Page 16 of Breakaway

“Sure,” I nod in answer, my agreement nothing more than a formality, because we both know I don’t have the luxury of declining.

After Raiden leaves, I take my box of belongings to the bedroom and sort through the contents. There are enough staples to form a few outfits, and thankfully, a new pack of underwear. I don’t see a bra, but I wouldn’t expect to, seeing as the sizing is so specific. My chest is on the smaller side, so it won’t be an issue to go without. If need be, I’ll wear the one I have. It’s ancient, but the community closet that Veritas pulled from wasn’t stocked very often. Once I’ve put the clothes away, I move to the bathroom.

I place the bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the shower’s inlay, then add the razor and shaving cream to the outer edge. Next, I break open the package encasing a toothbrush, immediately putting it to use. Baring my teeth at the mirror, I run my tongue across the slightly crooked one in the front. I used to love that imperfection, but Tobias’ cruelty and ever-present need to pick apart my faults have diminished my self-esteem. Distractedly, I grab the last two items, my movements slowing the second I set my eyes on what I’m holding.

A box of tampons and a ziplock bag of sanitary pads.

I wasn’t allowed to use the former. Tobias, like many of the Elders, refused to let anything inside of me except for him. I may be curious, but I have no use for them now. As much as I’d love to believe the spotting I’ve experienced over the past six months is nothing more than a light cycle, a blood test and ultrasound proved otherwise. A tear slips down my cheek. Followed by another. And another. I’m fairly confident that this is what defeat feels like. Tossing the items in the box, I shove it inside the linen closet, refusing to acknowledge my rapidly growing problem. I’m not mentally well enough to process what this means for me, and until I’ve reached that point, I’m content to live in denial.

11

Colsen

“What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously. And I mean that in a non-rhetorical way, so feel free to answer me at any time.” I lay into Briggs the second I walk through the door. He’s sprawled across the couch, unmoved by my anger, as per usual. “I get that you don’t give a shit about your own well-being; you’ve proved that plenty of times over the past year and a half. But are you so disconnected that you can’t be bothered to let the people who do give a fuck about you know that you’re still breathing?” I might as well be talking to a brick wall for all the reaction I get.

“Did you phone Dr. Bossy Pants about my absence?” Briggs questions, his prone body in the perfect position for me to suffocate him. At least then we’d all be freed from the misery of wondering if he’s alive or not.

“Wow. That’s peak asshole behavior right there. Truly. I mean, you never fail to amaze me, because every time I think you’ve reached the pinnacle of your threshold for bullshit, you set a new record. Nothing matters to you–not the wasted hours we spend combing every alley in Chaplain for any sign of you, and certainly not the worry we feel every time your demons get the best of you,” I snarl, venting a year’s worth of frustration in a single breath. “And no, I didn’t rat you out, but you will be paying her a visit. Today.”

“What the fuck for?” Briggs demands.

“That right there.” I jab my finger in his direction, insinuating the piss-poor job he’s doing of getting himself upright. “You look like a fish flopping around on dry land, and don’t get me started on how disgusting you smell. Did you cuddle roadkill? I doubt you even know the answer to that because you likely have no memory of your week-long binge sesh.”

“Geez. You’re spicy today,” Briggs grunts.

“I’ll text you the appointment time, so charge your fucking phone. And stay the hell away from Andi,” I tack on, heading towards my bedroom so I can get changed for work.

As if this morning hasn’t been shitty enough, I’m dangerously close to being late. Royce wouldn’t mind, knowing it’s a rarity for me, but I pride myself on being someone he can rely on. He gave me a chance when every door I’d knocked on before his had no qualms about turning me away. So if being a decent employee is the only way I know how to convey my gratitude, then I’ll be the best he’s ever had. If it wasn’t for him and Dayton’s grandad, I wouldn’t be half the man I am.

Boys like us don’t amount to much, but we beat the odds somehow. We escaped the trailer park we were destined to call home and even graduated high school, a feat that seemed impossible given our circumstances. We’ve broken societal barriers, proving our start in life didn’t have to correlate with where we ended up. And for every hardship I’ve faced, there’s been good and honest men in my corner steering me in the right direction. It was a hard road traveled to reach this point, but the effort we’ve put into bettering ourselves is beginning to pay off.

