The fact he doesn’t ask just shows he definitely doesn’t care.
We walk, both of us gaining strength as we make our way towards town.
My legs are like lead under my body. Every step is pure, heavy agony.
I stop and sit on a wall that edges a front yard, then bury my face in my hands after pulling my thick hair over one shoulder.
“Come on, it’s fucking late. I want to go to bed.” His tone holds frustration, but I just don’t give a damn. “Immy.”
“I’m not asking you to stay with me!” I snap, rubbing my temples to alleviate my pounding head.
“But it’s not like I can fucking leave you!” he yells back.
“Why not?” I question, annoyed that he’s still here, annoyed that he saved me even though I’m relieved he did. “Why are you always there. Why do you call me names, treat me badly, torment me, hurt me, and then save my fucking life?” With what little strength I have I stand and approach him. “And then tell me to get dressed when I offer you the one thing you’ve been asking for since we met.” I laugh breathily and place my palm against his chest. “You don’t want my panties. You don’t want me alive. You don’t want me dead. Then what do you want?”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Then go and leave me the fuck alone.”
He steps closer. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do.”
Rolling my eyes, I step around him but then stop. My heart is hammering as I remember what I felt in the depth of that water.
“What now?” He’s referring to the fact I’ve stopped.
“I don’t want to go home.” I’m not kidding either. I really don’t want to go home. I can’t go back to that prison, that hell.
“Ever? Is it really that bad?”
I hug myself and wet my lips. I’m so thirsty. “Do you have Poppy’s number?”
“Nope.”
“Oh.” I stare at the spaces between the houses, considering sleeping in somebody’s shed. That’s how much I don’t want to go home. “Can I stay at yours?” I loathe to ask but I don’t have any other choice. “And then tomorrow I’ll go to my mom’s. She has a place in San Antonio. It’s like three hours away but there are buses…”
“Shit. You’re serious,” he mumbles.
Nodding, I look deep into his eyes. “It’s all I’ll ever ask you for. I need to get away. I’m going to die if I stay here.” I look back the way I came and consider returning.
“Fine. You can stay with me.” He grins after a moment, back to his usual arrogant self. “But you’ve gotta show me your panties.”
I laugh, looking at the ground as I try to hide it from him.
26 years old
“As I live and breathe,” a familiar, raspy voice calls. I heard him coming because he came on his bike and I can’t bring myself to feel bitter about it. “Imogen Hardy.”
“Mr. Jessop.”
He grins at me, that familiar smile that is so much like his son’s.
“Mr. Jessop?” he questions, pretending to be offended. “When did we get all formal, kid?”
I stifle a groan when his wife, Kane’s stepmom pulls up behind him on her dark pink bike with matching helmet and leathers. She’s still as outlandish as I remember.
“I told you to wait for me!” she snaps with a thick accent.
“My bad, doll.”
She strolls right past him and comes at me with her arms outstretched. “As I live and breathe. I heard you were in town.”
“I see your accent hasn’t reduced none,” I comment, returning her hug and mimicking her accent.
“Don’t you start now,” she playfully admonishes and holds me at arm’s length. “My oh my, aren’t you just a beauty.”
“I could say the same about you.”
We share a smile and I hug her again. “It’s so good to see you guys.”
“You say that like we’re the ones who ran away.”
I wince. “It wasn’t personal.”
“We know. But it was somethin’.” She moves to West, her husband aka Kane’s father and looks between us both. “I bet you’re wonderin’ why we’re here?”
“You’d bet right, not that you’re unwelcome.”
West steps forward and hands me a small envelope.
“What’s this?”
He shrugs. “It’s a letter from your mee-maw.”
I bristle, ready to tear it in two but he grips my hand that holds the flimsy paper.
“She said you’d likely never come home, but you might come to Kane. Kane wanted nothin’ to do with her, so I said out of respect as her dyin’ wish, I’d deliver it to you.”
