Only . . . I didn't get out of the cold. Somehow, it felt even colder inside that old house. I still had my flashlight on and I shined it around the living room and kitchen. There wasn't anything in there, Ellen!
No couch, no chair, no mattress. I handed the blankets off to him and kept looking around me. There was a big hole in the roof over the kitchen and wind and snow were just pouring in. When I shined my light around the living room, I saw his stuff in one of the corners. His backpack, plus the backpack I'd given him. There was a little pile of other stuff I'd given him, like some of my dad's clothes. And then there were two towels on the floor. One I guess he laid on and one he covered up with.
I put my hand over my mouth because I was so horrified. He'd been there living like that for weeks!
Atlas put his hand on my back and tried to walk me back out the door. "You shouldn't be over here, Lily," he said. "You could get in trouble."
That's when I grabbed his hand and said, "You shouldn't be here, either." I started to pull him out the front door with me, but he yanked his hand back. That's when I said, "You can sleep on my floor tonight. I'll keep my bedroom door locked. You can't sleep here, Atlas. It's too cold and you'll get pneumonia and die."
He looked like he didn't know what to do. I'm sure the thought of being caught in my bedroom was just as scary as getting pneumonia and dying. He looked back at his spot in the living room and then he just nodded his head once and said, "Okay."
So you tell me, Ellen. Was I wrong letting him sleep in my room last night? It doesn't feel wrong. It felt like the right thing to do. But I sure would get in a lot of trouble if we had been caught. He slept on the floor, so it's not like it was anything more than me just giving him somewhere warm to sleep.
I did learn a little more about him last night. After I snuck him in the back door and to my room, I locked my door and made a pallet for him on the floor next to my bed. I set the alarm for 6 a.m. and told him he'd have to get up and leave before my parents woke up, since sometimes my mom wakes me up in the mornings.
I crawled in my bed and scooted over to the edge of it so I could look down at him while we talked for a little while. I asked him how long he thought he might stay there and he said he didn't know. That's when I asked him how he ended up there. My lamp was still on, and we were whispering, but he got real quiet when I said that. He just stared up at me with his hands behind his head for a moment. Then he said, "I don't know my real dad. He never had anything to do with me. It's always just been me and my mom, but she got remarried about five years ago to a guy who never really liked me much. We fought a lot. When I turned eighteen a few months ago, we got in a big fight and he kicked me out of the house."
He took a deep breath like he didn't want to tell me any more. But then he started talking again. "I've been staying with a friend of mine and his family since then, but his dad got a transfer to Colorado and they moved. They couldn't take me with them, of course. His parents were just being nice by letting me stay with them and I knew that, so I told them I talked to my mom and that I was moving back home. The day they left, I didn't have anywhere to go. So I went back home and told my mom I'd like to move back in until I graduated. She wouldn't let me. Said it would upset my stepfather."
He turned his head and looked at the wall. "So I just wandered around for a few days until I saw that house. Figured I would just stay there until something better came along or until I graduated. I'm signed up to go to the Marines come May, so I'm just trying to hang on until then."
May is six months away, Ellen. Six.
I had tears in my eyes when he finished telling me all that. I asked him why he didn't just ask someone if they could help him. He said he tried, but it's harder for an adult than a kid, and he's already eighteen. He said someone gave him a number for some shelters who might help him. There were three shelters in a twenty-mile radius of our town, but two of them were for battered women. The other one was a homeless shelter, but they only had a few beds and it was too far away for him to walk there if he wanted to go to school every day. Plus, you have to wait in a long line to try and get a bed. He said he tried it once, but he feels safer in that old house than he did at the shelter.
Like the naive girl I am when it comes to situations like his, I said, "But aren't there other options? Can't you just tell the school counselor what your mom did?"
He shook his head and said he's too old for foster care. He's eighteen, so his mother can't get in trouble for not allowing him to go back home. He said he called about getting food stamps last week, but he didn't have a ride or money to get to his appointment. Not to mention he doesn't have a car, so he can't very well find a job. He said he's been looking, though. After he leaves my house in the afternoons he goes and applies at places, but he doesn't have an address or a phone number to put down on the applications so that makes it harder for him.
I swear, Ellen, every question I threw at him, he had an answer for. It's like he's tried everything not to be stuck in the situation he's in, but there isn't enough help out there for people like him. I got so mad at his whole situation, I told him he was crazy for wanting to go into the military. I wasn't so much whispering when I said, "Why in the heck would you want to serve a country that has allowed you to end up in this kind of situation?"
You know what he said next, Ellen? His eyes grew sad and he said, "It's not this country's fault my mother doesn't give a shit about me." Then he reached up and turned off my lamp. "Goodnight, Lily," he said.
I didn't sleep much after that. I was too mad. I'm not even sure who I'm mad at. I just kept thinking about our country and the whole world and how screwed up it is that people don't do more for each other. I don't know when humans started only looking out for themselves. Maybe it's always been this way. It made me wonder how many people out there were just like Atlas. It made me wonder if there were other kids at our school who might be homeless.
