The girl Kieran’s climbing on top of tonight is wearing the kind of top I would have killed for when I was still alive. It’s got that tradwife vibe going for it in a nostalgic shade of blue, except it’s also open at the back with a flimsy (intentional) ribbon to prevent the whole thing from falling apart in the breeze. It just screams “I can weave a mean tapestry but WOULDN’T YOU ALSO LOVE TO UNRAVEL ME MAYBE TONIGHT?”

Which is exactly what Tradwife Girl is doing. Respect. They’re almost breathing in sync to the downbeat of the Lana Del Rey track on Kieran’s laptop. That song was her idea. I didn’t think he’d be into it but clearly I was wrong, because Kieran’s got one ring-laden hand on her waist now and Tradwife Girl grins in that breathy way I know he loves. And there it is, Kieran’s head tilt. Yeah, he fucking loved that. She bites her lip and looks up into his eyes. Another breathy laugh. I float in closer. Kieran grins back at her and looks right into her eyes the whole time as he slides a finger beneath the fabric of her top and draws circles on her skin.

“Kier,” Tradwife girl sits up, “is something burning?”

Kieran curses and vaults off the bed. He walks right through me on his way to the kitchenette near the front of the van and I shiver. I can’t actually feel him, but I know thoughts can be stronger than reality.

“The oven. Been acting up recently,”

Oopsie.

“Only happens at night though.” He winks at her. “Maybe it wants some attention too.”

Tradwife girl giggles. I do my meanest and loudest impression of that giggle. Kieran gives the oven a tight kick that makes me flinch. He rolls the sleeves of his brown waffle sweater up as he stalks back to the bed. I stand frozen to the spot as he rests a knee in between Tradwife Girl’s thighs and pushes them further apart. Fuck. Need. To. Focus.

Zrrrrp.

“Kier,” she whines, “the music’s cut out-“

“Leave it, babe.”

“But Kier!” She nudges him aside, “the next track is sooo hot.”

Kieran’s expression changes completely when she isn’t looking. And I know it’s now or never.

Tradwife Girl’s full attention is on her laptop screen. I throw all my phantasmal force against the side of the van she’s on and it’s just enough to pop an overhead shelf door open. She lets out a surprised squeal. She must think something’s just attacked her. She wouldn’t be too far off. When she opens her eyes she sees what’s fallen onto her keyboard, and I can tell it takes her a few moments to realise it’s a neatly bundled wad of human hair.

. . .

Tradwife Girl, understandably, screams.

“What the actual fuck is this Kier?!”

Tradwife Girl has backed up against the kitchenette counter. Lana Del Rey is singing about being young and beautiful.

“Just some hair, babe,” he says in a way that makes me think of shadows in the dark.

“Whose hair?” Tradwife Girl’s eyes flick from Kieran to the counter. I know she’s searching for something, anything as protection.

“Does it matter? She’s in the past.”

“Yeah, but, like, what do you Mean ‘in the past’?”

“She was with me on the road then she wasn’t. Come back to bed, babe.”

Tradwife Girl only has two escape routes - she’s either gonna have to yank open the drawer right where she’s standing, fish for the van door keys, vault behind the driver’s seat and open the door and run off into the night, or she’ll have to play it smart and return to the bed at the back of the van, let Kieran think he’s won, kick him in the balls when he least expects it, and unlock the latch for the van’s back doors and tumble out into the night and just keep running. Either option won’t be easy. But luckily for her, she has me.

“Oh Kier, I just get a lil’ jealous, is all.”

She shimmies out of her miniskirt right where she stands. Option two it is. Respect. She giggles again and this time I know she’s putting it on. Kieran would never pick up on that. I try my best to help her by raising the volume on Lana Del Rey. I float in as close as I dare as she lies down next to Kieran and drapes her leg over his.

“Where were we,” she whispers into his ear.

