Page 6 of We May Be Fractured

A Bunch of Misfits

[Now playing ? Welcome to Paradise—Green Day]

A aron sure didn’t see this coming.

First day of community service, and here he was, smack in the middle of a jungle pretending to be a garden, all under the watchful eye of a once-fancy Victorian building.

Weeds towered like sentinels, barring the way as he navigated through a graveyard of forgotten memories—rusted appliances, mould-eaten mattresses, and sad, decayed remnants of what was once furniture.

The building’s worn facade added to the gloom, occasionally interrupted by chaotic graffiti, the lone heartbeat in this place.

He’d hoped, maybe naively, to be picking up litter by the Thames, not wrestling with…whatever this mess was. This was a job for more than a day, more than one person. And they expected him to do it alone?

“Off to a pretty lousy start, kid,” his supposed supervisor declared in a distinctive Brummie accent. Broad-shouldered, arms crossed, and with an unimpressed arch of her brow, she cut an imposing figure. “Twenty minutes late on day one isn’t the best look.”

“It’s not my fault,” Aaron started, phone still in hand, the map app glaring back at him. “I couldn’t find the—”

“Nope, save it. Everyone else found it just fine,” she interrupted, not sparing him an ounce of sympathy.

“Everyone else?” He flicked his eyes around, spotting a cluster of young people hanging out near a graffiti-splashed conservatory not too far away. He didn’t recall the community service package coming with a group deal.

“Meet the team,” she pointed out. “You’re stuck with one another every Saturday for the next few months.”

Fantastic. Just what he needed—bonding with a bunch of criminals.

“Workday’s nine to five. Lunch at noon. At the end, you get a slip for your hours,” she recited, her monotone indicating she’d said it a hundred times before. Her expression alone spoke volumes of boredom and disinterest.

Digging in her bag, she pulled out a glaring fluorescent jacket and tossed it his way.

Catching it, Aaron frowned. “What’s this for?”

“Hi-vis jacket. Wear it. Always.”

Aaron unfurled it, his gaze landing on the bold ‘Community Payback’ printed on the back. “For keeping tabs on us or public shaming?”

“Your choice of perspective. Put it on.” She gestured dismissively towards the group. “Now go and mingle while we wait for my colleague.”

“So, your colleague can be late, but I can’t?”

“He’s not the one with a record,” she shot back, a hint of smugness evident.

With a huff, Aaron put the jacket on and walked over to the group.

As he reached them, a girl with a head full of skinny braids closed in on him. Her suede boots, knee-high, left little marks on the ground, scattering pebbles with every determined step she took. A whiff of sweet vanilla preceded her.

She stopped right in front of him, sizing him up with big eyes framed by long lashes, her gaze hovering over the scars on his face.

Aaron braced himself for the usual routine he’d nicknamed ‘The Gaze Game’, or that moment of shock, the blend of curiosity and pity, followed by the inevitable awkward glance away.

But she threw him for a loop, steadily holding his gaze.

“Hi, I’m Maeve,” she said with a big, wide smile, twirling a braid around her finger.

Aaron focused on her long pointy nails, which were so shiny they made his hi-vis jacket seem dull. He was impressed at how she managed not to snag those talons in her braids.

“First time?” She pushed for a conversation.

He nodded, wishing it would be his last too.

“On my third go.” Maeve blew a bubble with her chewing gum, letting it pop before laughing casually. “They said one more theft, and it’s straight to jail next time.”

Aaron nodded again, baffled by her candidness. He wasn’t here to make small talk. He just wanted to do his time, get it over with, and get back on track with his life.

Maeve leaned in, eyeing the scars on his right cheek. Ah, there it was—the next phase of ‘The Gaze Game’ only a few had ventured to play. Popping her gum, she grinned. “You in a gang or something? Those scars sure shout ‘bad boy’.”

Aaron traced the twin lines trailing down his jaw. Comments like these weren’t new to him, and they never got easier to hear. He wished he could wipe the constant reminders off his face and mind.

As he tried to come up with a smart comeback, another voice piped in.

“Thank God, you’re not ugly! I was hoping for a fittie to join the team.”

Turning, Aaron found himself face-to-face with a full-blown sensory overload.

Before him stood a tall guy in a Barbie hoodie that was practically a pin cushion as a chaotic collection of quirky badges covered it.

And if the hoodie wasn’t statement enough, his heart-patterned trousers screamed for attention.

He clutched a phone in a rainbow case, and cloth bracelets wrapped around his wrist, each one frayed, braided, or beaded.

The bold stranger’s eyes briefly settled on Aaron’s scars. No one was immune to ‘The Gaze Game’.

