When he opened his eyes again, they were wet. Long, dark lashes spikey with tears that refused to fall.
A hundred memories arched between us. A thousand words spoken softly in the dark.
A dozen promises never kept.
His lips curved upwards into the shadow of a smile that I remembered and loved so much.
“Imi,” he whispered.
I nodded, still otherwise paralyzed.
“Imi,” he said again, a tear traveled the length of his cheek and dripped off his chin.
“It’s me, Yoss,” I said finally, forcing myself to speak.
Our eyes met. They held.
They clung and they devastated.
Fifteen years had passed but none of that mattered.
In that instant we were kids again. Remembering a time when, to each other, we were everything.
Fifteen Years Ago
The first morning was the worst.
I woke up on my back, the floor hard beneath me, shivering in my borrowed sweatshirt and tiny shorts. The room was still dark, so I knew it was early.
The first thing I noticed was the noise.
It was loud, even though the sun hadn’t come up yet.
People were talking and there was music playing. It was surprising that I had slept through any of it. But I had collapsed in an exhausted heap with Yoss’s reassurances that I’d be safe.
Safe.
That was a word I’d never take for granted again.
Suddenly the sound of screaming filled my ears and I bolted upright in a panic. It was frightened and full of pain. It went on and on and on and no one else seemed to care that a woman seemed to be in very serious trouble.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and pressed myself against the wall, terrified.
I almost screamed myself when a hand grabbed mine in the darkness. I jerked backwards, my head smacking against concrete as I let out a yelp.
“It’s okay, Imogen,” Yoss’s voice drifted towards me with a slight squeeze of fingers.
“What’s wrong? Why is that woman screaming?” I whispered, scared to raise my voice.
Yoss moved to sit beside me, still holding my hand. It was nice. Comforting.
Safe.
It was a luxury I’d hold onto.
“That’s Mable. She’s got…well…problems. She usually thinks she’s being chased by aliens who want to probe her or something. The little grey guys must be bugging her again.” Yoss leaned back against the wall and yawned.
“Why isn’t anyone helping her?” I demanded as the screaming grew louder and louder.
Yoss shrugged. “What can anyone do? She needs medication. She needs fucking therapy. She’s not getting that here.”
His words were so hopeless and depressing. “Why can’t—?” I began, but Yoss cut me off.
“Look, Imogen, everyone here needs something. Mable needs meds. Gary over there needs a fifth of whiskey before he’s had his breakfast. That girl with the blond hair is Lora and she needs to forget the horrible things her daddy did to her. Thomas, the guy with the nose ring, needs to fuck away his feelings. Some of us get what we need. Some of us don’t.” Yoss pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag.
He was so cut and dry. Unemotional about the despair all around us. Unaffected. Was he so desensitized to the world around him that a woman in obvious crisis didn’t bother him in the slightest? Would I become like that?
But he had helped me. When he didn’t have to. He had taken care of me when I was ready to curl into a ball and lose myself in the misery of my situation.
After Yoss had rescued me from the shady Tag he had brought me back to The Pit, which I learned was an appropriate name. Because that’s all it was. A pit. It was a place no one in their right mind would choose to sleep.
The Pit was a condemned warehouse on the edge of town. It was dark. It smelled like sewage. It was full of questionable people, doing questionable things.
If I had been scared underneath Seventh Street Bridge, it was nothing compared to what I felt when Yoss brought me here.
But he never left my side.
At first I was suspicious of his helpfulness, remembering Tag and what I knew had been his intentions.
Yoss was a guy after all. A nice-looking one, but a guy nonetheless. And I was completely vulnerable, as much as I hated to admit it.
Though I soon realized that I wasn’t in a position to second-guess a helping hand. I’d keep my wits about me, and my eyes open. But for now, I’d accept what he offered.
He had led us to an out of the way corner behind an old conveyer belt. It was shielded from the rest of the room by an old blanket and makeshift walls that were composed of cardboard boxes and a broken table.
“It’s not much, but you’re more than welcome to crash here for now,” Yoss had said, not quite looking at me.
“This is where you live?” I had asked, trying not to sound so horrified. It was obvious from the embarrassment on his face, that Yoss was ashamed of the place he laid his head at night.