He looked around the communal waiting room, like he was surprised to find himself there. “Um, I’m staying at a hostel. I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.” He looked as though he was going to be sick again.
“Yanni. My name is Spencer Cohen. Will you let me take you somewhere safe?”
He stared at me, his eyes wide, and he turned from white back to green. “Will you take me to him?”
“No, no,” I put my hands up. “Jesus, no. Yanni, I had no idea. He lied to me. He asked me to find you. He told me he was concerned for your welfare. He told me your family harmed you when they found out you were seeing another man.”
Yanni gave a laugh that sounded a little manic. “Well, that much was true. But it was nothing compared to what…” His words ran out of steam as the first of his tears fell. “I don’t have anyone.”
This guy was me. He had lived through what I lived through. Only I found my own family in Lola and Emilio. Yanni found a closed fist and god knows what else in the arms of that monster, Lance.
“Yanni, I know what it’s like to be alone. I really do. My parents disowned me, kicked me out, and cut me out of their lives completely when I was sixteen. I can’t help you with your family. But I can help you with Lance. I can make sure you’re not alone. I didn’t realise what my finding you would mean, so please let me make this right. For tonight at least. We can work something out tomorrow, but tonight you won’t have to sleep in fear, okay?”
Fresh tears fell, as though my words struck a chord. He scrubbed his face with his hands, he clenched his jaw, and his nostrils flared as though he was trying to summon every ounce of strength he could muster from that place down deep that people seldom knew of. And he nodded. It was the tiniest of head movements, and with that simple gesture, without a word, without another move, he was putting his hand up for help.
And that was a strength I’d never known.
“Okay, thank you, Yanni. I’ll just call my friend Lola. She’ll come get us and take us back to my place. We can work out where to go from there, but at least you won’t be here, okay?”
He barely nodded.
I pulled out my phone and hit Lola’s number. “You’ll love Lola. She’s tiny, has pink hair, pretty as a 50s pin-up girl, but she’s a fierce and protective friend. She also drives like a crazy person, dances like a ballerina, but sings like a scalded cat. Don’t tell her I said that.”
I got a small smile from Yanni just as Lola answered the phone. “Spencer?”
“Hey, how far away are you?”
“Five minutes. Everything okay?”
“Kind of. I’ll explain when we get in the car.”
“We?”
“I found Yanni, and I’m taking him to my place.” Yanni’s gaze shot to mine, so I took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. I looked at Yanni. “Is there a back access door or something here?”
He nodded, and a little colour had returned to his face. “I think it’s Union Parade,” he said.
“Lola, can you come round the back? Yanni thinks it’s called Union Parade, but I’m not sure.”
“I’ll find it. See you soon,” was all she said.
There was about five seconds silence after I pocketed my phone. “Yanni, please know I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
That’s when his tears started.
And they didn’t seem to stop.
I took his hand and led him through what I hoped was the rear of the building out the fire escape doors to the street that ran along the back of the building. And just a minute later, Cindy Crawford came careening down the street. Lola stopped the car, took one look at the crying kid with me, and never said a word.
I sat in the back with him, not sure what else I should do. I didn’t want to crowd him, but I didn’t want him to be alone either. Lola kept her eyes on me in the rear vision mirror instead of the road, and how on earth she could drive I’ll never know. But when we pulled out onto the Boulevard, she started to talk.
She told us about her afternoon, the job, the models, the photographers, the passers-by, every minute little detail that she normally wouldn’t speak of. She just kept talking, for whose comfort I wasn’t sure.
I’m fairly certain Yanni never heard a word of it. He just stared into space, yet his tears never stopped. And I think that’s what scared Lola the most.
Silent tears are the worst. It’s the sign of a broken spirit. No sound, no residual emotions… just tears. Silent, unstoppable tears.
This poor kid—really only a few years younger than me, but he seemed like a kid to me. Helpless, defenceless, in need of protection—so completely vulnerable, that getting into a car with two complete strangers was a better alternative to where he thought Lance might find him. He couldn’t have known coming with us would be any better, but the need to keep moving was an ingrained self-defence manoeuver. Maybe he didn’t care anymore. Maybe he was resigned to being handed back to the monster who abused him. I couldn’t think of anything else to do, but I reached over and held his hand.
I don’t think he noticed.