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“Uh …” I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “I don’t know if fit is the right word, but …” I tried to find the right way to say what was on my mind without being too blunt. “I don’t know. I feel like it’d make them angrier if you didn’t come home than if you did anything to make them angry at home. It’s kind of like saying fuck you.”
“Which is exactly what I want to say,” Pierre said, suddenly all serious. “I mean, what’d they ever do for me? Besides conceiving me, nothing. I’m the one who got into college. I’m the one who did all the work. I have no reason to go back.”
I bit my tongue to hold back any objection. But I couldn’t take it. There was no way he could stay here on his own for this long.
“Where were they?” I asked, my voice almost cracking.
Furrowing his brow, Pierre looked up at me. “Huh?”
“Your friends?” I cocked an eyebrow, leaning toward him so that my elbows rested on the table. “You said you made some good friends here. Where were they?”
“Where were they when?” He was getting irritated. “Kat.”
I waited for a moment, staring into his eyes so hard I could’ve shattered them if they were glass. “You know when.”
Maybe I was trying to test him. To see if how far he’d let me take him—and maybe that was cruel. But if I’d learned anything from the past week, it was to be tough. Thick-skinned and skeptical. Pierre couldn’t be so easily persuaded by the idea that someone was there for him, especially when they never were to begin with.
If he had made some real friends, they would’ve helped him. He wouldn’t have tried to kill himself.
“Jesus, Kat,” Pierre muttered, setting down his silverware. “I’ve been here for a few months. Cut me some slack.”
Maybe I’d gone too far. I didn’t realize my hands were curling into fists around my utensils. The thing was, if anything was to get me angry, it’d have to do with Pierre. I couldn’t stand to see him sell himself short, even if he didn’t know he was.
“You can’t count on strangers to be there for you,” I murmured, keeping up my eye contact with him. The energy between us began to feel nuclear. “I’m just saying. I want to be honest with you. That’s all.”
“Well …” Sitting back in his chair, Pierre let out a long, trembling breath. “What am I supposed to do, then? Go back to spend another week of my life in an abusive household?”
Yeah, he had a point.
Now it was my turn to sigh. I placed the silverware down and flexed my fingers as my eyes wandered around the room.
“You could come stay with me.” I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for his response. “I’d rather you be near me than stay here on your own.”
Pierre nodded slowly, as if piecing the idea together in his head, as if it were that complicated. I knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. As long as he didn’t have to go home. That was all.
It was either his best friend or some British acquaintances. Sure, I had just offered him the alternative, but he really had no choice.
“Okay,” he replied. “Fine. As long as I don’t have to stay at home.”
I felt a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips, but I replaced it with a grave smile instead, reaching across the table to shake his hand. “Of course. Deal.”
Pierre returned the smile, and let out a breath of relief. Then he clapped his hands together, and pushed back his chair. “You done? Cause I wanna show you around.”
“I could have about ten more of these, but yeah,” I said, sliding the plate toward him. “Dinner stuffed me up, too. Think I’m bloated.”
“Nice.” Pierre took the dishes over to the sink. “I’m thinking we go see Buckingham Palace. We’ll take a cab to the closest tube entrance and it’s pretty much a straight shot from there. Just one transfer.”
“Sounds good,” I said, picking myself up from the table, slightly regretting the way I’d berated Pierre just a few minutes ago for thinking he’d made some real friends. It was kind of shitty thing to do.
But maybe something inside me wanted him to come back home with me. And I’d simply found a way to make it happen.
“Hey,” I heard him say, and felt his hand on my waist as I went back to the bed to find my suitcase. Turning my face, I felt his cheek inches away from mine. “I’m glad you’re here. Thank you.”
Smiling, I laid my hands on his and gave them a little squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here, too.”
That one sentence meant more than it sounded—I’m glad you’re here and not dead, I’m glad you’re here and not gone, not forgotten, not lost, not defeated.
He knew that and that was all that mattered.