The shower’s running when I leave, so I take that as a good sign. On the drive into work, I call Briggs’ therapist, then forward him the appointment information. An hour later, I’m knee-deep in crises at our current construction site. We broke ground weeks ago, yet our progress is nonexistent. We’ve been slapped with red tape at every turn by the city, but as persistent as they may be, Royce won’t be cowed by white-collar thugs. He’d rather spend every cent to his name fighting their bogus claims than cave to the whims of elitist assholes.

Our homeless population has significantly increased over the past decade. The cost of living is at an all-time high, and families that used to make a comfortable wage are being forced to rely on government assistance. The poverty line keeps shifting, and the upper echelon doesn’t appreciate the increase in destitute residents. They’re smearing the shiny facade of our city, and the scarce one percent that hasn’t been affected by the economic downfall prefers they stay out of sight.

It wasn’t until tent encampments began popping up near more affluent neighborhoods that their blinders were ripped away and they actually took notice of how dire the situation is. But instead of coming up with a productive, long-term solution, they did what rich people do best–shunned the poor and passed the problem off to someone else. So Royce, being the waymaker he is, took matters into his own hands. Every year, he takes half of the company’s earnings and builds a new tiny home community. They vary in size, depending on the amount of cash we’re working with, but as long as there’s a need for them, he’s vowed to continue.

You would think they’d be appreciative of the work we’re doing, and at first they were. But over time, their opinions have changed. They’ve twisted the purpose of these communities, accusing us of enabling the homeless epidemic. In their minds, why would the downtrodden have any motivation to work if we’re happily providing them with homes for free? It’s an obtuse way of thinking, and their assumption is wrong. We offer them resources and connect them with job placement agencies, but these homes are meant to serve a transitional purpose, and we’ve yet to have anyone abuse that.

Once they’re on their feet and capable of securing a place of their own, we fill the vacancy with someone else who’s living on the streets. And the cycle repeats. Fortunately, it’s only a select few who feel this way, but they hold esteemed positions in Chaplain, and their sway is substantial. Most applaud Royce for giving back to his community. Sadly, all the good he’s doing tends to get overshadowed by the negative stigma they’re intent on perpetuating.

When I accepted the offer to work for him, I had no idea I’d still be here seven years later. I wasn’t thinking past the immediate future. At the time, my only concern was making ends meet. I spent the first twelve months of my employment working directly under Royce, learning the ins and outs of the trade. I made a fraction of what I do now, and every day was a struggle, but I can confidently say that Royce has never shown me any favoritism. I’ve earned every promotion he’s given me. Maybe it’s because of the way I grew up and the firsthand knowledge I have of how easy it would be to continue the pattern, but I truly believe in the work he’s doing and the difference it can make in someone’s life.

Over lunch, I hear a few of the guys talking about the news that broke yesterday. My thoughts drift to Andi and this morning, to the shitshow Briggs caused. The information pushed out to the public during the press conference was intentionally vague, but the gist of the crimes is mind-boggling. I can’t stop thinking about that little boy and how his abduction was the catalyst that finally got Andi out of there. I know the day would’ve come eventually, but how much longer would the FBI have used her as an information mule, dragging it out until they felt she’d gleaned all she could?

And then I feel guilty for thinking that way, for being the tiniest bit grateful that Andi is finally free, because it came at the cost of someone’s life. I know if it were up to Andi, she would’ve chosen to rot inside those walls before ever allowing a family to be torn apart. It’s hard to stand by the idea that everything happens for a reason when a woman was murdered and her child stripped of his innocence. Surely those things didn’t need to happen for justice to be served.

“Col!” Royce shouts, his deep baritone barely audible over the cacophony of power tools being put to use. He motions me over, pointing at the office trailer so we can speak without any background noise. It’s frigid inside, but the icy air feels glorious against my sweat-drenched skin. “Have a seat.”

“Is something wrong?” I question, happy to put the empty chair to use.

“No, not wrong per se.” He leans back, crossing his arms as he stares off in contemplation. “Rita called just a bit ago. She was out making her rounds this morning when she saw someone she recognized, but couldn’t place where she knew him from. It didn’t register for a few hours, but she finally realized it was Briggs. He was leaving one of the newer sites near the border of Atley. I know you’ve been searching for him, so if you want to head out early, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Atley?” I question, my brows knitting together in confusion, then quickly add, “No need. He wandered home this morning.”

“On foot?” Royce asks, his incredulity making itself known by the pitch of his voice.

“Judging by the shape he was in? Yeah, I’d say he walked it.”