Down and Out(23)

“You can’t blame me for being curious,” I say, coming to a leisurely pace beside her. “It’s not really something that happens to a lot of people.”
Her shoulders lift in a shrug as we mosey through the store. “My story’s not that different from anyone else who winds up in that situation.” She gives me a wry look. “Things just didn’t go my way.”
My eyes narrow as I study her fa?ade. “You haven’t told anyone your story, have you?” It’s not hard to guess, not with the way she carries herself and the general ten-foot moat she’s built around herself to keep people away.
Her bravado flickers for a second, allowing me to see the vulnerable girl hiding inside. And with that brief glimpse, I make it my mission to somehow tear down those walls and free her.
Her eyes tear away from me as her whole demeanor shifts. The fa?ade is firmly back in place. She crosses her arms over her chest, like she has to physically support her wall to keep it from crumbling. A tiny thing like that won’t be able to hold its massive weight forever.
“Nobody’s ever cared enough to ask, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t people who know my story.”
“Oh?”
She nods. “Oh, yeah, there are lots of people who know my story within CPS.”
“CPS?” What the hell is CPS?
“Child Protective Services,” she says, keeping her eyes ahead and her hands in her pockets. “See, I was bounced around from foster home to foster home after my meth-head of a mother OD’d when I was four. Then, when I was eighteen, I aged out of the system and my foster parents kicked me out. I was just a paycheck to them, and once that money stopped coming in. . .”
She shrugs, very matter-of-factly, and I listen, horrified and slack-jawed, as she continues.
“The rest of it’s pretty self-explanatory. I had to drop out my senior year of high school because in order to afford things like rent and food, I had to have a job, and in order to have a job, I couldn’t really go to school thirty-five hours a week, and guess what? Nobody wants to hire a high school dropout, so the only jobs I was able to get were demeaning and didn’t pay shit.” She stops and faces me. “That pretty much brings us to three days ago, when I came into your office and asked you for a job. I was desperate for something that didn’t require me to take off my clothes.”
My hands scrub my face as I reel in stunned silence. Savannah crosses her arms, suddenly looking uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed that she’s unloaded her horror story on me without mercy.
Blinking, I look away. I can still feel the weight of her words ruminating in my mind. They tear at me, breaking something inside me that I didn’t know could be broken.
“Jesus f*cking Christ.” The words are harsher than I meant, but I’m not mad at her, I’m just . . . mad. The whole thing’s seriously messed up and wrong. “You gotta stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” she asks, still locked in her defensive stance.
“Beating me over the head with the truth. My delicate sensibilities can’t handle it.”
I expect a laugh, or at the very least a smile, but I get nothing. She just says, “You asked.”
“I know, but geez. . . Next time give me a little warning before you bend me over and have your way with me.”
She scoffs, but doesn’t say anything, and she still won’t look at me. She’ll look at either my shirt or the floor. It’s driving me crazy. I want to see those eyes that are more expressive than she probably realizes. I want to know what’s going on inside that pretty head of hers, because right now, I just can’t tell.
Weird things happen inside my chest. My heart flutters, while at the same time it feels too tight. I frown at the odd feeling as she looks past me and says, “There’s no sugar-coating my life, Declan. It’s f*cked up and ugly.”
And here I thought my old man was bad. He’s a drunken stumble in the park compared to what she’s been through. “Would you be upset if I asked you for a hug?”
Her eyes dart to mine, and I almost flinch at the hate and disgust shining in the steel gray irises staring back at me. “Yes.”
I must be looking at her that way she hates. You know, sympathetically. Like the way a normal person would be after hearing something like that. “What if I said it’s for me, not you?”
Her brows lift in a “you gotta be shitting me” kind of way, and I can’t help but smile. “It’s true. After a horror story like that, I need to be comforted. I need you to hold me, Kitten.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see the smile tugging on her lips. “You don’t really strike me as the cuddly type.”
I point to the full sleeve of shapes, words, and colors inked onto my left arm. “Don’t let the tats fool you. My mom was very affectionate, and she taught me well. You won’t find a better hugger than me, I guarantee it.” As she laughs, I smile, thinking I really like the sound. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay? I’ve got a reputation to protect.”
She bites her lip and grins, and part of me just f*cking dies at the sight. She’s so damn pretty. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she says.
Gripping the bar of the shopping cart once again, I nod to the forgotten list sticking out of her pocket. “All right, what’s next?”
She pulls it out, scans the items, and turns to browse the shelf behind her. “Why is everything so expensive here?” she grumbles, gesturing to the rows of obscenely priced pasta. “Don’t you know there’s a Stop ’N Shop, like, a block from your place?”