by Ann Grech
The cold was back again, chilling me to my bones, but at the same time, my skin crawled. I wanted to pull it off in layers, to scrub myself raw. To be clean again. The urge to disinfect everywhere he touched hit me. I crawled into the bathroom and sat on the floor, rocking myself gently. What I wouldn’t do to feel my mom’s arms around me again like when I was little and she’d hold me after a “bad imagination.” My childhood nightmares had nothing on this hell.
I flicked on the faucet and as the water warmed, I slowly pulled off my clothes. I had to figure out how I could wash them. It wasn’t like I could stand in a laundromat in underwear while my only pants were in the washer. Maybe I’d be able to afford another pair of sweats when I found work. Just that thought had tears brimming again. I curled up on the floor of the shower, letting the hot water envelop me while I closed my eyes and imagined my dream life again—being back at home. When I opened them, I looked up to see small bottles of shampoo and conditioner and a tiny soap sitting in the dish above my head. I reached up for them and washed myself. I scrubbed away at my skin. Even though I wanted to do the same to my ass, I couldn’t. Even touching my hole had me wincing. I was swollen and torn somewhere. Inside or out, I wasn’t sure, but the dried blood that I’d seen on my legs the night before made it obvious.
The water cooled quickly, the heat nowhere near as good as home, and I found myself shivering in the tepid water. Turning it off and drying myself, I looked in the mirror for the first time that day. No wonder no one was willing to give me a chance at a job. My swollen eye had angry black and purple bruising all around it and my lip was split and inflamed too. I looked like I’d been beaten to a pulp. And I had. I’d managed to walk for most of the day, but I ached. My head throbbed worse than it ever had, and my muscles protested my every move. Another thing to wish I could change.
I slipped into the sheets wearing a pair of Jake’s underwear. It was a foreign feeling. He always wore briefs, but I’d only ever had boxer shorts. He was also a size smaller than me. But I wasn’t complaining. I was grateful, so very grateful that my friend had given me everything he could without question. One day I’d pay him back. One day I’d say thank you to him for helping me when I needed him most. I loved that boy like a brother. He was my best friend in the whole world, and I had no idea when, or if, I’d ever see him again. That cut me to the quick. And I only had myself to blame. I’d screwed up my life so badly. And for what? To realize I was wrong? Shitty way to learn a lesson.
Another day, more job searching. More rejections. Three days I’d been at it and I still had no luck. Not even a spark of interest. Nothing. I’d given up just after noon and ended up going to the library. At least I had a printout of my CV, as short as it was. I’d updated it with my middle name. I wasn’t Keir anymore. I was Trenton, or Trent. I didn’t have any work experience on there that would need to be checked, so I figured it’d buy me some time before people started reporting me to the police. My teachers were always telling us that the more extracurricular stuff we did, the better it would look when we applied for a job. I’d always figured that focusing on sport would be enough, but it wasn’t much help when you were desperate to eat. Right on cue, my stomach growled, an inhumane sound, and I clutched it, hoping it didn’t cramp this time. It didn’t, but I couldn’t take much more of not eating either. Three full days of little to no food was making me light-headed and weak.
I walked around, wandering aimlessly until I ended up back at the motel where I’d been staying. I didn’t have enough money to pay for another night there, but it didn’t matter anyway. I wasn’t going inside. A police car sat in the small parking lot. No doubt Mom and Dad had called the police in the hope I’d be found. It was awful knowing they were probably out of their minds with worry. But I couldn’t contact them. Not yet anyway. I knew it was selfish, but if I spoke to them, I’d cave and go back. And I couldn’t do that. No matter what happened, I couldn’t be anywhere near my godfather. I sat on the sidewalk, in the gutter between a couple of parked cars, and scrubbed my hands over my face. What the heck was I going to do? If the police saw me, I’d be going home in the back of the cruiser. Can I go back but just not see him? I dismissed that thought immediately. It was impossible. He and my father were such close friends. I could never ask Dad to give that up. But God, even if I did see Ryan, anything would be better than this constant fear, the constant worry hovering over me. Wouldn’t it?