I go to school every day and internally complain about it most of the time, but I've never once thought that school might be the only home some kids have. It's the only place Atlas can go and know he'll have food.
I'll never be able to respect rich people now, knowing they willingly choose to spend their money on materialistic things rather than using it to help other people.
No offense, Ellen. I know you're rich, but I guess I'm not referring to people like you. I've seen all the stuff you've done for others on your show and all the charities you support. But I know there are a lot of rich people out there who are selfish. Hell, there are even selfish poor people. And selfish middle-class people. Look at my parents. We aren't rich, but we certainly aren't too poor to help other people. Yet, I don't think my dad has ever done anything for a charity.
I remember one time we were walking into a grocery store and an old man was ringing a bell for the Salvation Army. I asked my dad if we could give him some money and he told me no, that he works hard for his money and he wasn't about to let me give it away. He said it isn't his fault that other people don't want to work. He spent the whole time we were in the grocery store telling me about how people take advantage of the government and until the government stops helping those people by giving them handouts, the problem won't ever go away.
Ellen, I believed him. That was three years ago and all this time I thought homeless people were homeless because they were lazy or drug addicts or just didn't want to work like other people. But now I know that's not true. Sure, some of what he said was true to an extent, but he was using the worst-case scenarios. Not everyone is homeless because they choose to be. They're homeless because there isn't enough help to go around.
And people like my father are the problem. Instead of helping others, people use the worst-case scenarios to excuse their own selfishness and greed.
I'll never be like that. I swear to you, when I grow up, I'm going to do everything I can to help other people. I'll be like you, Ellen. Just probably not as rich.
--Lily
Chapter Nine
I drop the journal on my chest. I'm surprised to feel tears running down my cheeks. Every time I pick up this journal I think I'll be fine--that it all happened so long ago and I won't still feel what I felt back then.
I'm such a sap. It gives me this longing to hug so many people from my past. Especially my mother because for the past year, I haven't really thought about everything she had to go through before my father died. I know it probably still hurts her.
I grab my phone to call her and look at the screen. There are four missed texts from Ryle. My heart immediately skips. I can't believe I had it on silent! Then I roll my eyes, annoyed with myself, because I should not be this excited.
Ryle: Are you asleep?
Ryle: I guess so.
Ryle: Lily . . .
Ryle. : (
The sad face was sent ten minutes ago. I hit Reply and type, "Nope. Not asleep." About ten seconds later, I get another text.
Ryle: Good. I'm walking up your stairs right now. Be there in twenty seconds.
I grin and jump out of bed. I go to the bathroom and check my face. Good enough. I run to the front door and open it as soon as Ryle makes it up the stairwell. He practically drags himself up the top step, and then stops to rest when he finally reaches my door. He looks so tired. His eyes are red and there are dark circles under them. His arms slip around my waist and he pulls me to him, burying his face in my neck.
"You smell so good," he says.
I pull him inside the apartment. "Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat."
He shakes his head as he wrestles out of his jacket, so I skip the kitchen and head for the bedroom. He follows me, and then throws his jacket over the back of the chair. He kicks off his shoes and pushes them against the wall.
He's wearing scrubs.
"You look exhausted," I say.
He smiles and puts his hands on my hips. "I am. I just assisted in an eighteen-hour surgery." He bends down and kisses the heart tattoo on my collarbone.
No wonder he's exhausted. "How is that even possible?" I say. "Eighteen hours?"
He nods and then walks me to the side of the bed where he pulls me down next to him. We adjust ourselves until we're facing each other, sharing a pillow. "Yeah, but it was amazing. Groundbreaking. They'll write about it in medical journals, and I got to be there, so I'm not complaining. I'm just really tired."
I lean in and give him a peck on the mouth. He brings his hand to the side of my head and pulls back. "I know you're probably ready to have hot, sweaty sex, but I don't have the energy tonight. I'm sorry. But I've missed you and for some reason I sleep better when I sleep next to you. Is it okay that I'm here?"
I smile. "It's more than okay."
He leans in and kisses my forehead. He grabs my hand and then holds it between us on the pillow. His eyes close, but I keep mine open and stare at him. He has the type of face that people shy away from, because you could get lost in it. And to think, I get to look at this face all the time. I don't have to be modest and look away, because he's mine.
Maybe.
This is a trial run. I have to remember that.
After a minute, he releases my hand and begins to flex his fingers. I look down at his hand and wonder what that must be like . . . to have to stand for so long and use your fine motor skills for eighteen hours straight. I can't think of much else that would match that level of exhaustion.
I slide out of the bed and retrieve some lotion out of my bathroom. I go back to the bed and sit cross-legged next to him. I squirt some lotion on my hand and then pull his arm to my lap. He opens his eyes and looks up at me.
"What are you doing?" he mumbles.
"Shh. Go back to sleep," I say. I press my thumbs into the palm of his hand and rotate them upward and then out. His eyes fall shut and he groans into the pillow. I continue massaging his hand for about five minutes before switching to his other hand. He keeps his eyes closed the whole time. When I'm finished with his hands, I roll him onto his stomach and straddle his back. He assists me in pulling off his shirt, but his arms are like noodles.
