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It's been over a week since I've seen him, and I'm not sure what hurts worse: the thought of him ignoring me, pretending like the things he said and did never happened, or not having my candy bar in this self-imposed solitude.
Him.
Definitely him.
I've been obsessing over him since that night.
My darkness. My Shadow Man.
I build my safe place around him, even if the smell of vomit lingers in the air. The janitor left the mop and bucket not far from where I took a seat. It’s rank, but I push through. I remember how he smelled. Like leather, lingering alcohol, and...musk, maybe. A tinge of coppery blood from his wound. I remember how his skin felt against mine. His hands were warm and rough, but the rest of him was hot and smooth.
The door opens and closes right when I’m getting to the best part—imagining our first kiss. I’m sure Mr. Fred is going to tell me I need to leave and burst the safe bubble the counselor told me to envision. While he waits for me to move, he’ll look for the evidence, candy wrappers, to bring back to Nolan. He won’t find any today, but I’ll still have to go. Which is a major bummer because I really don’t want to be in school.
I’d rather be anywhere else. Anywhere but here.
Most kids my age would want to skirt around their responsibilities at home. I cook for everyone and clean up whatever messes are made, but that’s fulfilling to me. This place is not.
A few seconds pass. I’m not sure, but I can feel Mr. Fred looking at me. I open my eyes because it’s kind of freaking me out. He’s being too quiet.
“Oh,” I say, and if I could move my head back, I would. The wall blocks me from doing so. “It’s you.”
His nose is scrunched up. “That fucking smell,” he says.
“It’s not me. But I agree. It is bad.”
“It must be worse for you out there,” he says, nodding his head toward the door, which means outside, in the halls, “if you’re willing to sit with that smell instead.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. I don’t know what else to say. Or if I’m breathing. I was just thinking of him and…there he is. Right in front of me, sitting on his haunches, his hands on my knees. The heat from his palms burns through my jeans.
“What are you thinking?” he whispers.
“That I’m glad I washed my hair this morning.”
He gives me a look that I’ve never seen before. Like he’s trying to figure me out. It makes me grin and him narrow his eyes. I’m serious, though. I washed my hair the day after we met, thinking he was going to show up the next day. When he didn’t, I lost all interest for the next couple of days. Ava reminded me yesterday that he might show up today, so…good timing.
“What are you doing here?” I say.
“I missed you.”
A beat after he says it, I wonder if that’s what he thought I was going to say. That I missed him.
We stare at each other for a second. I’m expecting a grin from him, even one from me, but what settles between our eyes is heated. It stops me from saying I missed him, too. Somehow, though, I think he knows. Maybe because he sees the relief in my eyes—I’m sure they’re glossy from the tears I refuse to cry at the sight of him.
“Come on, baby.” He stands, holding out his hand. “You’re coming with me.”
I stare at it because I’m breathless from a word. Baby.
“Where are we going?” I barely get out, knowing I need to say something.
Looking at him dares me to forget…everything that weighs me down. Even my responsibilities, which usually aren’t a burden. They help me bury all that I don’t want to feel.
“Wherever we’re going, we’re going together.”
My eyes meet his again. Those words. They sound like a promise. I slip one hand out from underneath me. Then the other. I put both of mine in both of his and he pulls me up. I’m woozy for a second, but I play it off.
I’m drained, but at the same time, I feel so alive.
The bell rings.