The all-too-vivid memories of that night sprang forth, and I clenched my jaw tight. I’d have somewhere warm to sleep—if I was ever comfortable enough to close my eyes—and food to eat, but I’d never be safe. I’d never relax enough to let my guard down. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t live like that. I couldn’t repeat the hell that Friday night was, what I’d caused by being so damn stupid. No, I wasn’t going home.
I pulled the ATM card from the pocket in my jacket and sighed. That was how they’d found me. It had to be. I hadn’t called anyone, hadn’t let anyone know where I was. Jake would never have told them he gave it to me. But they probably didn’t even need him to. It wasn’t like we were adults. All Mom had to do was call his mom and she’d check the bank records herself. As soon as anyone saw the motel charges, it’d be obvious who was using it. I needed to toss the card if I was ever going to free myself from the risk of getting dragged back to my godfather.
But all of it would have to wait. I needed to eat more than I needed my anonymity at that point. So with my mind made up, I picked my butt up off the ground and walked away, hitching my backpack on my shoulder as I went. I’d buy some food and take out whatever cash I could. After it ran out, I was officially on my own.
I walked out of the grocery store with my few meager supplies in hand and went straight past a restaurant. A staff member hanging a Help Wanted sign in the window lifted my spirits. My heart beat hard. Hope. Finally, some hope.
I ran my fingers through my hair, checked my reflection in the window to make sure my face was clean, and pushed through the door.
“Hello, can I help you?” the middle-aged lady behind the maître d’s table asked, not so subtly looking me up and down. The fancy restaurant had dark timber walls, white tablecloths, and lots of sparkling glasses on each table. The chairs were luxurious too. A deep red, they looked like you could sink into them and never leave.
“Ah, yes. My name is Trent. I saw that you’ve got a job available. I’m looking for work, and I can start immediately. I’m happy to do anything.”
“It’s a cleaning job in the kitchen—dishes, pots and pans, emptying rubbish, that sort of thing. Evening work mostly.” She was saying it like I’d be turned off by it, but the position was perfect for me—I didn’t need any particular skills to do it.
“That sounds great. I can do a trial run if you need, and like I said, I can start tonight.” I sounded overeager even to my own ears, but at this point, I was desperate, not just keen. She paused and tapped a glossy red-tipped finger to her ruby lips. Her stare unnerved me but I’d been in intimidating situations before, and it wasn’t the first time I’d erected a façade to hide those nerves. Seemingly satisfied, she nodded.
“I’ll need a CV. Do you have one?” I fished the creased paper out of my backpack before handing it to her. It’d have to do even in its less than perfect state. I didn’t have a choice at that point. She read it over and raised an eyebrow. “Do you not have a cell?”
“No. It got stolen and I haven’t been able to get another one yet,” I bluffed, hoping that it wasn’t going to ruin my chances.
“ID?”
“Same as the cell.” I pressed my lips together, feigning frustration. “Gone.”
She seemed to think something over for a moment. “Okay, well once you have a new set bring them to me. We can get you started straight away, but I’ll need both from you.” The lady held her hand out to me. “I’m Renee, Trent. I own the restaurant with my husband, Mal. Come out back and I’ll show you around.” She spun, and I followed close at her heels. I didn
’t care who I had to impress, didn’t care what I had to do, I would make this job work. Relief coursed through me and hope shined bright. I could do this.
I was introduced to the waitress, Katrina, who was setting the few remaining tables in the back corner of the restaurant before we went through to the kitchen. The head chef was an older man, portly and severe. Scary as he barked out instructions to the other chef madly chopping and cooking at the massive stoves. I learned that he was Mal, Renee’s husband.
“You can put your bag down here.” She pointed to the corner of a storage cupboard filled with cleaning supplies. I set it down hesitantly and immediately wanted to reach for it again. I hadn’t let that thing go in days; it’d become my security, my safety net. It held everything I owned; it was the only thing I owned. If I lost it, I’d be lost.