I look at the paper burning fiery pain through my skin. “What’s in it?”
“I don’t know, she said it was real important and to open it when you’re ready.”
My chin trembles as I consider crying over the old hag one more time. “I don’t want it. I don’t want anything to do with her.”
“What did she do to you?” Felicia tightens her dark blonde ponytail, eyes awash with concern. “I mean… other than what we already know.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I reply on a whisper. “She’s dead. Where she belongs. I hope if hell exists, that’s where she ends up.”
15 years old
“Well you can’t stay on the couch, my dad will find you and call your mee-maw and then there will be no runnin’ away,” Kane hisses at me, arguing his very valid point. “He don’t bother me in here.” He peels off his damp T-shirt and drops it into a hamper by the door.
“Fine, but you’re staying on the floor.”
His brow jumps. “Like hell I am.”
“Shh,” I hiss, placing my fingers over his lips.
He bites the tip of the middle one until I pull away. As I’m shaking it to relieve the pain he chuckles and pushes down his jeans. He has mud and grass stuck to his legs from the lake and when I inspect myself, so do I. We’re both filthy.
“Will I be able to shower?” I ask even more quietly.
Nodding, he moves to his closet and grabs a large gray towel, then he moves to his drawers and pulls out a T-shirt before slinging it over the top of the towel and holding them out to me.
“You’re so neat and tidy,” I comment.
He looks at his room as though seeing it with new eyes. “Naw. Felicia does most of it. Bitch treats cleaning like it’s crack. She’s got issues. Likes everything to match. Fucked up if you ask me.”
“Your stepmom, right?”
“Mom,” he corrects. “She’s been a mom since we met.”
My heart cracks and the center oozes through the broken pieces. “That’s actually really sweet.”
He shrugs, nonplussed and hands me the towel and T-shirt. “Leave the shower runnin’ so I can sneak in when you’re done.”
“You’re not going to ask to join me?”
When he gives me a heated look instead of laughing at my joke, I flee the room, padding quietly to the bathroom.
I make it super quick because I’m so tired. Washing my hair with Felicia’s shampoos, washing my body with shower gel that smells like peaches. I love peaches. I also brush my teeth with an unopened spare toothbrush and pray they don’t notice until long after I’ve gone. I hide it in the cabinet above the basin ready for me to use again before I sneak out in the morning.
I dress in the T-shirt, wishing I’d asked for some boxer shorts too. It smells so clean and fresh. I love fresh laundry.
With a sigh of complex contentment, I leave the shower running and give my hair a quick brush. Then I exit the bathroom and quietly slip back into Kane’s room.
He passes me, bare chest brushing against my arm, and I notice that he’s pulled back the bed covers. I search through his drawers, mostly to take up time but also because I need something to wear so I’m not so exposed.
I grab a clean pair of his folded boxer shorts and pull them on, then I slip under the cover, twisting my wet hair above my head, and get as close to t
he wall as possible.
It’s so warm and snug. His mattress is a dream. I don’t think it has any of those awful springs in it like mine. It’s like laying on foam. Perhaps that’s what it is.
Closing my eyes, I listen to the shower running and wonder if he’s thinking of me right now.
Is he thinking of my almost naked body like I’m thinking of his?
Pushing that thought away I burrow deeper under the covers.
I tense when I hear him speaking to somebody in the hall and consider hiding under the bed but by the time I think of it, the conversation stops and the door opens. He locks it behind him, and I hear a drawer open then close. The towel hits the floor and I swallow and try hard not to think about it.
After another moment, he scratches somewhere on his body and switches out the light. Then the bed dips beside me and I find I can’t breathe.
I expect him to make some lude comment and ask me to show him my panties, but he just groans and rolls onto his front away from me.
My entire body feels tighter than when I woke up on the riverbank and choked up a lung. My lungs still feel sore, as does my throat and body. I can’t believe I did that.