I massage his shoulders and his neck and his back and his arms. When I'm finished, I roll off of him and lie down beside him.
I'm running my fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp when he opens his eyes. "Lily?" he whispers, looking at me sincerely. "You just might be the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Those words wrap around me like a warm blanket. I don't know what to say in response. He lifts a hand and gently cups my cheek, and I feel his stare deep in my stomach. Slowly, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. I expect a peck, but he doesn't pull back. The tip of his tongue slides across my lips, parting them softly. His mouth is so warm, I moan as his kiss grows deeper.
He rolls me onto my back and then drags his hand down my body, straight to my hip. He moves closer, sliding his hand down my thigh. He pushes against me and a surge of heat shoots inside me. I grab a fistful of his hair and whisper against his mouth. "I think we've waited long enough. I would very much like for you to fuck me now."
He practically growls with a renewed sense of energy and begins to pull my shirt off. It becomes an interlude of hands and moans and tongues and sweat. I feel like this is the first time I've ever been touched by a man. The few who came before him were all boys--nervous hands and timid mouths. But Ryle is all confidence. He knows exactly where to touch me and exactly how to kiss me.
The only time he's not giving my body his undivided attention is when he reaches to the floor and fishes a condom out of his wallet. Once he's back under the covers and the condom is in place, he doesn't even hesitate. He takes me brazenly in one swift thrust and I gasp into his mouth, every muscle in me tensing.
His mouth is fierce and needy, kissing me everywhere he can reach. I grow so dizzy, I can do nothing but succumb to him. He's unapologetic in the way he fucks me. His hand comes between my headboard and the top of my head as he pushes harder and harder, the bed crashing against the wall with every push.
My fingernails dig into the skin of his back as he buries his face against my neck.
"Ryle," I whisper.
"Oh, God," I say.
"Ryle!" I scream.
And then I bite down on his shoulder to muffle every sound that comes after it. My whole body feels it--from my head to my toes and back up again.
I'm afraid I might literally pass out for a moment, so I tighten my legs around him and he tenses. "Jesus, Lily." His body ripples with tremors, and he shoves against me one last time. He groans, stilling himself on top of me. His body jerks with his release and my head falls back against the pillow.
It's a full minute before either of us is able to move. And even then, we choose not to. He presses his face into the pillow and lets out a deep sigh. "I can't . . ." He pulls back and looks down at me. His eyes are full of something . . . I don't know what. He presses his lips to mine and then says, "You were so right."
"About what?"
He slowly pulls out of me, coming down on his forearms. "You warned me. You said one time with you wouldn't be enough. You said you were like a drug. But you failed to tell me you were the most addictive kind."
Chapter Ten
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
Allysa nods as she perfects a bouquet of flowers about to go out for delivery. We're three days away from our grand opening, and it just keeps getting busier by the day.
"What is it?" Allysa asks, facing me. She leans into the counter and starts picking at her fingernails.
"You don't have to answer it if you don't want to," I warn.
"Well I can't answer it if you don't ask it."
That's a good point. "Do you and Marshall donate to charity?"
Confusion crosses her face and she says, "Yeah. Why?"
I shrug. "I was just curious. I wouldn't judge you or anything. I've just been thinking lately about how I might like to start a charity."
"What kind of charity?" she asks. "We donat
e to a few different ones now that we have money, but my favorite is this one we got involved with last year. They build schools in other countries. We've funded three new constructions in the past year alone."
I knew I liked her for a reason.
"I don't have that kind of money, obviously, but I'd like to do something. I just don't know what yet."
"Let's get through this grand opening first and then you can start thinking about philanthropy. One dream at a time, Lily." She walks around the counter and grabs the trash can. I watch as she pulls the full bag out of it and ties it in a knot. It makes me wonder why--if she has people for everything--she would even want a job where she had to take out the trash and get her hands dirty.
"Why do you work here?" I ask her.
She glances up at me and smiles. "Because I like you," she says. But then I notice the smile completely leave her eyes right before she turns and walks toward the back to throw out the trash. When she comes back, I'm still watching her curiously. I say it again.
"Allysa? Why do you work here?"
She stops what she's doing and takes in a slow breath like maybe she's contemplating being honest with me. She walks back to the counter and leans against it, crossing her feet at her ankles.
"Because," she says, looking down at her feet. "I can't get pregnant. We've been trying for two years but nothing has worked. I was tired of sitting at home crying all the time, so I decided I should find something to keep my mind busy." She stands up straight and wipes her hands across her jeans. "And you, Lily Bloom, are keeping me very busy." She turns and starts messing with the same bouquet of flowers again. She's been perfecting them for half an hour. She picks up a card and stuffs it in the flowers, and then turns around and hands me the vase. "These are for you, by the way."
It's obvious Allysa wants to change the subject, so I take the flowers from her. "What do you mean?"
She rolls her eyes and waves me off to my office. "It's on the card. Go read it."
I can tell by her annoyed reaction that they're from Ryle. I grin and run to my office. I take a seat at my desk and pull out the card.
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