Kieran holds her gaze. He scrunches up his nose slightly like he’s smelled something foul, and it’s then that Tradwife Girl closes the distance between them by planting her lips on his. She releases a little moan and tightens her leg around him, and I see Kieran relax into her. They fall into a rhythm together - god she’s convincing - and while she’s distracting him I zip over to the back doors and give my heaviest phantom push.

The doors rattle but don’t budge. Kieran glances up. Shit! Tradwife Girl runs her fingers through his hair and brings him back down to her. I try again, and this time the latches flip up for just a second before landing back in place again. Tradwife Girl has noticed this because she’s maneouvering herself round mid-kiss. This has to be it. I’ve got to give it everything I’ve got. Tradwife Girl has one eye on the doors as she guides Kieran’s hand from her breast down to her hips, and even lower until he’s touching her and releasing a low growl and she’s sighing deeply like it’s the most pleasurable fucking thing he could ever-

-the doors fly open and she moves. She’s got one hand gripping the edge of the bed as she kicks Kieran full in the face. The dry night air rushes in as Lana Del Rey’s voice drifts out onto the deserted road. Kieran swears. Tradwife Girl hooks both legs over the lip of the van and vaults as I think I’ve done it this time, I’ve saved one.

She screams as a fistful of hair is yanked partway off her scalp, Kieran’s hand wrapped tightly around it. No. No. No. Kieran’s dragging her back onto the bed now, her screams drowning Lana out. He drags her deeper into the van, her heels thudding against the wood-panelled floor, her elbow knocking against the single-seater table, forehead colliding with a gold-plated drawer handle. She’s begging him to stop now, thrashing like Hansel might have done if the witch took him out of the cage for dinner.

“That burning smell’s never coming out, I guess,” Kieran turns the dial on the oven and pulls open the glass door, “I just love long hair too much.”

. . .

I turn Lana all the way up and float out onto the open road as far as I’m able to. I stare up at the moon, and I wonder if it ever wishes it could be released from its tether to the Earth; if it would revolve around some other, less destructive planet if given the chance. I let myself get lost in these thoughts long enough for a pale figure to float up next to me.

“For what it’s worth,” I say to Tradwife Girl, “your hair is beautiful.”

I watch all the pieces fall into place in Tradwife Girl’s head. She looks like she’s going to cry.

“Hey,” I make a show of wrapping an arm around her even though we both can’t feel a thing, “you can go anywhere you want now. It’s over.”

“What about you?”

I sigh like I always do whenever Kieran’s latest victim asks this question.

“I was his first. And it was messier, far messier than what happened to you. And he cried the first time he did it. And I really, really hated him for doing that to me. It really fucking hurt. He destroyed me. So I hung around to try and fuck him over, but the longer I stayed the more I saw that he never felt the same way doing it to other girls like how he did to me. And some part of me felt proud of that. It’s sick of me to enjoy that fact, but I do. So I’m going to stay with him and watch him try over and over again to feel the same way he did with me and fail. And seeing him with other girls makes me feel like I’m dying all over again, but at least we both hurt. Together.”

Tradwife Girl looks at me. She takes a step away from my outstretched arm. This is the part where Kieran’s victims call me some kind of broken or attempt to slap me. It never works of course, phantom limbs and all.

She steps in, arms spread wide, and wraps me in a tight hug.

It isn’t actually tight, but I like to imagine it must be. I like to imagine it’s warm, and that she smells like the cinammon candle I’d just bought for my bedroom the night I got into the van.

“For what it’s worth,” she whispers, “thanks for trying to save me.”

When she finally pulls away I do my best impression of staring intently up at the moon. I really hope she can’t see the way my lip is trembling. She must see right through me and decide to let it be, because without any ceremony she turns to go. When she’s taken a few steps she pauses and looks up at the sky.

“Did you know that some planets have multiple moons? Must be nice all that spinning and dancing across the sky together. Least if the planet’s a drag, like that one planet that rains glass, they can go on shining anyway. I hope this lil one finds other moons someday.”

I watch Tradwife Girl walk off into the night until she’s nothing more than a smudge in the distance, a trick of the moonlight.

Someday, I decide, I’ll tell her I love that top.