“You better not snore,” I say on a whisper and the bed shakes with his silent laughter.
“I really fucking hope you do.”
I huff and tuck the duvet between my legs. I’m finding it so hard to relax next to him. This is the first time I’ve slept with a boy. It’s crazy. I’m not sure I like it. I don’t even like him which makes this all the more uncomfortable.
I toss and turn, fidgeting as I try to find a better position.
I can tell he’s getting frustrated with me but I can’t stop moving.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” I say when he growls for the millionth time.
“Shut up,” he hisses and shoves me onto my front. I turn my head so my cheek is pressing against my pillow and make a quiet squealing noise when his body treats mine like a mattress.
He presses his chest against my back and his leg over my thigh. His weight crushes me into the clean scented bed linen and his arm rests over mine, so his hand is resting on my wrist.
“Go to sleep,” he demands, angry and definitely annoyed.
I puff out my cheeks, trying not to move though to be honest, I don’t want to move. I’ve never been comfier.
“If you tell anybody about this, I’ll come to San Antonio, find you, shave all your hair off and glue it to your back,” he warns and my body shakes with laughter I sorely need. He covers my mouth with his hand, yanking my head back with it. My eyes cross because it feels good. I don’t know why I like it. It should hurt but instead it makes me want to wriggle against him to see if he feels the same. “Quiet.”
I do as I’m told, finally slipping into an easy sleep. Trying not to worry or panic about the future or how much trouble I might get into if I get caught.
* * *
Wearing clothes not mine, with a bag full of my savings, and my phone fully charged, sandwiches packed, and a belly not growling with hunger, I climb off the bus and step into San Antonio.
I’ve never felt like such a dick before. Why did I do this? This is terrifying. I have no idea where to go or if she still even lives here. I have no idea what to say to her.
But first I need to figure out how to get there.
I wander around aimlessly for a while, stopping at a little café on a bustling city street. I ask them if they know the area but they don’t speak great English and then they usher me on when I ask their customers too.
My stomach is clenching with nausea. Why oh why did I do this?
I think back to this morning when Felicia caught me sneaking out wearing her clothes that Kane took from her closet. She could have flipped her shit and called my mee-maw but instead she sat me down, made me a killer breakfast and asked me about my night.
Kane wasn’t here to save me, he’d already left for work at the garage with his dad. Kane whose chest I woke up on like it was mine to rest on. Kane who had his arms wrapped around me tight. Kane who did what he could to hide his morning boner from me so I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.
“I’m a virgin I didn’t do anything,” I blurted as she poured coffee.
“I ain’t judgin’,” she replied, smiling sweetly.
“I just needed somewhere to stay.”
“Of course.” She handed me a coffee. It was my first ever coffee. It’s the vilest thing I’ve ever tasted. “I’m bettin’ your folks don’t know where you’re at.”
“No and please don’t tell them. They know I’m safe but—”
When my eyes filled with tears she placed her hand on my wrist. “I ain’t a mother, I ain’t a role model, I ran away when I was a teen so my daddy wouldn’t touch me no more.”
Her story had my lips parting.
“I got myself into some heavy shit. It wasn’t until I was seventeen and woke up on a strange lady’s couch, gums aching from all the coke I’d rubbed on them, head spinning, stomach retching, that I finally turned my life around. She made me breakfast, she gave me coffee, she gave me a shoulder in those moments. A shoulder if I’d gotten it months before, I might not have become addicted, I might not have put myself in dangerous situations.” She squeezed my wrist. “I know a lost soul when I see one. And if y’all ever need a place to crash, I ain’t gonna turn you away. You hear?”
“You’re so nice. My mee-maw would close the door.”
She grinned and lifted a shoulder. “Well, she ain’t no proper church goin’ woman now is she?” She sipped her coffee and levelled me with a comforting look. “Sometimes, breakfast with somebody who cares can be the deciding factor between life or death.”
