Street Love: A contemporary standalone hurt/comfort romance

by Rhys Everly

  “I’m not in love, Marissa. I was nearly raped, for fuck’s sake,” he scoffed, making sure to keep his voice down so that Sonia didn’t hear him.

  Marissa pushed herself back in her chair. “What? How? What happened?”

  “Some assholes saw me trying to pick up customers and started following me. They pushed me in an alley and pinned me to the ground,” Rafe murmured.

  “Did they… ?” Marissa couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “No, they didn’t. I said nearly. This guy came in the alley and stopped them,” he told her and sipped his chocolate.

  Marissa reached for his hand across the table. “How do you feel? Can I… ?” she started, but Rafe had enough talking about last night’s incident.

  He withdrew his hand from under hers. “I’m… okay, I guess. I’ll be okay. There’s nothing you can do for me anyway,” he said. Only when he said it did he realize it might have come across in a different way.

  If Marissa was hurt, she didn’t let it show because her hand stayed where it was on the table and her voice was as sympathetic as it had been before.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, no matter how small,” she told him.

  Why wouldn’t she drop the subject already? Rafe set his drink down, spilling some on his hand as he retaliated on Marissa. “Can you find me a home? No. How about a job that doesn’t include me selling my body to creepy old dudes? No. Can you give me my medication or a medical insurance? No. So how the fuck do you think you can help me, Marissa?”

  Was Pierce rubbing off on him or what? Where had that come from? He loved Marissa like a sister and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but there he was, throwing insults at her face, totally unprovoked. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say before he dashed out of Mario’s with his head hanging low in shame.

  He wandered the streets thinking of how terrible he’d been to his best friend. Thinking of last night’s events and how they brought the need for safety back into his life. He couldn’t keep doing what he did because it was risky, but if he didn’t, he’d die. How had his life got so fucked up?

  The more he walked, the more upset he got with himself. His stomach tied up in knots as he kept telling himself what an idiot he’d been and how stupidly he’d acted. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. He wasn’t like that. He was always nice to people. He was always nice to his parents, even though they weren’t always nice to him. He’d just take the hit. Literally.

  His stomach bloated, his mouth felt dry and his knees wavered. He kept walking, but he felt weaker. His throat became hoarse and tingly. He coughed. Then coughed again. Once he started, he was unable to stop.

  He sat on a ledge, steadying himself, trying to soothe whatever had awakened inside. He took a deep breath, then another one. Sweat trickled down from his hairline to his forehead and down his eyebrow. His cheeks were flushed. His body had calmed down, though, despite feeling warmer and warmer.

  He took another breath, and the city pollution traveled up his nose and down his lungs, causing him to cough again. He covered his mouth and eyed the passersby, hoping he hadn’t alarmed anyone. Rafe looked at his hand and found it was covered in sprinkles of blood. He put his finger in his mouth and took it out to inspect it. There was no blood. Where the hell had it come from?

  His breathing became harder and he felt more sweat encompassing him. A feeling of sickness found its way to his mouth and he spewed vomit beside him. He coughed a little more, then wiped his mouth. The oxygen his nostrils inhaled seemed fresher now, and a coolness reached out to his limbs. He found his footing again, slowly but steadily and walked. Where to? He had no idea.

  Eight

  Pierce

  Pierce opened his eyes, craning his neck to both sides, trying to ease the pain in his neck. Sleeping with a pillow under his neck was no longer a habit, so whenever it happened, it hurt his whole back. Not that he wasn’t welcoming the soft feeling under him and the warmth surrounding him.

  He had a quick shower in the same dingy bathroom he had used before and went down to the common room for breakfast. He took his time this morning, not being in any particular rush. His plans were all set, and he knew exactly what was going to happen, so his nerves were at ease and his brain fully concentrated on the one difficult thing he had to do today: work.

