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“That might mean I’ll stay,” she says, and the words take a minute to sink into my brain.
“Stay?”
“I came here for the summer, to see if I like it. If this place doesn’t make me run away in a panic. You know. Bad memories.”
I know all about bad memories, but the thought of her leaving has my stomach in a knot. “And if your online store works out, you think you’d like it here?”
“Maybe. I like Kayla, and Ev is here, too. I haven’t had anything trigger my panic so far.”
“Except Travis. My roommate?”
She snorts softly. “It wasn’t so bad.”
Yeah, right. Few times have I wanted to punch someone so badly. Damn roomies. “I thought you were here to go to college.”
“I might. I’m thinking of transferring here, to the art department.”
“Do you draw?”
She shakes her head, her ponytail bouncing. I want to grab it, wrap her silky hair around my hand to hold her still while I fuck her mouth with my tongue.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“I want to draw you.” The words are out of my mouth before my brain connects. “If you’d like.”
“Now?” Her eyes are round, and I want to kick myself. She’s kept her cool so far, but I bet she’s about to run out of here and never come back.
The thought hurts too much. Much more than I ever thought.
“Not now. I have to go. And you don’t have to do this,” I say, feeling like ten kinds of idiot for suggesting it.
“I don’t mind.”
She doesn’t? I’m staring at her open-mouthed, and I don’t know what to say. I can see uncertainty in her eyes, in the quiver of her jaw. She’s fighting something, and I’m not sure what it is, but that feeling that she reminds me of someone is back, stronger than ever.
Speak, J. Say something.
“Awesome, then,” I mumble. “How about tomorrow morning, here?”
She nods quickly, too quickly. Nervously. She glances at my leather bracelet as though she wants to ask something, but she doesn’t.
“Tomorrow,” she says and leaves me alone, hard and aching for her, and confused like never before in my life.
***
A walk into my dark past serves to clear my mind from any doubts about the future. Down the same dirty streets where I slept, passing from the park gate where Zane found me trying to tattoo the demon on my chest after losing Helen to the place where I got my scars.
I stare at the dumpster and the graffiti that are part of my nightmares, not sure what I’m doing, what I expect to find, and how to fix the hole in my chest that opens every time I remember it all.
What I don’t expect is to find Jason, an old buddy from those days. Haven’t seen him in months. In combat boots, tight jeans and a black tank top, his blond hair gelled up in a fauxhawk, he’s leaning on a wall at the corner to the avenue, trying to look cool and nonchalant. Like he has no worries in the world, and just happened to stop by for a second to rest and observe the passersby.
Oldest profession in the world.
He turns when he hears my footsteps crunching on broken glass—so much broken glass, it makes my scars itch—and his eyes go comically wide.
“Pinch me now,” he says and grins rakishly. “Jesse Lee, as I li
ve and breathe. I heard you moved up the social ladder, buddy. What the fuck are you doing back here in the gutter? Came to take photos of your past?”
