Come to Me Quietly(8)

He headed down the hall, tapped his index finger on the first door on the right. “This is Aly’s room. Off-limits, obviously.” He craned his head back. “She’s kind of private and pretty much keeps to herself. You two probably won’t run into each other all that much since she’s working a lot while classes are out for the summer.”



He touched the door on the left. “And this is Aly’s bathroom. I don’t think she’ll mind if you use it.” He said it as if it didn’t really matter that much, but I couldn’t imagine a girl wanting to share her bathroom with a guy she didn’t really know.

“My room’s at the end of the hall. There’s a bathroom in there, too, if you need it.”



“Thanks, man.” I dropped my bag on the floor next to the huge black leather couch. It faced a large black TV stand with a flat-screen sitting on top of it. Controllers for a game console were stuffed inside a drawer with the wires sticking out.

I inclined my head toward it. “You still play?”



I kinda wanted to laugh because I used to have to drag his lazy ass outside to play or ride bikes or whatever the hell I wanted to do because Christopher always had his nose in a video game. He’d been the scrawny kid. When we were growing up, I’d kicked an ass or two in his name. Nobody had messed with him after that.

I hated fighting then, hated even the sight of the tiniest amount of blood. But I did it for him.

After everything went down, fighting was pretty much all I did. When the pressure built, the anger, it had to be released. Fighting served as the perfect outlet – the way the adrenaline spiked, the way it rose until it cracked me open, then flooded through my muscles and wept free from my veins, draining everything until I felt nothing.

Those were the only nights I could sleep. They probably would’ve let me out earlier if they weren’t constantly pulling me off some kid who got in my way. Of course *s to beat on in juvie were in no short supply. The population there was just a constant string of punks who deserved to get their asses kicked anyway.

Christopher laughed as he opened a closet in the hall. “Nah, I don’t play all that much, but it’s cool to unwind every once in a while.” He tossed me a blanket and pillow. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I set a spare key for you on the coffee table.” He pointed to the silver key before his hand fluttered in the direction of the kitchen. “Aly and I share food. Just be sure to chip in or whatever when she goes to the store.”



“Yeah, for sure.” I dropped the blanket and pillow on the couch, sat down, and unlaced my boots to pull them off. Midnight approached, and I felt wasted, worn, but I doubted I’d catch much sleep tonight. Anxiety was my constant companion, and it’d grown since I’d gotten back into town. A disquiet rumbled somewhere deep inside me, the same feeling that had urged me onto my bike and out onto the street little more than a week ago. I hadn’t even made a conscious decision to come.

The last four years since I’d been out of juvie I’d been focused, but without a goal. I showed up at the job site every day, worked hard, fought a little, and f*cked a lot. A pathetic substitution for life, but it was all I had. And I’d had no intention of ever changing it.

Then nine days ago I got up in the morning and got on my bike and just rode.

Christopher pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m going to give Aly a heads-up that you’re here. I don’t want her coming in and freaking out that there’s a strange guy sleeping on the couch.”