  He waved at the receptionist, a hipster with dreads who was too absorbed reading his book to acknowledge Pierce with more than a nod. Pierce was okay with it. They had spent all last night talking about the possibility of him coming back later tonight and grabbing a last minute bed, whether it’d be possible to hold the same dorm for him. He thought since it was a different guy, he could try his luck at pushing things again. The guy had told him he’d do his best and promised to try his hardest to keep the two-bed dorm empty for the night. That was good enough for Pierce.

  He went out into the street. Although it was a late October day, he was greeted by warmth and blinding sunlight. He smiled as he headed up the street, walking for almost thirty minutes before reaching his destination. A clothing store called Market Deals spread out across the block in red, and the typical New York foot traffic rushed in and out.

  He might have spent all his boss’s money on Rafe’s hostel last week, but he didn’t regret it one bit, and he had even managed to make an honorable twenty-nine bucks begging, trying to compensate and not willing to turn up at work in the same clothes and prove to his boss that he was a hopeless junkie, after all. He now had a bit over forty dollars to spend on clothes, and the first thing he’d grab was a coat. It might be a sunny day today, but that wouldn’t last for long.

  He walked in and grabbed a cart, placing his suitcase inside it. He rolled it around, following the signs to the men’s section.

  He was struck by how many options he had and how cheap everything was. He tried more than a dozen coats, assessing them for all their flaws and pros and narrowed it down to two. One was stylish, had a flannel coating inside that made it extra warm, and had enough pockets in and out to fit in a small armada of knick-knacks. It was navy blue with brown buttons and cords and reached his thighs. The other one was a black parka with cotton stuffing and a few pockets, but otherwise less practical for anything other than sleeping outside. It was easily washable, however, made from polyester.

  He eyed the clock on the wall and decided not to waste any more time on making a decision his brain had already made ages ago. He picked up the navy blue coat and marched to the T-shirt section. Yes, it was more difficult to wash, but it made him look less homeless and more hipster, which in his situation was a good thing.

  The T-shirts he found were on a bargain. Three for twenty dollars, plus fifteen dollars for the coat gave him some extra change to spare. He picked up a red comic-book themed tee and two artsy ones, black with white creative strokes and floral lettering, which he deemed perhaps more appropriate for a workplace environment.

  Making his way to the registers, he noticed the shoe section and a big flashing card that read '$5 ONLY', which, of course, attracted his attention. He looked down to his shoes. While the wear and tear in his jeans made them look trendy, the same didn’t apply for his Allstars. The soles had long separated from the rest of the shoe, only hanging onto a bit of glue, his laces were all muddied up, and the fabric was full of holes where his socks were visible. He needed new ones, but he always put them last on his list, always deeming the coat more important.

  He browsed the shoe shelves and found a pair of red and white sneakers. He found his size, the last in that design, and carried everything to the register. The woman rang everything up for him, and once he’d paid he went to the corner of the street, took off his old shoes, threw them in the trash, and put on the new ones. The change in the arch of his feet felt strange. The balls and toes of his feet had grown so used to the discomfort of holes and bumps that being massaged while in motion seemed out of the ordinary, inhumane even. Shoes surely shouldn’t feel so comfortable.

  He started his
journey down Malcolm X Avenue. He checked the clock inside a convenience store and realized it was still early. He was supposed to start in three hours, so he slowed his pace, enjoying a good stroll after a long time, feeling refreshed. He didn’t want to admit it, but shopping made him feel good about himself. Elevated. Shopping therapy was a thing of the past. But he was happy he had indulged in it after almost half a year. It had been that long. He had changed a lot since. But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he hadn’t thoroughly enjoyed the excursion for necessities. Matched with the elation of starting a job, this was the best day he had ever had out on the streets.

  “Hey, bruto,” he heard someone say very close to him, and a lift of his head revealed none other than Rafe.

  “Hey,” he said, feeling his lips part as they formed a smile out of their own volition. “How are you? How has it been since… ?” He left the last bit of his question to hang in the air, not particularly keen to remind Rafe of that night.

