Nod.
“You settling in all right?”
Nod.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
Feeling like I need to say something, I mumble, “I’m just tired.”
“Well, I’ll leave you be then,” he says. “Glad to have you here.”
Bobbi smiles as Carl walks out and after she asks me how I’m doing and if I need anything, I lie and assure her that I’m fine. She closes the door behind her and as soon as she does, I see the light from the other bedroom flick on through the bathroom. I watch, and when I see the boy with the baseball cap, he turns to look at me.
“Hi,” he says as he stands on his end of the bathroom.
“Hi.”
Taking off his cap, he tosses it on his bed and runs his hand through his sweaty, dark brown, nearly black hair. He then walks through the bathroom and into my room, looking around.
“This color is sickening,” he says, giving me my first real smile in a long time.
“I lied,” I tell him. “I told her I like purple, but I don’t.”
“You been in the system long?”
“Three years.”
“Nine for me. I just got here a couple weeks ago.”
“Are they nice?” I ask.
He takes a seat on the bed next to me, and he smells like cigarette smoke and soap. “Bobbi hasn’t been here much. She just got back in town from some crafting show she did.”
“Crafting show?”
“Yeah, she makes wooden duck figurines and crap to sell at fairs, flea markets, and shit, so she’s gone a lot. Carl works at the auto mechanic shop down the road.” He pauses and then adds, “He drinks a lot.”
I don’t say anything, and we sit in silence for a moment before he asks, “How old are you?”
“Eight. You?”
“Eleven. Almost twelve. Name?”
“Elizabeth.”
“You scared, Elizabeth?”
Looking over at him, I pull my knees to my chest, wrap my arms around them, and nod, whispering, “Yeah.”
“It’ll be okay. Promise.”
I watch as a hint of a smile crosses his face and something about it tells me that I can believe him.
“I’m Pike, by the way.”
“WHERE THE FUCK have you been, Elizabeth?”
“I’m sorry,” I say as Pike loosens his hold on me. “I haven’t been able to get away, but I’m here now.”
Pike takes a step back, raking one hand through his thick, choppy, dark hair and releases a rough breath through his nose.
“Pike, come on. Don’t make me regret coming here. I only have tonight before Bennett comes back home.”
“I’m just sick of living in this shithole while you’re living your precious life in that fuckin’ penthouse. It’s been over three years?” he bites and then falls back onto the couch.
Looking down at him, I try to soothe his irritation, “I know. I’m sorry, but you knew it would be like this. You knew this wouldn’t work if we moved fast.”
“Are you even working at it at all, Elizabeth? Because from where I’m standing, it seems you’ve gotten quite comfortable in your new life.”
“Don’t be a dick, Pike,” I say, raising my voice at him. “You know me better than that. You know I hate that asshole with everything I am.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his head dropped. Walking over to him, I sit down on the couch and start rubbing his hardened shoulder, muscles tense out of frustration.
“I’m sorry,” he quietly says, and sits back, pulling me with him and holding me.
I need the contact, need his touch. I always have, so I linger in it for a moment with my arm slung around his waist. I hate being away from him, but I know he hates it more. I don’t blame him. This is the shittiest place he’s lived, but he’s paying the owner of this trailer under the table to keep himself off the grid. He’s still hustling to get by, and here I am, lying in his arms wearing a goddamn Hermés coat that probably costs more than this crap-hole he lives in.
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here, but it won’t be forever.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if it will.”
I swing my legs across his lap so that he can cradle me to his chest, and when I get comfortable in this new position, I tell him, “I met someone.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think he’s interested.”
“You said that about the others. What makes you think this one is different?” he questions.
“I don’t know that he is, but it’s worth a shot, right?”
He doesn’t respond, and when I tilt my head back to look up at him, he locks eyes with me.
“I’m not giving up,” I say. “I need you to know that. I’ll do whatever it takes to get us that new beginning.”
He kisses me, slipping his hand behind my head to hold me close. The familiar taste of his clove cigarettes comforts me the way a blanket would a child. He’s my comfort. I’ve depended on him ever since I was a little girl. He’s protected me as an eight-year-old child and continues to, even though I’m now a twenty-eight-year-old woman.
The rough warmth of his tongue slides along mine, slowly, as he pulls back, ending our kiss.