“Unless you’re a volunteer or from the prison,” he says. “I got my GED and enrolled in the EMT program at the community college.”
“Oh. Why did you—” I stop when his face goes stormy, and I swallow back the rest of my words. “Sorry. Not my business. I’ll, uh…make some tea.”
Hurrying into the kitchen, I come to a halt when I realize I can’t make tea because everything’s electric except the stove, but the igniter is also electric, and I don’t trust myself to light a match near gas, so yeah.
I’m just going to stand here in the dark like a jackass.
“Leo,” comes a soft voice. I jolt, but only a little, as hands find my waist. I almost groan and lean into him, but instead, I make myself freeze. “You don’t need to make tea. Sorry I made it awkward in there. It’s not something I like to talk about.”
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
His hands tighten on me. I should tell him to let go, but god, I don’t want to. I want him to keep touching. To keep talking. To make me forget that I don’t like him and he doesn’t like me, and things in my life are so…empty.
“You’re allowed to ask,” he murmurs. He steps closer, and despite being soaked by the rain, he’s warm. I can feel heat coming off him in waves.
“No. You don’t have to tell me.”
He sighs, then after a short forever he says, “You’ve seen my scars, right?”
“Um…”
“I know you have.” He goes quiet another second. “My mom married this real douche bag when I was younger. They weren’t great parents. He was abusive, especially to me and my mom, though I took the brunt of it. When I was seventeen, he went after our neighbor who threatened to call the cops on him, and beat the guy within an inch of his life. I stepped in and he wailed on me with…” He stops for a second.
“North—”
“No. It’s fine.” He clears his throat. “He was tearing apart some electrical shit and had all this exposed wire. He slashed me open pretty good. It was the first time he went after me in public, and someone finally called the cops. They got there before I was hurt too badly. I got stitched up, but it left some pretty bad scars behind.”
I don’t know if I want to ask what this has to do with his GED, so I don’t. I simply wait.
After a long breath, he goes on. “He went to jail, my mom spiraled out, my sisters got sent to foster care, and I decided that dropping out was probably the only way I was going to survive. But I was working as a line cook which didn’t make dick for money, so I decided to get my GED and enroll in the EMT program. I figured even if my mom wasn’t stable, maybe if I was, their case worker would let me bring them home.”
“Oh.” I sound ridiculous but it’s all I can come up with.
I hear his swallow click in the back of his throat. “I hate talking about this. I hate when people see my scars because they always want to know where they came from and the story’s so…complicated.”
“I get it,” I murmur. Because I do.
He laughs softly. “Yeah. Anyway, it’s a tender subject for me and I really don’t mean to be a dick about it.”
“No, I—it’s fine. Be a dick. That’s a huge amount of responsibility to put on a teenager,” I tell him. “There’s no shame in being sensitive.”
He laughs again, then suddenly, he wraps one arm around me and hooks his chin over my shoulder. “I’m not sensitive. I’m just…” He stops.
I don’t really know what to say, so instead I ask, “Your sisters eventually came home, right?”
Against my temple, I can feel him smiling. “Yeah. It took my mom a few years to get her shit together, but eventually shedid. And they’re doing great now. Oldest one just got engaged, middle sister’s applying for grad school soon, youngest is about to graduate. They’re way better off than I was at their age.”
“You sound like a good brother.”
“And that,” he murmurs, turning his face toward my ear. His lips move against it, “sounds like a compliment.”
“Well, I…it…” I sigh. “I guess it is. You’re still a douche, but maybe not to everyone.”
“To you?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose in thought. “Youdidignore what Easton told you.”
“To come into work?” He sounds honestly confused.
