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Says the guy who can’t even save himself.
And then she lifts her face and brushes her lips over mine, and I shudder. It’s all I ever wanted, but for some reason, I turn my face away and clutch her to me.
I’m so fucked if I can’t even kiss the girl of my dreams without breaking into a cold sweat.
Then again, I knew that already. I wonder if she’s realized it, too.
Long after Syd has left my room, I lie on top of my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Hell. My phone is still missing, and there’s no way I’m going to look for it, so I grab my battered tablet from the nightstand and open a browser.
Homeless and Runaway youth. I check site after site, story after story, but there’s nothing new there, no new insight. You need money to do it. If you don’t want to be taken by social services and put into foster care, the alternative is rough.
I knew that. Still I keep clicking through, keep reading.
So many kids running away from home. An increase over the past few years. More and more young people find themselves on the street, fending for themselves, afraid for their lives.
I wouldn’t want that for Syd. Fuck, no. Increased likelihood of high-risk behaviors. Greater risk of severe anxiety, depression, suicide. Survival sex. Disease and death.
I shove my fingers through my hair and tug. What’s the use of running away if you’re gonna fall into the same loop of fear and desperation?
How do you know if here is worse than there, now worse than later? How do you choose, how do you make your plans if you want to survive? How much money do you need to start off okay? How far do you need to run not to be found?
An article draws my eye as I click through more articles. An old piece of news about the death of Mikhail Vasiliev, owner of a casino chain, and his brother Andrei Vasiliev taking over as guardian of Mikhail’s young son, Evgeny.
Blah blah. Why am I even reading this? Annoyed, I move my finger to close the article when something stops me.
Andrei has stated yet again that Mikhail’s son, heir to the corporation, is in a boarding school in Brussels, despite rumors that the boy has gone missing.
I scowl. I wonder how staying in this boarding school in Brussels is going to help the boy get over his grief.
And what do I care, right? Poor rich boy. At least he has his uncle. At least he has a future. If he ran away, he could sell his golden Rolex and customized laptop and live off that money for months, if not years. Hell, I bet the cash in his wallet would be enough to cover a month’s rent for Sydney.
It makes me ragey.
Because I want to help Sydney, I want her to stay. But how? The only solution scares me. A temporary solution, no less.
No, I can’t do it. I have a plan, and I can’t put it off much longer. I feel guilty for not letting Syd and West know about it, but as with the rest, they’re better off not knowing.
I’m sorry, guys. That’s the way it is.
“Whoa,” Kash says from the door, and throws a hand in front of his face. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know. I’ll give you some privacy.”
Guiltily I jerk my hands away from where I’m adjusting the string of my sweats, trying to relieve the pressure on the bruises. “What are you talking about?”
He shrugs, hand still in the air, gaze averted. “I’ll just go until you’re done.”
“Done? Not doing anything, man.” I tug the long sleeves of my shirt down, over my wrists. “Honest.”
He lowers his hand and grins at me. “Cool. I thought you were beating off. Not that I think it will make you go blind, but it could make me wish I were blind. Just saying.”
This guy is so damn confusing. Annoying, and confusing.
Keeping my expression neutral, I watch him as he crosses over to me and stands by the bed. I don’t like that he’s looking down at me, so I fold my arms over my T-shirt and lift my chin.
“What?” I snap.
“Just checking on you. You looked like death warmed over this morning.”
I harrumph. “I’m fine.”
