Page 46 of Saving Pookie

I clamp down on the armrest, my heart racing. But it's not the padded velvet beneath me. It's Pookie's hand. Soft and unflinching. I cock my head sideways and I swear he doesn't notice me looking at him.

Looking at him like this. Like a starstruck idiot.

My fingers lie between his, and I swallow a gulp first, and then something else entirely right after.

After the show, we boarded the subway to head back to Hudson Yards.

I tried to make sense of the play, but I'm not the most literate when it comes to musicals. I think I got the gist of the story, but there were far too many missing pieces. Pookie filled me in as best he could, all the while wearing a bright smile that distracted me on the dark ride home. Ultimately, the story is about perseverance. Even if we're trapped in a cycle of despair, the act of trying to escape still matters, even when we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. I get why it resonates so much with him, considering his past. But without him educating me on the matter, I would have walked away thinking it was a love story with a happy ending, but again, I wasn't paying as much attention as I should between being tired and my ADHD acting a fool.

After we got off the train, I made a quick stop at a bodega to grab a few things, and then we grabbed a slice of pizza from the best damn eatery in the neighborhood.

As we approached the corner of our street, I tugged Pookie to the left. "We're not going home, yet."

"But our apartment is right there." He points down the busy city street. "I have a feeling you want to go out and party, and I'm very thankful for tonight, but I'm not in the mood to nurse a hangover in the morning."

I smack my lips together and grin. "Do you trust me?"

"No," he says through a chuckle.

My smile turns upside down. "Rude, but unfortunately for you, I'm not giving you a choice." I pull him sideways, running across a crosswalk with a flashing red hand. Breathless, we land on the other side as a car roars by, its horn screaming at us. I let out an exasperated sigh as I catch Pookie's gaze narrowing on me. "I really didn't see that car coming."

Our legs dangle off the ledge of Pier 62 of Pier Park.

There's a picturesque view of New Jersey across the water, where an orange glow shimmers atop the dark currents crashing against the shore. Behind us, the city that never sleeps wails into the early hours of the late night, but it's easier to block out the noise this far out on the pier. It's practically the most remote place you can find in the city.

Pookie finishes the last bite of his pizza and scrubs his hands clean with a napkin. "Do you really think New York has the best pizza in the world?"

"Hell no," I scoff. "Don't tell anyone I said that, though. You know how defensive these fuckers get about their precious cheese-smothered dough pies." I lean back on my elbows and glance yonder at the state across the Hudson. "It's better than Jersey's pizza, but I miss pizza back home."

"Really?" He cocks a curious grin. "I think we lived in very different parts of California, because the pizza back home was overcooked and bland."

"Where did you say you were from, again?"

He lets out a hesitant sigh, like the words are hard for him to say. "Officially, Desert Gap, but everyone calls it Cinder Row."

"Never heard of it," I say, at least not that I can recall. Still, my curiosity is piqued. "Why do they call it Cinder Row?" I nudge him playfully with my elbow. "Did some princess lose her glass slipper at the stroke of midnight, which ultimately led her down a series of fortunate events that united her with a prince?"

He shrugs as if he doesn't know the answer, but he does. "It's this massive trailer park in the middle of the desert. Miles and miles of mobile homes held up by decaying cinder blocks." He glances at me and pauses, trepidation lodged in his throat. "It's hotter than hell there; we call it hell on earth because nobody ever escapes. It's a trap that bleeds your soul drier than the blowing sand."

I nod, taking it all in. "You escaped, though."

"Yeah," he chuckles uncomfortably. "Escaped from one hell into the arms of another."

"You escaped him, too," I point out. "You're a survivor, whether you want to look at it that way or not."

He fiddles with his hands, resting them on the ledge of the pier. He purses his lips and shakes his head. "What makes you think I'm anything more than someone who got lucky?"

"Because you did it twice."

He turns to me again, this time with a flat expression. "They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but I don't know that to be true." He pauses, swishing the words around in his mouth. "It makes you more afraid of both the world and yourself. Especially yourself. Always terrified you're going to make the next bad decision." He smirks for a half second before he restrains himself, pulling his lips taut. "I had a good birthday today, for the first time in as long as I can remember. I should be happy, but I'm terrified the other shoe's about to drop."

I shake my head defiantly. We're not going to be sad right now. We're going to be optimistic. I close the distance between us and tug at both corners of his lips, forcing his frown into a smile. He looks like a demented puppet like this, and I can't stuff down the chuckle that bursts from my mouth.

He laughs too, even as he shakes me away. He bats his tongue over his lip and glances my way. "I don't think I've ever had a friend like you before. Hell, I don't think I've ever even had an actual friend."

The admission hits me like a fucking brick, the weight of his words wrapping around my throat like a noose. It feels like it could drag me into the water and beneath the surface. This... deep sadness in the pit of my soul. A life without friends isn't a life at all. I've been surrounded by friends since I was old enough to make them. Just the same, I've been making enemies along the way, but friendship has always been the anchor that allows me to walk so carelessly through life.

The realization hits me that Pookie doesn't have those anchors holding him down, watching his back. These bad decisions he's made are nothing more than a product of loneliness. Nobody should ever be lonely.