He makes a gesture with his hands like he’s asking me what.
“I have to go,” I explain. I hold up my guitar. “I have to go to work. And you have to go to work. And I’m sure you don’t want me hanging out while you’re not here. What if I steal something?” I try to laugh it off, but he’s not amused.
“You don’t have to go,” he says. “Stay.” He gets up and comes to stand in front of me.
I hold up the guitar again. “I can’t. I have to work.” I only have thirty two dollars to my name. I can’t find a decent place to stay on that. Not even for a night.
Like he can read my mind, he pulls out his wallet and flips it open. He takes money out of it and tries to press it in my hand. I can’t take his money. “Stay,” he says. He wants me to stay instead of going to busk for change.
I shake my head. It’s hard to explain it to him. I want so badly to stay. But I can’t. I can’t get comfortable anywhere. Because tomorrow, I might have to leave again. “Thank you for letting me sleep here,” I whisper. I know he can’t hear the quality of my voice, but he can still read my lips. He tips my chin up with his forefinger under my jaw so that I look at him. “Thank you,” I repeat.
“Come back tonight?” he asks. He’s holding my hand, his thumb swiping back and forth across the surface of it. “I’ll sleep on the couch. I promise.”
I look up at him, swallowing hard. “I liked it when you were in the bed with me,” I admit.
His eyes narrow and he looks closer at me than I think anyone ever has. But he doesn’t say anything else.
“I think I’m in like,” I admit softly. That’s probably the wrong thing to say. But I need to tell him. I didn’t just use him for a place to sleep. I genuinely could care about him if my situation was different. But it’s not. And I can’t.
He doesn’t understand the terminology, I think, because he looks confused. “What?” he asks.
“I think I’m in like,” I repeat. But he still looks just as confused.
He looks like he’s going to get Matthew to translate. I stop him by jerking on his arm. “I like you,” I say clearly. “That’s why I’m leaving. I wouldn’t be any good for you or for your brothers. I like you too much to stay.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he says.
Yeah, it’s ridiculous. But he doesn’t know where I come from. He doesn’t know how many people are looking for me and why. And when he does find out – I have no doubts that he will – he’ll hate me for not telling him everything up front.
“Have dinner with me?” he says, his brows shooting up. He looks hopeful, and that’s not what I want for him. He bends his knees so he can look into my face. “Dinner?” he repeats, like I might not have understood him. “A date,” he says. “Go on a date with me.”
I shake my head. I shouldn’t like him so much after such a short time, but I see possibilities there where before I had none. He makes me believe I could have a real connection with someone. Well, maybe if I was someone else. But I’m not. So I can’t.
“Thank you for letting me sleep here,” I say. “And do my laundry and take a shower. I really appreciate it. Will you tell your brothers thank you for me?”
His hand falls away from me, and I feel like someone just untethered my anchor and I’m going to float away. He nods. He walks back over to the table and sits down, and begins turning the pages of the newspaper. He’s not looking at me anymore and I feel the loss like someone chopped off my arm.
I let myself out and lean heavy against the wall outside his door. I can’t bring him into my life. It’s not good for him. Not for any of them. This is the way it has to be.
***
My ass is cold again, even though I’m wearing black leggings under my plaid mini skirt. It’s freezing in the subway, and I’m sitting on my bag to keep my butt off the cold concrete. But it’s still seeping into me. I have made forty-two dollars today, though, and it’s a good day. I must have looked utterly miserable, because people have been putting money in my case like I’m homeless. Well, I am, but it’s not like I’m holding a sign that says “I’m hungry.”
It’s a little after seven o’clock, and I’ve been here since I left Logan’s apartment. My hands are tired, and I can’t help but think to myself that I had better get moving. The after-work crowd has passed, and the drunks tend to come out after dark. So, I never feel safe in the subway when it starts to get late. I gather up my things and put my guitar away. I pocket the money I made today. It’s getting colder outside as fall settles on the city, and I don’t have a coat. So, I can either use the money I have to get a motel room, or I can go to the thrift store and try to find a used coat that I can use to keep warm as the weather changes. If I do that, I’ll be sleeping in the shelter again, provided that they have room.