“You wash whatever the chefs give you. Plates, cutlery, and glassware all go in the dishwashers. They’re full, so when you’re unloading, you can see how it’s stacked. Scrape off all the food first, rinse, and then pack it. Wash the pots and pans by hand. Make sure everything is pristine. If we get meals or drinks sent back because of dirty dishes, the cost will come out of your wages.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I murmured.
“Don’t touch the chefs’ knives. They wash them themselves; they’re very particular about them. You do whatever the head chef tells you, when he tells you, and don’t let the washing stack up.”
“Got it.” I nodded, confident that I could manage. Hoping I could anyway.
“I’ll write up the times of your shifts, and you’re required to be here fifteen minutes before you start. You don’t leave until the head chef clears you to go.” She ran through the other things that were expected of me and left me to it. Finding myself in front of the industrial dishwashers, I opened them up and looked carefully over how the dishes, cutlery, and glassware was stacked. It was pretty straight forward. It wouldn’t be hard to replicate. Maybe Mom insisting that I learn to stack the dishwasher properly was a good thing after all.
Once I’d emptied and reloaded the dishwashers, I got started on the pots and pans that the two chefs were using for their prep. Scrubbing away elbow-deep in water kept me busy for hours. It was a fast-moving kitchen, and I enjoyed the renewed purpose I had. I hadn’t realized how utterly rudderless I’d been until then. My life before was gone. My new life was starting. I’d been in limbo until then. But now, I had purpose.
It was late when Mal, the head chef, ordered me to have a break. “Spaghetti or penne for dinner, Trent?” he asked.
“Um, no thanks.” I shook my head. There was no way I could afford the dinners here in the restaurant. “I’m good.”
He looked at me with the same look my father would give me—with patience—and my knees almost buckled. God, I missed them so much. “We feed all our staff during the dinner shift, so pick—either spaghetti bolognaise or penne alfredo.”
My throat closed up and tears sprung to my eyes. How did I tell him that he’d saved my life? That without them generously giving me this job, I’d be homeless and broke? They were paying me for my time and feeding me. That meant more than they could ever know. “Bolognaise would be great. Thank you.”
He smiled a small smile and dished me up a huge serving. “You’ve done well tonight, Trent. Now, go and eat this. There’s a small table outside that the staff use. I think Katrina’s on break too. She’ll be out there.”
I pushed through the door to the alley and, sure enough, Katrina was sitting out there with an empty bowl of pasta and a smoke in her hand. She smiled and gestured to the spare chair. I took it, groaning as I relaxed into the seat. My sore feet and aching legs attested to how long I’d been standing before the sink. And my back was killing me. But I was so grateful too. I’d stumbled onto an opportunity that made everything possible again. This was it, the job that I’d be able to make my own, and who knew, maybe I’d even be able to work my way up into a cooking position in the kitchen.
Katrina started speaking, telling me about herself. A few years older than me, she was trying to break into the theater scene and working at the restaurant to pay rent. She seemed like good people, easy to talk to and funny.
“So, new guy, tell me about yourself.”
“I’d better get back to it,” I deflected, looking at my nonexistent watch. When she asked me whether I lived close by, I couldn’t be rude and walk away. Turned out that she hated walking to the station by herself after closing and wanted some company. The thought of her doing that, then making her way home alone late at night didn’t sit well. I’d happily walk her to the station. It wasn’t like I had anywhere in particular to be.
“Come on.” I motioned to the door and collected our bowls, taking them straight into the kitchen with me as Katrina headed to the handwashing basin.
My shift ended in a blur, more dishes, more pots, more hot soapy water. I scrubbed and dried and stacked all with a smile on my face. I loved every minute of being in there, with Mal barking out his orders and the other cook working frantically, Katrina and the other waiter coming in and out to collect plated-up dinners, and Renee looking in once or twice to watch me. I washed the suds from the sink and wiped down the stainless steel counters with the cleaner. “Can I help with anything else, chef?” I asked, not sure what I was supposed to do.
“No, Trent, you’ve done everything I needed you to do. Go and see Renee, and she’ll give you your hours for the rest of this week.”
