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“And this one,” Jinx said to the adoring group of kids, tracing a scar along her shoulder. “Was a big thug with a huge knife. He cut me straight to the bone, and my throat would have been next if I wasn’t fast enough. But I kept my cool, and pow! He was down.”
There was a chorus of oohs and ahs from her rapt audience. The children, about seven of them, all firelight foundlings, were wide-eyed at the tales of her adventures. Jinx enjoyed telling them almost as much as they enjoyed listening. It did wonders for ego, among other things. And if she had to get the shit kicked out of her on a regular basis, at least she got some cool stories out of it.
“What about these scars?” Asked a little girl, touching the long, thin lines that started at her wrists and went up her arms.
Jinx flinched. That was not a story she wanted to tell. How did you explain that to a kid, anyway? But she forced a smile on her face.
“I did that myself. You ever get really mad and do something stupid? Sometimes I do that and cut myself up.”
The kids stared at her, a mixture of mystified and frightened.
“Did it hurt?” A boy asked.
“Yup. Just like anything else.”
“Then why did you do it? That’s just dumb.”
She laughed.
“Never said I was smart.”
“Is it because you’re crazy?” Another boy asked. “My mama says you are. Is that what crazy people do, cut themselves up?”
“Some of them do. Crazy comes in all kinds of flavors. Some cut other people up instead. Don’t worry,” she said, seeing the fear on their faces. “I’m not that kind. Usually.”
Most of the kids peeled off after that, probably freshly traumatized. That tended to happen a lot. If a kid wasn’t scared of her when they first met her, she’d find a way to freak them out eventually, even if she wasn’t trying. To her surprise a small girl, the one who’d pointed out the scars in the first place, stayed behind. She was a tiny thing with scraggly brown hair and scabs on her arms. She looked at Jinx with curiosity, not fear.
“Do you do that a lot?”
“No,” Jinx said. “Not anymore. It was mostly when I was younger. I’m better now, but I still fuck up sometimes.”
“Is it bad?”
Jinx frowned, taking a closer look at the scabs on her arms. They could have come from getting in a fight, or hoverboarding, or any of the countless other things that little kids get hurt doing. But she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her that wasn’t the case.
“It’s not good,” she told her quietly. “But it doesn’t make me a bad person. It just means I’m sick.”
Funny, she’d always been told that and yet never had said it aloud. She certainly hadn’t believed it. But if this kid was anything like her, she needed to hear those words. And Jinx realized she needed to hear them too.
“Sick? So you can take medicine to get better?”
“Yup. I got a bunch of different drugs. That’s part of the reason I got better.”
“Oh.”
“What’s your name, kid?” Jinx asked.
“Worm,” she said.
“Your parents didn’t do you any favors with that one.”
Worm looked down, equal parts ashamed and scared.
“I do that too,” she said so softly Jinx could barely hear her.
Jinx sat on the dirt so she could be at her level.
“Y’do, huh?”
“I’m not mad, though. I don’t know what I am. It just feels good.”
Jinx nodded. They could agree on that.
“I could get you to a good doctor who would give you medicine,” she said. “It’d make you stop doing that, and you’ll feel happier too. Or maybe you can talk to a therapist. That’s like a doctor for your brain, and instead of poking you, they ask you a bunch of questions and listen to you talk. Which can be really annoying but also nice sometimes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You got any parents I can talk to, or are they dead?”
The girl flinched, and Jinx cursed her bluntness.
“I don't know. I left them a while ago.”
Jinx nodded. Maybe she should try to find them, but most kids who ran off had a pretty good reason for it. You have to be a pretty shitty parent to make the streets of Zaun look like a better option. And Worm didn’t exactly sound like something a loving parent would name their child.
“Then I can just say I’m your mom. Or aunt, or something. And we can get you the shit you need. Sounds good?”
Nervously, Worm nodded.
“And hey, if you ever feel like doing that, spend some time with someone you know,” Jinx said. “Talk to me if you want, okay?”
“Okay,” Worm said, hesitating.
She turned to go before looking back for one final question.
“Does it make me…bad?”
Jinx felt the sudden urge to cry.
“No, sweetheart. It doesn’t make you bad. You’re just sick, and you can get better.”
How many times had she heard that before? From Ekko, Vi, doctors, and friends. And yet until now, she’d never really believed it.
Worm smiled before running off to play with her friends. Jinx stayed there for a moment, watching the little girl. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she seemed happier. Jinx realized she felt lighter herself. Funny.
She got up and headed back home. She had to talk to Ekko about scheduling a couple appointments.