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.
So, it’s coat, shelter, and back to the subway for me tomorrow.
Someone calls my name as I walk up the steps of the tunnel and I turn to find Bone standing by the lamppost. “How’s it going, Kit?” he asks. His eyes rake down my body, and my insides revolt.
“Fine,” I say quickly. “Did you need something?”
He shakes his head, biting his lips together. “You have somewhere to stay tonight?” he asks.
He asks me this every time he sees me, like he’s going to catch me at a vulnerable moment and I’ll take him up on whatever he’s offering. I don’t even know what he’s offering, but I know it won’t do me any good. “I do, but thanks for asking.”
“Any time, Kit,” he says. He turns and walks away, his arm around some girl’s shoulders. She looks strung out. And I’d be willing to bet that’s how he likes them.
I walk through the city, wandering toward the shelter. I know it’s right around the corner from where Logan works. I can’t help but walk by there. The lights are on inside and there are still people walking around. I slow down, hoping I can get a look at him. I just want to see him. I know he probably hates me. But I want to see that he’s walking around, breathing and maybe even laughing.
The neon sign over the building says Reed’s. Makes me wonder if that’s their last name. Paul walks to the door and lifts a hand at me without opening it. He tilts his head and looks at me. A bit too closely. He pushes the door open and speaks through the crack. “Are you coming in?”
I shake my head. “I shouldn’t.”
He nods. “You shouldn’t. But you are.” He motions me forward. “He’s in the back.”
It’s like my feet have a mind of their own. I walk toward the back of the store, and the girl at the front desk shoots me a heated glance. I ignore her. There’s a curtain in the back of the shop, and I’m guessing that’s where he is. I push it slowly to the side. He can’t hear me and he’s facing away. But there’s a woman on the table who’s nak*d from the waist up. He’s standing in front of her with his arm wrapped around her; his hand is busy around her right breast.
“Shit,” I say. I feel like someone has just punched me in the gut. The lady on the table startles and Logan looks up. I have no choice but to leave. I’ve done nothing but think about this man all day long, and he’s with one of his skanks. I knew he had them. But seeing his hands on one of them is worse. I have no right to claim him. I didn’t even plan to come and find him. Paul insisted. Did Paul know what I would walk into?
Paul steps into my path as I run toward the door. “Kit,” he says, blocking me from leaving with his body in front of me.
I put up my hands to ward him off. I can’t take a deep breath, much less stop to talk to him. Before I can get to the front door, Logan runs from the back of the shop to the front, chasing after me. I can hear his feet on the laminate floor.
Logan reaches for me, taking my elbow in a tight but gentle grip.
Tears are stinging the backs of my lashes. I don’t know why they are. But they are. And I don’t want him to see. He holds up a finger telling me to wait. I can’t wait. If I wait, he’ll see me break down.
He takes my hand in a firm grip and starts to tow me toward the back of the store. He pushes the curtain to the side, and I see that the woman is still sitting exactly like he left her. Only now she’s holding a thin piece of paper over her br**sts. “Hi,” she says. He points toward a chair and indicates that he wants me to sit.
I shake my head. “No.”
He points toward the chair again. I drop into it because I feel like my legs won’t hold me up anymore and that’s the only reason.
He turns back to the woman and urges the paper down. He’s tattooing her nipple. I look away. “It’s all right,” the woman says. “He did beautiful work. I don’t mind if you see it.”
He’s doing a tattoo. Of course he is. All the breath rushes from my body in a huge exhale. He’s doing a tattoo. I look over his shoulder as he’s finishing up. He’s not just tattooing her nipple. The tattoo is her nipple. What the hell?
“Double mastectomy,” she explains. “Logan does free tattoos for mastectomy patients.” She arches her back, pressing her br**sts out. “What do you think?”
They look like real n**ples. The shading around the edges is perfect, and he’s drawn a simple nipple with a large areola. But there’s nothing simple about it. It’s a work of art. The color is the same shade as her lips, and I can’t believe how real they look. “Wow,” I say. What do you say? Nice n**ples? Beautiful boobs? “That’s amazing.”
Logan holds up a mirror for her, and she looks from one to the other. “They’re perfect!” she squeals. She throws her arms around his neck, and he hugs her tightly, smiling over her shoulder at me. He steps back from her, and bends down, softly placing a kiss on the top of her breast. Her eyes fill up with tears, and so do mine. “I’m going to show everybody,” she says. She holds the paper over her br**sts as she walks out into the shop. The girl that runs the front of the shop comes over to admire them, and Paul pretends to look everywhere but at her boobs. There’s no one in the shop, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t care if there was.
“She wanted to feel sexy again,” he says quietly, yanking the curtain so that we’re behind it.
“You did beautiful work.” I bat my guitar case against my shins, not sure what else to say. It really was remarkable how lifelike they looked. The shading and the colors and the way they fit the size of her new br**sts – it was all perfect.
“She needed them.” He shrugs. He’s so humble.
She bounces back behind the curtain, looking so pleased. She tugs her shirt over her head and takes money out of her purse. “I don’t have much,” she starts.
He presses it back into her purse, shaking his head.
“He won’t take it,” I say.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Who are you?”