger before it gets stuck on the glass.
It reminds me of tonight. Of shattered glass. And Mr. Creed smiling at me before we left.
I stare at the sink.
I should probably feel lucky when he’s nice to me. Sometimes he is.
I curl my fingers tightly into my palm.
I can’t remember him smiling at anyone else like that.
The thought leaves something bitter behind.
I glance over at the clothes hanging off the side of the tub.
Then I change.
For a second, I consider keeping my wet shirt on. But Jasper would probably get annoyed if I did something stupid like that for him.
I shake the thought away and pull the dry clothes over my skin instead.
When I look up again through the cracked mirror, I see my reflection: dark, messy hair, faded streaks of red, bright grey eyes that are still heavy and overwhelmed.
Beige may not be a bright color.
But it’s safe.
“Axel!” Mavis shouts through the thin bathroom door. “Show a sign of life! We’re going to bed!”
“Coming!”
I switch the light off and step back into the motel room.
Everything is dark now.
Jasper is curled tightly into himself on the far side of the bed, facing the wall and window.
Mika already claimed the couch; he lies on his back with the palm of his hand covering his forehead with foggy eyes.
I climb carefully onto the bed beside Mavis instead. Jasper seems like he needs space, and I don’t wanna take that away from him.
The blankets are paper-thin. Cold air slips under the motel door anyway.
I pull the covers tighter around myself and squeeze my eyes shut.
I try not to think about the heist. About the gunshots. About whatever Creed wanted us to steal. About broken glass or rainwater or blood. Or why we even do what he makes us do. And why we listen anyway.
I try to think about something good instead.
I try really hard.
But every memory I land on somehow turns into another heist we survived. Another night we didn’t get punished. And even after Creed found me on the street, after I ran away.
So I make something up instead: a house. Warm and small. Oh, and with two bathrooms. All four of us live there. No heists. No guns. No abandoned subway stations. And sometimes Mavis even still drags us on adventures around town because she gets bored too easily.
There’s no cigarette smoke outside. No filthy alleyways. No rain leaking through ceilings. No looking for Creeds answers.
Just us. A small warm house and the four of us. And maybe we even have a pet dog.
The prickly feeling behind my eyes hits too fast. My face tightens after.
I wipe it immediately with the blanket before the tears can fall properly. It doesn’t work; it just gets messier.
My chin quivers and I squeeze my eyes shut harder, forcing myself not to make a sound. I inhale a sniffle and then hiccup.
We would name the dog Berry after one of Mika’s favorite foods.
And we could watch movies on the couch every night together. And also build blanket forts around the house.
I really wanna do that.
I pull the blanket tighter to my chest.
My face scrunches harder, a heavy sob breaks its way out of my closed mouth.
Focus.
We have a motel room tonight.
We aren't outside. That's good.
And everyone's still here.
All four of us.
That's good too.
I sniffle again.
I listen to Mavis breathing beside me and focus on the sound. I press my back against hers, grounding myself. I focus on how it goes in and out with every breath, and try my best to match it.
The rain keeps hitting the window. It doesn't stop.