  “Good, good. Much… quieter, let’s say. How about you? Been shopping, I see,” he said looking at the plastic bags and the new flashy shoes.

  “I was just heading to work. I had to buy a few things so I don’t turn up looking like a hobo on my first day,” Pierce explained.

  Rafe nodded. “That’s cool. I like the shoes. It was good seeing you. Enjoy work.” Rafe backtracked, moving away from Pierce hesitantly.

  Pierce grimaced for a second, his mind processing the prospect of spending more time with Rafe. Before he got too far he called out to him. “Wanna walk with me? Get something to eat? I’m buying. I think,” he said, remembering he’d spent the spare money he was supposed to have for food on the shoes.

  “Um, are you sure? I don’t wanna keep you from work or anything,” Rafe replied. His face brightened up in an instant at Pierce’s suggestion.

  Pierce nodded, noticing the change in Rafe. His stomach curled. He could see the street on Rafe’s face being replaced with the cuteness of looking forward to something. “Sure. I’ve still got time. I’m not sure if I have money, but time, I’ve got plenty,” he chuckled, and Rafe approached him, walking together.

  Pierce counted his change. “I’ve got enough for ice cream,” he admitted, noticing an ice cream van parked in front of the north side of Central Park.

  “Ice cream sounds fun.” Rafe’s lips arched, exposing his white teeth, a beautiful smile that gave Pierce goosebumps.

  He’d buy him all the ice cream if it’d make him smile like that all the time.

  Nine

  Rafe

  “So, what’s your flavor?” he asked with a smirk.

  Rafe was taken aback by the question, for a moment contemplating replying to the double entendre in a publicly unacceptable way. Then he decided against it as they approached the ice cream truck, which housed an older, Indian man with gray hair waiting to get paid by a mom.

  “I like vanilla and Oreo. Just pure perfection,” he answered and hummed with pleasure at the image in his head.

  Pierce laughed. “I love Oreo too. But my favorite hands down is chocolate. I love milk chocolate. It was so hard giving it up,” he commented as they stood in the small line to be served.

  “Why did you have to give it up?” Rafe asked, his brain already at work, trying to figure out why someone would give up something they love.

  “I became vegan,” came his reply in a casual manner.

  “Oh. Okay. I guess,” Rafe commented.

  Pierce squinted at Rafe’s attempt of sounding approving.

  “I just don’t get why you would cut something out of your life if you loved it so much,” Rafe explained, trying to sound as nonjudgmental as possible.

  Pierce looked him in the eyes with a semi-serious face and eyes full of surprise. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask my parents?”

  Rafe cursed as he realized what he’d just said and apologized.

  “Relax,” Pierce laughed. “I was joking, dude. Well, sorta.”

  They finally reached the ice cream man and Pierce ordered for the two of them. He ordered two of Rafe’s favorites and gave the man all his bills, leaving without his change. Was he trying to impress Rafe? Or was he, a homeless guy, hopeless with money in his hands? Rafe didn’t care. He enjoyed this bruto’s company, and he would savor it and whatever benefits it came with for as long as he could.

  He licked the cold dessert, and his taste buds were permeated by a blast of icy sweetness. He’d missed the taste of ice cream. He tried to avoid cold stuff to build up his immune system, not that it did anything. His immune system was fucked up. Completely. But if he could avoid catching pneumonia, he would. He didn’t have a death wish.

  “But seriously, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be. It was easy at first, then as the diet kicks in you start craving some of the crap you used to eat, but you fight through the cravings or supplement them with the closest equivalent, and then you’re set. Honestly, this doesn’t taste as good as it does in my memory,” Pierce went on.

  “So, you’re still vegan? Or… ” Rafe asked looking poignantly at the ice cream in Pierce’s hands.