“You have…an interesting look,” he commented, taking a step closer than Aaron might have liked, clearly not one for personal space. “I’m Nyle, with a Y , by the way.”

Raising an eyebrow, Aaron replied, “And I’m Aaron, with two A ’s.”

A high-pitched laugh erupted from Nyle. “Interesting, and has a sense of humour. Totally my type. How old are you?”

Was this guy hitting on him? Why were people here so upfront? “I’ll be nineteen soon.”

“Oh, same age as Maeve. I’m starting to feel very old surrounded by babies .”

“Drama Queen, you’re only twenty-one,” Maeve chimed in, then leaned towards Aaron. “And ignore him. Any bloke with a pulse is his type.”

“As if you’re any less slutty than I am,” Nyle shot back.

“YOLO, right?” she laughed.

“Anyway, to prove I don’t just go for anyone, the other newbie is definitely not my type. He’s so basic,” Nyle pointed out.

Following Nyle’s gesture, Aaron’s heart dropped a beat.

There, with his unmistakable glossy black hair, was Cliff.

They hadn’t spoken since that disaster of a party.

Now, justice had them both doing community service together.

Aaron’s gut told him they couldn’t avoid their past forever, especially not with Cliff.

Yet for now, Cliff seemed unaware of him, deep in conversation with a girl, both of them wearing the hideous jackets.

“I didn’t get much chat time with him,” Maeve mused. “But if he’s choosing her over me, he’s probably a snore.”

Aaron’s focus shifted to the girl in question—petite, with platform high-tops peeking out from under a flowy floral skirt, and pale, undoubtedly dyed hair pulled back to reveal an undercut of a much darker shade.

As she chatted animatedly with Cliff, a black rose tattoo peeked out from her wrist with every gesture.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Maeve murmured, leaning closer to Aaron, her breath tickling his ear. “Ria might look like a delicate flower, but trust me, behind that angelic face, there’s a fire. Cross her, and you’ll see a switch flip from cute kitty to full-blown tiger.”

Aaron blinked, studying her. Beneath the facade of a delicate bloom, that girl might be more of a carnivorous plant, hiding a bite. She was there for a reason, after all.

But when their eyes met, he was taken aback as Ria sent him a radiant smile, not a casual, polite one but a beam that pierced right through his scars and defences.

Nobody, except Tori and Aunt Olivia, had ever given him that kind of look. For a second, Aaron felt like a deer caught in headlights, Ria’s intense focus blinding him, pushing him to the edge.

He held the connection with her for a couple of heartbeats, but then a wave of unease crept in, pulling his gaze to someone lurking in the background.

There, against a dark, graffiti-adorned wall stood a guy enveloped in black clothes from head to toe. No hi-vis jacket on him; he was hiding in the shadows. The only betrayal of his anonymity was the eyebrow piercing that occasionally caught and reflected fleeting glimmers of the surrounding light.

Hands nonchalantly tucked into his oversized hoodie, the guy seemed uninterested in mingling, his eyes lazily scanning yet sharply observant of the surroundings. Aaron could relate; Maeve’s non-stop talking had turned into background noise for him too.

But something denser clung to the guy’s aura, a palpable indifference that he wore as one might a well-worn coat. When their eyes met, unlike Ria’s earlier warmth, he offered nothing but a chillingly detached stare.

“‘The Psycho,’” Maeve continued after catching his attention with a cough.

“What?” Aaron looked back at her, disoriented, having missed part of her conversation.

“That guy who just gave you a murderous look—they call him ‘The Psycho’. Best to steer clear if you want to stay safe. He’s completely nuts.”

“Don’t call him that,” Nyle interjected.

“Why not? Everyone saw how he lost it at the pub the other day, punching that dude just for glancing at Ria.” Maeve’s voice trailed off as the supervisor waved everyone closer with a languid hand.

“Gather ’round, kids.”

The group obeyed, forming a semicircle around her. It was then, amidst the shuffle, that Cliff locked eyes with Aaron, his expression twisting into a disgusted scowl.

“For the newcomers, I’m Sarah.” She half-heartedly pointed to a faded nametag on her jacket.

“I’m here to make sure you do your job. As you can see”—she gestured around—“this care centre garden needs some serious attention. You’re all part of the community payback revitalisation project, and in the next few months, your goal is to revive this sad-looking place. ”

“ Our ,” corrected the man standing behind her. “ Our goal is to revive this place.”

Sarah shot him a bored, exasperated look. “Yeah, whatever…”

In stark contrast to her, the man radiated enthusiasm, his polished outfit oddly out of sync with the gardening project ahead.