I grinned. “Awesome.” I grabbed my backpack from the storage closet and walked through the swing door into the restaurant, spotting Renee immediately. Standing at the till, she was counting receipts, tallying up the day’s takings by the looks of it. “Renee, Chef asked me to speak with you—” She held her hand up, silencing me midsentence, and I stood there awkwardly, stuffing my hands in my pockets as her fingers flew over the calculator. Katrina bumped me with her shoulder, smirking as she walked past. I narrowed my eyes at her but couldn’t stifle the grin when she gave me a thumbs-up behind Renee’s back.
A moment later, Renee looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Yes, Trent?”
“Oh, ah, Chef wanted me to speak with you about my hours. He wants me to come back to work here.”
“Good, good.” She nodded and handed me a slip of paper. I looked at it and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. I was rostered on every night. Long shifts. I’d totally make enough money to rent a room somewhere, and if I ate dinner at the restaurant every night, I’d be set. Relief swept through me.
I stuffed the slip in my pocket and looked at her. “Thank you, Renee. I… you have no idea how much this means.”
“See you tomorrow, Trent.”
I smiled and nodded before walking out the front doors to find Katrina waiting for me.
“So, new guy, when are you coming back?” she asked as I stepped up beside her, pulling on my coat.
“Tomorrow, and every night this week. I’m doing every dinner shift.” I couldn’t hide the incredulousness in my tone.
“Fantastic.” She motioned to the street, and I pulled out the gloves and beanie I had stuffed in the front of my pack as we began walking.
“I’ll walk you to the station if you like,” I offered, not wanting her to do it alone. I didn’t want to waste the little cash I had on train fares, so I’d leave her to make it the rest of the way home, but it was the least I could do for her if she was uncomfortable.
“You didn’t answer me earlier, where do you live?”
“Oh, around the corner from the station,” I improvised.
“With your parents?”
The pain in my heart was like a knife slicing deep. God, I missed them so much, but there was no way I could go back. “Hey, what time does the train come?” I asked, an obvious attempt at a shift in the subject. I didn’t want to lie but I couldn’t tell her the truth either.
She stopped walking, and I turned to see why she’d fallen behind. “Okay, I get it, you don’t want to talk about your priv
ate life. I’m just trying to be friendly. I don’t know all that many people here.”
I sighed. “No, I get it. It’s been a rough week for me. I’m just a little guarded, you know?”
“I feel you.” She linked arms with me, and we walked the few blocks to the station, the cold wind howling through the buildings. I shivered, tugging my coat tighter around my middle. It was futile. My sweats weren’t warm enough for the weather. My breath fogged the air in front of me with each exhale, making me dread the next few hours.
After I’d said goodbye to Katrina, I looked up and down the street, trying to figure out where to go. There weren’t any buildings open at that time of night. Even the grocery stores were closed. I was absolutely clueless on what to do next. Longingly I thought about the motel I’d stayed in. I never thought I’d take a bed, four walls, and a roof for granted like I had in the past. If only I’d realized how lucky I was and how stupid I’d been to risk throwing it all away. I should have kept my mouth shut. I should never have told Ryan. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have gotten so angry at me. He wouldn’t have had to teach me the lesson he did. He’d always done that, always tried to show me the right way to do things. This time he’d hurt me though. He’d broken a piece of me that I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back. But I couldn’t get past it being my fault. If only.... It was a hard lesson to learn, but he was right. I learned, and I’d never make the mistake of thinking I liked men again.
The eerie quiet of the late-night streets unsettled me. Every shadow made me jump, every passing car had me tensing. If I got caught out here, I’d be in the back of a police car fast, but I was more worried about what’d happen if the wrong sort of crowd found me instead. The type Mom always warned me about—the drug dealers and the violent ones. I’d always laughed her off, thinking I was invincible, but I had no idea how scary it was to be walking the streets that late at night, alone and with nowhere to go. It was like I was a little boy again, wanting to hide behind my dad’s strong legs whenever something freaked me out. But I didn’t have that luxury anymore. Now I had to stand on my own two feet.