  Pierce coughed. “God, no. I tried the first couple of weeks after I was kicked out, and I almost starved to death. That was before I came down to NYC. I’d get a couple of good souls willing to buy me food, but whenever I asked for something non-meaty, non-cheesy, they’d think I was being an ungrateful bastard. When you got no money and you are hungry, not knowing when your next meal is going to be, you get what you can to get by. Plus, most things I want to eat are more expensive. So when it’s going to be famine or a dollar hot dog, I choose the dog.

  “But I’ve met some vegetarians who are homeless and will not eat anything else. It doesn’t work for me. If it does for them, I have no clue. Although, to be honest, now that I’m used to the city and how it works, whenever I have the option and money I do eat at least vegetarian… ”

  Rafe could hear him talking for hours, on whatever topic it was he wanted to go on about. He seemed to be passionate about his dietary needs.

  If he was being honest to himself, he wasn’t paying as much attention to the content of Pierce’s words but to his tone and his emotions that were so generously pouring out as he explained his experience. Pierce seemed to be the guy with the constant resting bitch face, which only came off whenever he got carried away and delved into his deepest desires.

  His lips were red and the edges of his mouth sticky from all the talking. His eyes flickered more frequently than normal as he put his thoughts into order. He took deep breaths at irregular times as his passion made him forget how to breathe properly.

  “… I don’t know. Every time I think about it, I can’t wrap my head around how a parent can disown their child like they’re nothing,” Pierce said and stopped talking, the silence making Rafe’s attention drift back to his ears.

  He seemed to have done a one-eighty and brought the conversation to the reason for his homelessness. Rafe nodded in agreement to his last statement but tried to find the words to follow up on that.

  “How did you end up out here?” Pierce asked him, and Rafe mentally slapped himself for not coming up with a different subject to lighten their little rendezvous again.

  He scratched his head, trying to come up with his response. “I… I ran,” he found himself mumbling before he controlled his mouth.

  “Huh?” Pierce grimaced, his face changing from a tender smile to a deep frown.

  “I-I ran. I couldn’t take it any longer. I… I felt lonely in there. Felt like I was doing something wrong twenty-four seven. I mean, sure, there was Mamá, who loves me, but… ” he babbled before being abruptly interrupted by Pierce’s groan.

  “Wait a sec. You left your house because you felt lonely? You chose to be homeless because they were just… being parents?” he growled, heat visible in his face.

  “I didn’t—” Rafe tried to defend himself but wasn’t allowed. Pierce quickened his step, clearly frustrated, and trying t
o bring an end to their little walk. “Pierce, wait!”

  He chased after him, navigating through people, all giving him dirty looks at his attempt. The streets were now excruciatingly busy. Lunch break was on, and everyone was marching to their hotspot with clear determination.

  Rafe’s vision blurred. His head moved too fast and his breath shortened. His agitation was growing, as were its effects on him. Why was Pierce being so hard on him? He hadn’t even let him explain.

  He lost his footing and came crashing down on the sidewalk. He called Pierce’s name one more time and people circled around him, untouched by the human disturbance. He steadied himself with two hands, focusing his eyes on the sidewalk cracks instead of the dizzying hectic amount of people surrounding him.

  “Are you okay?” He saw a pair of jeans kneeling down to reveal Pierce with a concerned look on his face. That dude needed to sort out his emotional caliber.

  Rafe whispered a no and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision. “I have some water in my bag,” he said, meaning to take it out of his backpack, but Pierce was already pulling the strings of it and digging his hand inside to scavenge for the water bottle.

  He passed the bottle to Rafe, and he took regenerating sips, closing his eyes as he did. When he opened them again, he felt a push on his back and turned his head to see Pierce sitting next to him, holding bills in his hands and waving them at Rafe.

  “I thought you were fucking homeless,” he growled.

  “I am,” Rafe murmured.

  “I thought you had no fucking money. What the fuck is wrong with you, man? You leave home to live on the streets with money in your bag? Are you a psycho or something?” Pierce’s voice was becoming louder, attracting some disapproving looks from passersby.