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And then I hear voices. As I climb down, I see two people standing at the door of West’s apartment. I stop, sit down on a step, as much to figure out who they are as to stop the black from crowding the edges of my vision.
Is that West’s granddad? And his sister. I recognize her now. The grandfather is holding her hand, and now he’s whispering to her so low I can’t hear. She’s looking up at him, and something in her posture twists my already unsteady stomach.
She reaches up and strokes his cheek.
Huh. Why do West’s granddad and sister act so chummy with each other? I’m so used to them ordering West around, calling him names, that frankly I’m shocked they seem so affectionate. Very lovey-dovey. Which… gah, no fucking way.
Nate, wash out your filthy mind. Not everyone is as depraved as you. Figures you’d see perversion instead of family love.
But hey, we judge others by what we know, right? If we understand the world, see the world through the lenses handed to us by our families, then I’m one hundred percent screwed.
Chapter Twenty
Kash
It’s a cool evening, a breeze blowing in as I walk home from work. George fed me a huge plate of something with eggplants, potatoes and white sauce, and it was damn good. Everything tastes good right now. I’m still growing, my pants alrea
dy too short at the cuffs, and I’m hungry all the time.
Case in point: I was stuffed when I walked out of the restaurant, and I’m starving already.
A hotdog truck tempts me as I walk by with its aromas of fried onion and sausage. I’m legit drooling. I consider my money, that I’ve been saving penny by penny ever since I got this job, for when I leave town, and then I think—fuck it. Can’t save it all.
Besides, it looks like I’m not leaving any time soon. The weeks since I told Sydney I’m staying have stretched into months. The summer rolled by quickly as I ran from job to job and sometimes stood on the balcony beside Sydney and smoked.
I didn’t climb over the rail again to get closer to her. Didn’t try kissing her. It’s not me she wants. And even though I know that, I’m still here.
Fishing out some change from my pocket, I approach the truck, when a big crow flies down, right in front of me, flapping huge wings.
I stumble back, a bad feeling twisting in the pit of my stomach.
“I think he’s given up,” the man in the truck says, leaning out as the crow hops away. I follow it with my eyes.
“What did you say?” I return my attention to the guy, my throat dry.
“I said, did you want something, man?” he asks, and I shake my head, feeling cold.
Turning, I start walking toward home. Soon I’m jogging, and even that isn’t enough. I don’t believe in omens and signs. But I can’t stop running, faster and faster, my Converse thumping on the sidewalk, on the street, until I think my heart will give out.
Something’s wrong, something’s fucking wrong, I can feel it. My sensitive boy, Mom used to say.
A pity this dubious talent of mine has always proven so useless.
Flinging the building door open, taking the steps two at a time, I climb up to the second floor and fish for my key in my pocket.
Then it’s in my hand, and I’m unlocking and stepping into the apartment.
And come face to face with Nate’s dad.
He frowns at me, a drink in each hand, as the door swings open right by him. “Careful there, boy. This is damn good whiskey.”
I stand frozen at the door opening. I only saw him with his dad and his friends that one time, months ago. And if they meet when I’m in bed, I never hear anything. The apartment is always quiet.
This is the first time I’ve come home early in weeks. I wonder if they changed their meetings to an earlier time to avoid me.
Why, though?
“I’d offer you a drink, but you know.” He tsks. “Your heart condition.”