I froze, going wide eyed. “Did Kane tell you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said in a way that let me know she knew exactly what I was talking about.
Then she rounded the table, kissed my hair like a mother should and gave my shoulder a squeeze.
I want to return the favor; I want to make her feel validated and reassured like I do. “I probably shouldn’t tell you, but last night I called you stepmom to Kane.”
“Hmm?”
“He corrected me and said you’re his mom, not his stepmom.”
Her eyes filled with tears immediately, but she smiled through them. “That boy has a big heart. It’s just a shame he has louder fists.”
Then I went to Poppy’s and picked up my stuff, my bag with the money, my phone and my clothes. I messaged her telling her to let everyone know that I’m safe. I imagine they’ll all be worried and that makes me want to go back even less. I don’t want to see their disappointment in me. I’m such a coward.
I should have stayed longer. I shouldn’t have done this. This city is huge and scary. I’ve never seen so many people in one place before. I’m pushed, shoved, stepped on, sworn at and almost fall onto the road twice.
Why is everybody in such a rush?
I find a traffic cop who is really nice and tells me the directions to get to where I need to be. When I tear up because it’s all lefts and rights and streets I don’t recognize, he hails me a cab.
It takes me all the way to Dellcrest Forest and stops outside a brownstone building with a broken front door and young men sitting on the steps. I pay the cab fare and hike my bag over my shoulder, hoping I don’t get mugged and lose every penny I have.
Litter lines this street like sand lines a beach. I step over broken glass and rush up the stairs as the men cat call and make lude comments. Don’t they know how fucking uncomfortable and scary that is?
“Apartment two-A,” I whisper to myself and head up the piss stained stairs. It’s so gross here.
I use my elbow to push open a door that leads to the few apartments on this floor, and quickly rush to the apartment I need. It’s crazy thinking this could be my life now, that I might live here and have to deal with this every day. Would I get used to it?
I rap on the wood over and ove
r again. “Please open. Please. Please. Please.”
My heart is racing, my palms are clammy. I just need to be inside somewhere so I feel safe.
I knock louder, more frantic, until finally I hear my mom yell, “WHO THE FUCK IS IT?”
“It’s me… it’s Imogen.”
“What in the world?” Latches unclick, a chain drops, and the door opens a crack.
My mom’s hazel eye peers out into the hall and widens when she sees me.
“Immy, what are you doing here? Is your mee-maw with you cause I ain’t done no cleanin’?”
“No, it’s just me,” I reply, smiling at her. “I just really needed to get away.”
“Well then you better come in.” She steps back, still peering into the hall as I sidle past and take in her tiny studio apartment.
It’s not messy or unclean, but there are dishes in the sink and a pile of laundry that needs dealing with. There’s only one bed but I don’t mind sharing.
“Does Mom know you’re here?” she asks, locking the door and guiding me to the small two-seater table. It has a wilting flower in a little glass jar in the middle.
“No. I ran away,” I admit, biting my lip. “I can’t take it there anymore.”
“Oh it’s not that bad.”
I look at her incredulously. “Mom it’s hell. Can I stay with you? I’ll go to school here. I’ll get a job. You wouldn’t have to provide for me.”
“Honey—”
“Please, Mom, please. I can’t live there anymore.”
“What about your brother? Don’t you want to be near him?”
I shrug. “He’s never home. He has a girlfriend now.”
She nods gently. “Do you want a drink?”
“Can I have a water please?” I sit as she moves to the kitchen and rinses out a glass. “Can I stay? Please?”
“Honey—”
“Stop saying it like that. You’re my mom. Why would you have me if you don’t want me around?”
Her eyes round with sadness. “That’s not it. I do want you around but look where I live! There isn’t enough space for me, let alone you too. And it’s rough round here. I don’t know about the schools either. There was a random shooting on the next block.” She hands me my water and continues, “Where you’re living now is safe, and cozy, and comforting.”
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